Still Inside Me

His Claim Lingered While I Pretend To Be Innocent

The kitchen smelled like garlic and Chloe’s vanilla candle obsession. Laughter bounced off the white subway tiles—Lila’s bright cackle, Chloe’s softer one—and some pop song I didn’t recognize thumped quietly from the Bluetooth speaker on the counter. I stood at the island, pretending to scroll through my phone, pretending the ache between my legs wasn’t still pulsing like a second heartbeat.

My thighs stuck together a little when I shifted. Slick. Warm. His.

I pressed them tighter, crossed my ankles, tried to look normal. Normal twenty-two-year-old visiting her big sister and her best friend for a casual Friday night hang. Not the girl who’d just let Chloe’s dad fuck her senseless on his desk upstairs while everyone else sipped rosé and argued about which takeout place had the best pad thai.

Lila glanced over from where she was pouring more wine. “You okay, Evie? You look flushed.”

I forced a smile, the kind that showed teeth but didn’t reach my eyes. “Just hot up there helping Mr. Harlan move some boxes. Attic dust, you know?”

Chloe snorted, twirling a strand of her dark hair. “Dad’s office is basically a fire hazard. He’s been ‘organizing’ it since Mom left. Good luck getting him to actually throw anything away.”

I nodded like that was fascinating. Inside, my stomach flipped at the mention of his name. Mr. Harlan. Even thinking it now felt obscene. Like saying it out loud would make the whole room smell like sex and guilt.

He hadn’t come down yet.

I could still feel the ghost of his fingers—rough from years of whatever rich-guy hobbies he had—digging into my hips. The way his breath had hitched when I clenched around him. The low, broken sound he made when he came, like he was furious at himself for losing control and even more furious that he couldn’t stop.

I swallowed hard. Took a sip of the wine Chloe shoved into my hand. It tasted like nothing.

The stairs creaked.

Everyone looked up as he walked in.

Tall, broad shoulders under that charcoal button-down he’d rolled to the elbows. Silver threading through his dark hair like someone had dragged moonlight across it. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Eyes the color of storm clouds right before lightning.

He looked perfectly composed. Calm. The picture of a respectable single dad in his mid-forties who coached Little League once and still got invited to every neighborhood barbecue.

But I saw it.

The faint flush high on his cheekbones. The way his hand flexed once at his side like he was remembering the shape of me. The quick, burning glance he flicked my way—gone in half a second, but it scorched anyway.

“Hey, girls,” he said, voice low and even. “Smells good in here.”

Chloe rolled her eyes affectionately. “We haven’t even ordered yet, Dad. You’re just hungry.”

“Always,” he answered, and fuck, the way he said it made my knees lock.

He moved to the fridge, pulled out a beer, cracked it open with that easy flick of his wrist. Took a long pull. I watched the column of his throat work, watched the way his lips wrapped around the bottle neck, and suddenly I was back upstairs—his mouth on my neck, teeth scraping, whispering things no father should ever say to his daughter’s friend.

Lila nudged me. “Earth to Evie. You zoning out again?”

I blinked. “Sorry. Long week.”

She laughed. “College will do that. You need to come home more. We miss your face.”

I smiled weakly. If she knew why I’d really started coming home every other weekend, she’d probably never speak to me again.

Harlan leaned against the counter opposite me, casual, like he hadn’t just had his cock buried inside me twenty minutes ago. Like he wasn’t still leaking out of me right now.

“You need help with anything?” he asked the room, but his eyes were on me.

Chloe waved him off. “We’re good. Go watch your boring documentaries or whatever.”

He smirked—just a tiny lift at the corner of his mouth—and my core clenched so hard I had to grip the edge of my cloth.

“I’ll be in the living room if anyone needs me,” he said. Then, quieter, almost only for me: “Evie, if you want, I can show you that book I mentioned. The one on urban planning. Might help with your thesis.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Lila perked up. “Oh yeah, Evie’s doing that city design thing for her senior project. You should totally pick his brain, Ev. He knows all the rich-people zoning loopholes.”

I wanted to die. I wanted to climb him right there on the kitchen floor.

“Sure,” I managed. “Maybe later.”

His gaze lingered a bit too long. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Then he walked out, leaving the air thinner somehow.

Chloe started scrolling DoorDash. Lila ranted about her latest Tinder disaster. I nodded at the right times, laughed when I was supposed to, but every nerve in my body was tuned to the low murmur of the TV in the next room. To the man sitting there pretending to watch it.

Half an hour later, the food arrived. We ate cross-legged on the living room rug because Chloe said the dining table was “too formal.” Harlan sat in his leather armchair, plate balanced on one knee, looking like he belonged in a magazine spread titled “Divorced DILF Energy.”

