Best friend's Dad: Part 3

His fingers worked inside me in steady strokes while Mia slept only a few feet away.

I kept my face pressed to his shoulder to muffle the sounds I couldn’t hold back. Mr. Hale’s thumb rubbed tight circles over my clit. The wet noise of his fingers moving in my cunt felt too loud in the quiet living room. Every time Mia shifted under her blanket my whole body tensed, but she only mumbled and settled again.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

I lifted my head. His eyes were dark and heavy with the same need that had me shaking against his hand. He watched my face while he curled his fingers and pressed harder against the sensitive spot inside me. The pressure built fast. My thighs trembled. I bit down on my own lip to stay silent as the pleasure coiled tighter.

“Come,” he said, barely audible. “Do it quietly.”

The order broke me. My cunt clenched around his fingers in hard pulses while I shook against him, a raw sound trapped in my throat. He worked me through every wave, slowing only when the last tremor faded and I slumped against his side, breathing hard.

He pulled his hand free. My slickness shone on his fingers in the television light. He looked at it for a second, then at me.

“Last chance to stop this,” he muttered.

I answered by reaching for his belt.

He let me open it. Let me undo the button and zipper of his trousers. When I slipped my hand inside and wrapped my fingers around his cock, a rough breath left him. He was thick and already fully hard, the head wet against my palm. I stroked him once, feeling the weight of him, and his hips shifted into the touch.

“Not here,” he said—then immediately contradicted himself by pulling me closer. “Fuck. Too late for that.”

He shoved his trousers down far enough to free his dick. I lifted my hips so he could drag my shorts and panties down one leg. The second I was open to him he gripped my waist, turned me so I straddled his lap facing him, and guided the head of his cock to my entrance. One upward thrust buried him inside me to the root.

The stretch forced a broken gasp from my throat. He clamped a hand over my mouth and held me still while we both adjusted to the fact of his dick seated deep in my cunt on the same couch where his daughter slept. The television light painted everything in dull blue. Mia’s breathing stayed even at the far end of the sectional.

Mr. Hale released my mouth and gripped my hips.

“Move,” he whispered. “Slow.”

I rolled my hips, taking him in short, careful strokes. The thick drag of his cock inside me made my eyes water. He felt huge like this, filling every part of me while the risk of discovery sat sharp in the air. His hands stayed hard on my waist, guiding the rhythm, keeping it quiet and controlled. The wet sound of my cunt sliding on his dick was soft but unmistakable in the still room.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered against my neck. “Shouldn’t. Know I shouldn’t.”

I kept moving, rising and sinking on his cock while his hands slid up under my tank top and closed over my bare tits. He pinched the nipples between finger and thumb, rolling them while I rode him. The dual sensation built another orgasm fast. My thighs started to shake again. I dropped my forehead to his shoulder and tried to keep the sounds in as the pleasure climbed.

“I’m close,” I whispered.

“Come on my cock. Quietly.”

I broke apart around him for the second time, biting down on his shirt to stay silent while my cunt milked his dick in rhythmic pulses. He held me through it, breathing hard, then lifted me off him before I could fully recover. In one smooth motion he turned me so I faced the far end of the couch—toward his sleeping daughter—and pushed me down onto my knees on the cushions. He settled behind me, shoved the tank top higher, and thrust back into my cunt from behind.

The new angle let him go deeper. One hand gripped my hip. The other pressed between my shoulder blades, holding me down against the couch cushions. He fucked me in steady, powerful strokes that stayed just quiet enough. Every drive of his cock rocked me forward. I stared at the shape of Mia under her blanket only a few feet away and felt my own wetness slick the insides of my thighs with each thrust.

Mr. Hale’s rhythm grew harder. The hand on my hip slid around and found my clit again, rubbing in time with his dick. A third orgasm gathered under his fingers almost immediately. I shoved my face into the cushion to muffle the cry as it hit, my body clamping down around him while he kept thrusting through the waves.

He followed a few strokes later.

He buried himself deep and came with a low, strained groan against my back, flooding my cunt in thick hot spurts. I felt every pulse. The sensation prolonged the fading tremors until my arms nearly gave out. For a long moment he stayed inside me, breathing hard, one hand still resting on my hip like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Then the reality of the room settled back in.

Mia shifted again under her blanket. Both of us froze. Her breathing evened out once more. Mr. Hale pulled out carefully. His come slid down the inside of my thighs and onto the couch cushion. He sat back, dragged a hand across his face, and looked at the mess we had made of the place where his daughter had been sitting earlier that night.

I stayed on my knees for another second before reaching for my shorts and panties. My hands shook while I pulled them back on. The fabric clung to the wet evidence of what we had just done. Mr. Hale fixed his trousers in silence. The television light still flickered over the three of us—one asleep, two very much awake and marked by the line we had crossed.

He spoke first, voice quiet and rough.

“Go back to the other end. Try to sleep.”

I nodded, legs unsteady, and moved to the far side of the sectional near Mia. I pulled the throw blanket over myself and stared at the ceiling. His come continued to leak out of me into my panties with every small shift. Across the couch I heard him stand, collect his glass, and walk toward the kitchen again.

The house returned to its late-night quiet.

I closed my eyes and knew sleep would not come easily—not with the ache between my legs, the scent of him still on my skin, and the knowledge that morning would force both of us to face what we had done on this couch while his daughter slept only a few feet away.