Crossing The Line (Daddy’s Best Friend) 2

“This can’t happen again, Camilla.”

Is he serious?

He had just used my mouth—roughly, unapologetically—and now he was standing there telling me it couldn’t happen again?

Why?

“Why, Damien?” I stepped closer, grabbing his tux jacket. “I thought you liked it.”

He let out a breath and gently removed my hands, holding them away from him.

“Your father is my friend. You know that,” he said. “This is wrong.”

“Wrong?” I laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “You just fucked my mouth. Your best friend’s daughter, in case you’ve forgotten. And you enjoyed it. You were moaning.”

“Stop it,” he snapped, his voice tightening. “Camilla, stop. That was wrong. You’re my best friend’s daughter, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

“Advantage?” I echoed, laughing again. “You think that’s what that was?”

“Listen,” he said, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “You’re a beautiful young woman. I admire you. But this can’t work. You know that. If your father finds out—”

“I don’t care,” I cut in, stepping closer again, grabbing his jacket and pulling him toward me. “I want you. And you want me. That’s all that matters.”

He stilled.

For a second, I thought—

Maybe.

But then he sighed.

Leaning in just enough to press a brief kiss to my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And just like that—

He walked out.

Leaving me standing there.

Alone.

“What the fuck?”

—

It had been three weeks since Damien walked away from me.

Three weeks.

And I still couldn’t get him out of my head.

Not his voice.

Not his hands.

Not the way he’d filled my mouth, the way his fingers had gripped me like he didn’t want to let go.

I tried to be reasonable.

Tried to understand.

He was my father’s best friend.

Getting involved with him could ruin everything—their friendship, their business, everything they’d built together.

And I didn’t want to be the one who destroyed that.

I really didn’t.

But wanting didn’t change anything.

Because every night…

Every quiet moment…

I thought about him.

About what it would feel like to have him inside me.

To feel him move, slow and deep, exactly the way I imagined it.

It was driving me insane.

—

Friday evening.

The house was empty.

Mom was out of town.

Dad was still at work.

And I was alone.

I lay on my bed, my eyes closed, one hand slipping beneath my satin shorts as I rubbed slow, needy circles over my clit.

“Fuck…” I breathed.

His face was the only thing in my head.

His voice.

His hands.

Damien.

“Oh, Damien…” I moaned softly.

I pushed my shorts down, letting them fall to my ankles before kicking them off completely.

Now bare from the waist down, I shifted onto my knees, my body arching slightly as my fingers slipped inside me.

It wasn’t enough.

It never was.

Not compared to him.

Frustrated, desperate, I reached for my drawer and pulled out my dildo.

Not as big.

Not as perfect.

But it would have to do.

I brought the dildo to my lips, dragging my tongue slowly along its length.

Imagining him.

Imagining it was Damien.

I moaned softly, my lips wrapping around it as I sucked, letting my tongue swirl, teasing it the way I knew he liked.

My fingers found my nipple again, pinching and rolling it between them as my body reacted instantly.

“Fuck…” I breathed.

I pulled it from my mouth slowly, strings of saliva stretching as I looked down at it.

Not as big as him.

Not as thick.

But it would have to do.

For now.

I shifted onto all fours on the bed, my back arching naturally as I reached behind me, pressing the tip against my entrance.

I was already wet.

So wet.

I pushed it in slowly.

My breath hitched.

“Oh my God…”

I paused halfway, letting my body adjust, my fingers sliding down between my legs to circle my clit in slow, teasing motions.

I wanted to take my time.

Make it last.

I pushed deeper, inch by inch, until it was fully inside me.

A low moan slipped from my lips.

I stayed still for a second, just feeling it, my walls tightening around it.

But it wasn’t him.

It didn’t feel like him.

I started to move.

Slow at first.

Rolling my hips back, then forward, letting the toy slide inside me, stretching me just enough to make me gasp.

My fingers moved faster on my clit, my head dropping as I let myself get lost in the feeling.

“Damien…” I whispered.

I picked up the pace.

Faster.

Harder.

My body rocking against the toy as I chased that feeling building deep inside me.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Not like him.

Not like the way he’d taken control, the way he’d made me feel—

“Fuck…” I whimpered, frustration mixing with pleasure.

I pulled it out slightly, then slammed it back in, harder this time, my breath coming faster, my body desperate.

My free hand grabbed the sheets, gripping tightly as I pushed back against it again and again.

“God, I need you…” I moaned under my breath.

My fingers pressed harder against my clit, faster now, chasing release, my whole body tightening as the sensation built rapidly.

I was close.

So close.

But even as my body started to tremble—

All I could think about…

Was how much better it would feel if it was him.

If it was Damien.

Inside me.

“Good God…”

The deep, familiar voice came from behind me—and I froze.

My body went still.