Comforted By My Ex’s Dad Pt 1

~Alisson

“Come on, babe,” Ron said, tugging me toward the dining room like I was about to meet a celebrity and not his notoriously hot father.

Brent was already at the head of the table, sipping something neat from a crystal tumbler. When he looked up and saw us, his lips curled into something between a smile and a smirk.

“Allison.” His voice echoed deeply in the room. It was never calm but commanding like in a “be a good girl and get on your knees” deep.

I felt it in my thighs.

I smiled and stepped forward, keeping my dress from riding up too high. “Happy birthday, Mr. Connor.”

He stood to shake my hand, no hug, thank God and I caught the way his gaze flicked over me just once.

Like he could undress me with his eyes and still keep perfect posture.

Brent was almost forty, yeah. But goddamn, he wore it with poise. His silver-streaked hair was combed back with just enough mess to make it look intentional and that short beard of his? I could only imagine it dripping with my cum on it.

When Brent sat down and stretched an arm behind his chair, the veins in his forearm popped just enough to distract me through the whole appetizer.

This would be a pretty long dinner.

Ron was rambling about something between work, traffic, or maybe his latest gym routine and I nodded along, chewing my salad like it wasn’t taking everything in me not to sneak another glance across the table.

Every time Brent raised his glass, my eyes followed.

Every time he leaned back in his chair, I caught myself wondering what he looked like under that dress shirt.

How many buttons would I have to undo to find out?

Stop it, Allison.

He’s your boyfriend’s father. A walking, breathing red no-go zone.

But God, it was hard to think straight when the man had a jaw that looked like it could split me in half.

The party didn’t end so much as thin out. People drifted onto the deck for cigars, clustered in the media room for late-night poker, and vanished into upstairs guest rooms.

Ron was one of the vanishers.

At first, I figured he must be in the bathroom. Then “talking with Tyler.” Then “took a call.” After twenty minutes and two unanswered texts, the little knot low in my stomach pulled tight.

That’s when it dawned on me, I was alone in the dining room.

Not completely alone.

He was stacking plates, one hand braced on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Candlelight hit the cut glass of his tumbler and threw amber across his knuckles. He glanced up when I stood.

“Alone already?” he said, dry amusement in his voice.

I tried to laugh. “He wandered off to go light a smoke”

“Mmm.” Brent tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Walk with me? Unless you’d rather be entertained by the centerpiece.”

I smiled at his joke and followed.

The kitchen was quieter, the bass from the party muffled by walls and stone. Brent set the plates beside the sink and reached for a clean glass.

“Wine or something stronger?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

He poured me a finger of whatever he’d been drinking earlier—something dark, smoky. When our glasses clicked, his hand brushed mine, I felt a current run through my body and my legs clenched involuntarily.

“So,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “How’s work? Ron said you’ve been juggling school and something in design?”

“Freelance branding,” I managed. “I manage small accounts like coffee shops, but currently I deal mostly with moodboards and social kits.”

“Not small,” he said. “Just early. Everything big looks small at the start.”

Why did that land like a compliment I wanted to earn?

I took a sip as the heat spread down my throat. My eyes drifted—forearms, throat, the open collar of his shirt.

God, he looked so fucking good when tired.

His eyes drooped a little like he was staring at my curves, and I wanted nothing more than to undress myself and feed his eyes.

Control, Ali.

I managed for a few seconds but those hands at my waist, pinning me to the counter; that voice at my ear, telling me to be quiet; the hard edge of granite against the backs of my thighs—

“Lost me?” Brent asked, mouth curving.

“Sorry,” I said too quickly. “Just—thinking.”

“About branding?”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He chuckled.

He knew what he was doing to me and he was having a grand time enjoying it.

“Ron was always unable to handle large crowds,” Brent said, swirling his drink. “He gets that from his mother. You, on the other hand, don’t seem like the type who gets lost accidentally.”

“I guess not.” I lifted my chin. “I go where I mean to.”

His eyes held mine a beat too long. “Good, I see it as the perfect fit.”

My pulse kicked at his words, the perfect fit.

If he moved even an inch closer, I wasn’t sure which one of us would cross the line first—him with a touch, or me with a question I shouldn’t ask.

What would he do if I kissed him first?

Footsteps sounded in the hall—voices, laughter, Ron’s included and I snapped back to my present.

Brent straightened, set his glass down, and stepped aside as if nothing had happened at all.

“Come on,” he said, easy again.

I followed. But the heat stayed—low, secret, and very much alive.

I shouldn’t feel that way about him.

I shouldn’t have noticed how his hands moved when he spoke, or how his jaw flexed when he was trying not to laugh. But Brent had that kind of gravity quiet, contained, and just a little dangerous.

So yeah, maybe I had to fight the urge to keep looking at him across the dinner table.

But Ron exists, he has always cared for me, loved me and I loved him as much.

Or I thought I did.

I needed to drown myself in his presence, remember who I love, and maybe have him ease this burning sensation between my thighs.

I glanced around the room but he was nowhere to be seen again. I climbed the stairs heading towards the guest's room, opening the door but still no sign of him.

I was about to head back when I heard a low muffled groan coming from the den.

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. I know Ron and I know his groans, cries, voice, laugh, and even his footsteps from miles away and I know that groan belongs to him.

The door to the den was cracked open, so I pushed it a bit and I saw my best friend on her knees with Ron’s cock lodged deep in her throat.

What the fuck?

His head was thrown back as he gripped her ponytail, guiding her deeper.

“Fuck, Carla. Alisson could never take me so deep.” he groaned.

The fucker on her knees moaned in response taking him impossibly deeper into her mouth.

I gasped at the sigh, How is she still breathing?

The sound must’ve reached them because Ron’s head whipped around.

“Alli—fuck—wait—”

He tried to shove her off, but she lodged her hands around his bare buttocks, practically kissing his pubic area now.

I shut my eyes, waiting for the tears to come trailing down but there was nothing. All I could see was the image that'd been seared to my skull.

Ron wasn’t remorseful, he was irritated that I dared to interrupt him.

I backed out of the room before I could start screaming, I walked fast through the hall, past the stairs straight into Brent.

He was by the counter with a fresh drink in his hand, sleeves rolled, like I didn’t just have my world shatter upstairs. His eyes narrowed instantly.

“You alright?”

I must’ve looked feral silent, ready to combust.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Just this dry, bitter inhale.

Brent stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What happened?”

I blinked at him, and before I could stop myself, the words fell out quietly, ragged, sharp

“Your son is upstairs getting his dick sucked by my best friend.”

He froze.

I could see the anger seeping into his features like a switch flipped. His jaw tightened, the vein in his neck twitching once.

Brent stepped in close, too close, and murmured, “Come with me.”

My heart leapt, I just hope Ron wouldn’t get too pissy about my next line of action.