Craving My Best Friend's Father
“I’m good, chill.”
“You can’t just be good,” she slurred, leaning in to drag her tongue along the shell of his ear. “You’re so fucking handsome. Am I not hot enough? My pussy is so tight, you’ll love it, I swear.”
At six-three with jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and the kind of face that turned heads, Asher was used to this kind of attention. That didn't mean he wanted it tonight.
He hissed in irritation and pushed her back, finally freeing himself enough to look across the room.