Best Friend’s Dad (4)

Carson

Her scent hit me the second I passed the guest bathroom. Sweet. Warm. Wet.

I should've kept walking, Instead, I pushed the door open. She was at the sink, toothbrush in her mouth, wearing that tiny tank top with no bra, nipples hard beneath the thin fabric.

She froze when she saw me in the mirror. But she didn't flinch. She just stared—mouth slightly open, daring me.

"You left the door unlocked," I said, stepping in and closing it behind me. "That's a dangerous habit."

I didn't wait for permission. My hands were already on her hips, dragging her against me as I pressed my mouth to her neck. Her toothbrush hit the sink with a soft clink.

"You want to be caught, don't you?" I growled, my hand sliding under her tank and grabbing her bare breast. "You like playing dirty in my house."

She moaned low, rocking back into me. "You're the one who walked in."

I spun her around, lifted her to sit on the edge of the sink, and shoved the tank up to her collarbone. Her legs spread without hesitation, panties already soaked.

"Say it," I demanded, pushing a finger inside her.

"I want it."

"You want what?"

"I want your cock," she gasped, breath shuddering as I added a second finger. "Right here."

I dropped to my knees without another word.

She gripped the edge of the sink, head falling back, a soft gasp leaving her lips as I tasted just how badly she wanted this.

Wanted me.

I didn't rush it. Didn't speak. I let my hands do the talking—learning every inch of her, memorizing the shape of her thighs as they trembled under my touch.

When I finally rose to my feet, her breath hitched. Her eyes met mine—wide, glazed, wanting.

I brushed a thumb over her lips, and she kissed it. Slow. Intentional.

"You're not innocent," I said, my voice hoarse. "You've been tempting me since the minute you walked through that door."

Just as I slid my hand between her thighs, we both froze at the sound of footsteps—then Layla's voice.

"Sara?"

Sara's eyes flew open, panic flashing in them. I didn't stop.

"I'm in here in the guest bathroom!" she called quickly, breath catching in her throat. "Brushing my teeth!"

She bit her lip, trying to muffle the moan as I went deeper, my fingers curling just right. Her head hit the mirror lightly, hips twitching.

From the other side of the door, Layla answered, "Alright. I'm taking out the trash. I left the pasta in the microwave—take it out for me?"

Sara clutched my wrist, nodding quickly though her lips trembled. "Yeah," she managed, voice shaking. "I got it."

Layla's footsteps faded afterwards. She has left.

"You lied so easily," I whispered in her ear, lips brushing her skin. "Maybe you're not so sweet after all."

She shivered at my words, her breath hitching, her body grinding against my hand like she needed more, even if her best friend was just outside moments ago.

"Say it," I whispered, dragging my mouth along her jaw. "Say you like sneaking around. Say you like being touched while she's in the other room."

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink again, knuckles white. "I... I like it," she breathed.

"Good," I said, curling my fingers inside her just enough to make her legs tremble again. "Because I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

Her tank top was still bunched up, her skin warm under my palm as I slid my hand higher to cup her breast again. Her moan was soft, barely there—but I felt it in the way she moved, in the way she leaned into me.

Then, I stepped back just slightly, eyes locked on hers.

"Go take out the pasta," I said, voice husky. "Act normal. Then come to my room."

She blinked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

"And if I don't?" she asked, challenging.

I smirked. "Then I'll come get you. And this time, I won't be quiet about it."

**

I leaned back in the leather chair, the door to my study firmly shut, blinds drawn. I'd told her to come to me after breakfast. That was the deal. But she didn't.

Instead, Layla had dragged her out—shopping, probably. Laughing like nothing had happened. Like Sara hadn't been moaning my name against the bathroom sink just hours ago.

Goddammit.

I shifted in my seat, trying to breathe through the heat crawling up my spine. My jaw clenched. I was losing patience. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

The image of her played behind my eyes—those teasing eyes, that innocent smile hiding a very wicked girl. The way she gripped the sink. The way her body had responded to my touch like she was made for it.

I ran a hand over my face, then lower, pressure building in the pit of my stomach. It had been a long time since anyone got under my skin like this. Sara made it impossible to think straight.

And if she didn't walk through that door soon...

I swore under my breath and let my head fall back, frustration thick in my chest. I couldn't wait much longer.

Just when I was about to lose my shit, the sound of the door opening echoed through the room.

I didn't stop. Couldn't. My hand was wrapped tight around my cock, and the image of her on her knees—mouth slick,—was still burning behind my lids.

As if she knew I was losing it, she appeared through the door chest rising fast like she'd run all the way upstairs. Her eyes dropped to my lap. No shame. Just that wicked, knowing smile.

"Layla forgot something at the store," she said, voice breathless. "She went back. I told her I will come home first."

That smile. That tone. She thought I'd be pleased. But I wasn't.

"You were supposed to come to me after breakfast."

Her smile faded a little, replaced with something heavier. Need. Anticipation.

"You disobeyed me, Sara.You think I'd let that go?"

She didn't answer. I was already walking toward her.

"Strip," I said.

Her breath caught.

"You're going to learn what happens when you make me wait."

She reached for the hem of her top and pulled it over her head, letting it fall silently to the floor.

I didn't move. I watched.

Every inch of her revealed skin was a reminder of the control I was trying so hard to hold onto. And every second she stood there, vulnerable and ready to obey, made it harder.

"You like testing me," I said looking at her. "But you never think about the consequences."

She took a step closer. "Maybe I do," she whispered.

"Get on the couch."

And she obeyed without a word.

I followed, slowly, my mind already calculating how long I'd make her stay there. How long I'd draw out her punishment.

Because if she wanted to test limits, then I'd make sure she remembered exactly who she was testing.

I stood in front of her, watching the way her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her cheek as I held her face. "You've been driving me crazy all morning."

Her lips parted slightly, and I could see the flicker of hesitation before she spoke. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

"Don't apologize," I interrupted, my voice softer now. "But next time, you follow my orders."

She nodded, eyes locked on mine. "Yes, sir."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "You sure know how to say sorry... but that won't stop you from being punished."

I reached for my pants zipper. "You're going to show me how obedient you really are."  I growled, sliding my hand between her legs as I guided her to take me.

Her breath hitched, but she obeyed—slow, careful at first, then with more fire.

I kept my eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of emotion—need, hesitation, surrender.

"This is what happens when you don't listen," I murmured, "And trust me, you'll remember it."

She didn't say a word, just kept moving, her tongue sliding over my hardened cock. Proving she belonged right here with me. And fuck it, nothing will stop me from fucking her senselessly on my office couch. Layla around or not.