All Chapters of Forbidden Daddy Desires: Steamy MM : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Why me? Seriously, what cosmic deity did I piss off in a past life to deserve this? I felt like I had a giant, invisible target painted on my back, and life was just taking turns throwing shit at it. The thought of not going to the gala flitted through my mind, but it was impossible. My scholarship was contingent on these kinds of community engagement events. Not showing up would be just as suspicious as showing up and acting like a freak. So I had to go. I had to pretend like my entire world wasn’t collapsing around me. I spent the day in a state of numb anxiety, trying to study for my art history midterm but just rereading the same paragraph about Baroque chiaroscuro over and over. All I could see was Alistair Sterling’s cold, assessing eyes in my mind’s eye. My phone buzzed again around noon. I flinched so hard I knocked my textbook off my bed. Mr. Sterling: Are you ignoring me, Julian? It would be a shame if these photographs were to… circulate. Among the faculty, perhaps. Or t

The world narrowed to the space between me and him. The plush rug under my feet, the scent of his expensive cologne mingling with the whiskey, the intense, unwavering gaze that held me captive. My mind was screaming at me to run, to get out, but my body was a traitor, humming with a sick, illicit excitement. I sank to my knees, the movements slow and deliberate, as if I were moving through water. The fabric of my shirt made sounds against my skin. I kept my eyes on him, watching as his own eyes darkened, as a muscle tightened in his jaw. He liked this. He liked my submission. “That’s it,” he breathed, his voice a low rumble. “So much better in person.” He set his glass down on a nearby table and closed the distance between us. He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He didn’t touch me, not yet. He just looked down, his gaze a physical weight. “Open your shirt,” he said. “I want to see all of you.” My hands, which had been resting

Time froze in that moment. The air in the penthouse bedroom was thick with the scent of sweat, lube, and Alistair's cologne. A heady, masculine musk had already seeped into my pores. I was on my stomach. My hips were arched up. Alistair's cock was buried to the hilt inside me. His weight pressed me into the mattress like a claim of ownership. My body was a live wire. Every nerve ending was alight with the relentless build toward release he had been teasing me with for what felt like hours. And now Leo, my Leo, the boy I had pined over, the one whose memory had gotten me into this mess, stood in the doorway. His face was drained of color. His mouth was slightly agape in shock. "Leo," Alistair said. His voice was steady, almost casual, as if we were not caught in the most compromising position imaginable. He did not pull out. If anything, his hips shifted slightly, grinding deeper into me. This sent an involuntary shudder through my body. A soft moan escaped my lips before I could clamp

Alistair was last. His thrusts were erratic now. He chased his peak. With a low, guttural groan, he buried himself deep. He filled me with his seed. The warmth spread inside me. It marked me as his. Theirs. In a way that felt permanent. We collapsed in a tangle of limbs. We were sweat-slicked and spent. Leo pulled me into his arms. His lips brushed my forehead in a tender gesture that contrasted the raw intensity of what we had just done. Alistair lay on my other side. His hand rested possessively on my thigh. "This changes everything," Leo murmured. His voice was sleepy but content. Alistair smiled. A predatory glint still lingered in his eyes. "Indeed it does, son. Indeed it does." As I lay there, sandwiched between father and son, my body aching in the best way, I realized the truth. I was no longer just fucked. I was utterly, irrevocably claimed. And god help me, I wanted more. The morning light filtered through the penthouse windows. It cast a golden hue over the disheveled b

Back in my apartment, which was so small I could touch the stove and my bed at the same time, I tore off my daytime costume. The glasses, which I didn’t even need, were tossed onto the counter. The oversized hoodie, my security blanket, was ripped over my head and kicked into a corner with my faded jeans. They smelled like fear, poverty, and the faint, dusty scent of the university library. I stood in front of the cracked mirror over my sink, looking at the pathetic ghost staring back at me. Pale skin, dark circles under my eyes from too much worry and not enough food. A face that was too thin, too serious. This was Adrian. The student. The shadow. The one who got hard for his professor and then ran away like a scared little bitch. Time to become someone else. Someone who wasn’t scared. The shower was first. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it, letting it beat against my tense shoulders. I scrubbed myself raw with a cheap sandalwood-scented soap, washing away the day, w