Best Friend’s Dad (3)

Sara

I chewed slowly on a piece of toast, nodding like I was actually listening to Layla go on about some TikTok drama. Her voice was all high-pitched excitement, something about her ex texting again, but I couldn't focus.

Not when her Dad wassitting right next to me at the table.

Wearing a plain black t-shirt, sipping coffee like he hadn't made me come with his mouth just hours ago. Like he hadn't made me ride him until my legs shook and my throat was raw from trying to keep quiet.

I shifted in my seat. Big mistake.

Because under the table, his hand slid higher up my thigh. Fingers warm. Teasing.

I nearly choked on my food.

"So I told him," Layla continued, totally oblivious, "If you're gonna cheat, at least don't be stupid enough to leave your location on—ugh, are you even listening?"

"Mm-hmm," I hummed, trying not to squirm as his fingers brushed against my panties—wet already.

He leaned in slightly, acting casual. "Eat your food," he murmured under his breath. "Be a good girl."

God.

I should've stopped him. Told him this was crazy. But my legs parted without question, opening for him like they knew better than I did.

His fingers slipped under the fabric, slow and unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping. My fork hovered midair. Layla didn't even notice.

"Anyway," she said, scrolling on her phone now, "He was never even that good in bed, so I don't know why I cared—"

I clenched around his fingers as they dipped inside me, curling just right. He pressed his thumb against my clit and rolled it.

"—but now he's begging to take me back," Layla finished, sipping her juice.

"That's... crazy," I managed to say.

Mr. Carson's lips brushed the rim of his mug, and when he looked at me, he smirked. The kind of smirk that said you'll be dripping down your thighs before breakfast is done.

He was right. And I was seconds from breaking in front of my best friend.

I couldn't take it anymore.

"I—uh, I'll grab some more juice," I muttered, pushing back from the table, hoping Layla wouldn't notice the shake in my voice.

She barely looked up. "Cool, grab me some too?"

"Sure," I breathed, practically fleeing into the kitchen.

I gripped the counter, trying to catch my breath. My thighs were sticky, aching. That man was going to ruin me—and I didn't even want to stop him.

I felt him before I saw him. His presence thickened the air.

Then his hand was on my waist. And the next second. Thud. He slammed me against the wall.

"Couldn't wait, could you?" he growled against my ear, yanking my shorts and panties down in one rough motion. I gasped, but it wasn't from fear.

It was need.

"I was going to behave," I panted, bracing my hands on the wall.

"No, you weren't." His c*ck pressed hard between my legs, thick and hot. "You walked in wearing my shirt last night. You sat at the table moaning on my fingers like a slut. Don't pretend you don't want this."

I moaned, just as he shoved inside me—deep and hard.

I bit down on my knuckle to stop the scream that nearly tore from my throat.

His hand clamped over my mouth. "Shhh. Your friend's in the living room."

That only made it hotter. He thrust into me, rough and fast, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing between the cabinets and the fridge. My cheek was pressed against the cool wall, and his grip was firm on my hips, guiding me back onto him like he owned my body.

"Mr. Carson—"

He smacked my ass. "What did I tell you about calling me that?"

"D-Daddy," I whispered, shuddering as I clenched around him.

"That's better."

He slammed into me again, and I knew I was close. So close.

"Come for me," he ordered, low and dark.

And I did—fast, hard, muffled into my own hand as I shook all over.

He pulled out slowly, breathing hard against the back of my neck. I was still braced against the wall, my body shaking from release. I turned around, lips parted, eyes glazed.

But he didn't give me time to recover.His fingers curled under my chin, tilting my face up to his.

"You've got ten seconds to catch your breath," he murmured, "And then you're going to show me how thankful you are."

I knew what he meant. And I didn't hesitate.

I sank slowly to my knees, fingers grazing over his thighs as I looked up at him through my lashes. His hand tangled in my hair, not rough—but firm enough to make my stomach flutter.

Then—

"Hey! You guys still in there?" Layla voice echoed through.

My eyes widened. I froze. He didn't.

Mr. Carson looked down at me with a smirk. "Don't make a sound," he mouthed.

Footsteps padded closer to the kitchen door.

"Everything okay?" she called again.

I cleared my throat, struggling to sound normal. "Y-yeah! Just spilled some juice. All good."

"Okay! I'm grabbing the remote." The footsteps faded.

I exhaled, heart pounding. He leaned down, brushing his thumb across my cheek.

"Lesson two," he said quietly, "You don't come into my kitchen looking that pretty and not expect to get used."

I swallowed hard, still on my knees, lips parted—ready for more. My hands slid over the hard length of him, molding him like I owned every inch. I loved the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed under my touch.

I traced circles on his skin, teasing him, letting my fingers linger where I knew he was most sensitive.

Then, when I couldn't wait any longer, I took him, tasting, warming, savoring every inch.

He groaned, gripping my hair gently, guiding me closer.

I moved with purpose, matching his rhythm as I pushed further, feeling the electricity between us pulse louder with every breath.

I kept my pace steady, eyes locked on his as he groaned low and deep. The tension coiled tighter in his body, every muscle twitching with need. I could feel him getting close, and I didn't want to waste a single second.

With one final strokes, I drove him over the edge—his breath hitched, his hands clenching my hair. When he finally came, I swallowed every drop, my lips sliding over him, tasting everything.

He shuddered beneath me, his fingers tightening in my hair as I lingered, licking him clean.When I finally pulled back, he was breathless, eyes dark with something raw and hungry.

Without a word, I stood, brushing my lips with the back of my hand, my skin still tingling. "Next time," he said, voice rough, "You better come prepared to beg."