I sat with my back against the couch, facing him. Bad idea. Every time I looked up, he was there—watching me over the rim of his beer when the girls were distracted. Not obvious. Just enough to make me squirm.

At one point Lila and Chloe got into a heated debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza. They were loud. Animated. Not paying attention.

That’s when he did it.

He spread his thighs just a fraction wider. Rested one hand on his knee. The other lifted his beer slowly, deliberately. His eyes locked on mine.

Then—fuck me—he dragged the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, wiping away an invisible drop. Slow, purposeful.

My breath caught.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

I pressed my thighs together again. Harder. The dampness between them was unbearable now. I could feel him still inside me, the sticky reminder of what we’d done. What we were still doing, even here in a room full of people who loved us.

His gaze dropped for one second—to where my skirt had ridden up just enough to show the tops of my thighs—then flicked back up. Darker now. Hungrier.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard.

Lila turned to me suddenly. “Evie, you’re being so quiet tonight. What’s up?”

I tore my eyes away from him. “Nothing. Just… tired.”

Harlan’s voice came smooth. “She’s been helping me upstairs. Heavy lifting. Probably wore her out.”

Chloe laughed. “Dad, stop making her do manual labor. She’s a guest.”

“She’s family,” he said, and the F word landed like a slap and a caress at the same time.

I stared at my plate. Noodles. I couldn’t even taste them.

After dinner, Lila and Chloe decided to put on some reality show. They curled up on the couch with popcorn and blankets. I excused myself to the bathroom—said I needed to freshen up.

I didn’t go to the bathroom.

I went upstairs.

The hallway was dim. His office door was cracked open, soft golden light spilling out.

I didn’t knock.

I pushed it wider.

He was sitting at the desk again. The same desk. Papers scattered like nothing had happened. But the leather blotter was still crooked. My panties—black lace—were folded neatly on the corner like a trophy.

He looked up slowly. No surprise. Just heat.

“Close the door,” he said.

I did. The click sounded too loud.

He leaned back in the chair, legs spread, hands resting on the arms like a king waiting for tribute.

“Come here.”

My feet moved before my brain caught up.

When I was close enough, he reached out, hooked two fingers in the waistband of my skirt, and tugged me between his thighs.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I know.”

He slid one hand up the back of my thigh, under the skirt, until his palm cupped me from behind. Wet. Swollen. Still messy from earlier.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re dripping down your legs.”

I whimpered.

He pressed two fingers inside me without warning—slow, deep—and I grabbed his shoulders to stay upright.

“Look at me.”

I did.

His eyes were black now.

“You think about this all night?” he asked, curling his fingers until I gasped. “Sitting there with my cum leaking out of you while your sister laughed three feet away?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good girl.”

He pumped once, twice, then pulled his fingers free. Brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean while holding my gaze.

My knees buckled.

He caught me, pulled me onto his lap so I straddled him. My skirt bunched around my hips. His erection strained against his slacks, hot and thick against my bare core.

“We can’t,” I said, even as I rocked against him. “They’re right downstairs.”

“I know.”

His hands gripped my ass, grinding me down harder.

“But you’re gonna come on my fingers again anyway, aren’t you?”

I nodded, frantic.

He slid his hand between us, thumb circling my clit while two fingers plunged back inside. The wet sounds were obscene. Loud in the quiet room.

“Quiet, baby,” he growled against my throat. “Or I stop.”

I bit his shoulder to muffle the moan.

He worked me fast—too fast—ruthless, like he wanted to punish me for existing. For tempting him. For making him this weak.

I shattered in under two minutes, shaking, clenching, soaking his hand. He didn’t stop until I was whimpering from overstimulation.

When I finally slumped against him, panting, he kissed my temple. Soft. Almost tender.

Then he lifted me off his lap, set me on my feet, smoothed my skirt down like a gentleman.

“Go back down,” he said quietly. “Act normal.”

I stared at him, dazed. “And you?”

He adjusted himself with a grimace. “I’ll be down in a minute. After I calm the fuck down.”

I nodded. Turned to leave.

At the door, I paused.

“Mr. Harlan?”

“Yeah?”

I looked back over my shoulder. “Next time… don’t make me wait so long.”

His laugh was low. Dangerous.

“Careful what you ask for, little girl.”

I walked out anyway.

Down the stairs.

Back to the couch.

Back to pretending.

But the taste of him lingered on my tongue, the ache between my legs, a constant reminder.

And I knew—deep in my ruined, reckless heart—that this was only the beginning.