Sinning with My Bestie's Dad

Ashley

My palms were still pressed against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Completely unlike my own racing pulse.

"Ashley." His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my hands. "You okay?"

I jerked backward like I'd been electrocuted. "Fine. I'm fine. Sorry, I was looking for the bathroom and..."

"This one's about to be occupied." Arthur gestured vaguely behind him. The bathroom door stood open, steam still lingering from what must have been a recent shower. Or maybe he was about to take one. "I just finished at the home gym."

No shit.

His sweatpants hung obscenely low on his hips, revealing that V of muscle that pointed downward like a goddamn arrow to paradise. Gray fabric clung to his thighs, darkened with sweat in places. And God, the way they outlined everything.

Everything.

My eyes dropped before I could stop them.

The bulge was right there. Thick. Prominent. The fabric did nothing to hide the shape of him, the weight. I could see the clear outline of his cock, heavy and substantial, even soft. My mouth went dry imagining what it would look like hard. Thick and veined, the head flushed dark, straining toward his stomach...

"I can use the master bathroom in my bedroom." Arthur's voice snapped me back to reality. "You go ahead and use this one."

"Oh. Thanks. I don't want to..."

"It's no problem." He grabbed a towel from somewhere and slung it over his shoulder. The motion made his biceps flex, muscles still pumped from whatever brutal workout he'd just finished. "I need to shower anyway. Might as well do it in there."

Shower.

The word echoed in my head as Arthur walked past me, his body radiating heat. I watched him disappear down the hallway toward his bedroom, those sweatpants clinging to his ass.

I stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door.

My hands shook as I gripped the sink. This was insane. Completely insane.

But my brain wouldn't stop.

What did his cock look like when it was hard?

The thought slammed into me with brutal clarity. I'd seen the outline through his swim trunks, through those sweatpants. Thick. Heavy. But what would it look like fully erect?

My imagination supplied the details with vivid, obscene precision.

Thick. God, so thick my fingers wouldn't wrap around it completely. Long enough that I'd struggle to take it all. The head would be dark, flushed with blood, maybe leaking already. Veins running along the shaft, pulsing with his heartbeat. Dark hair at the base, his balls heavy and full.

And right now, he was in the shower.

The image exploded in my mind before I could stop it.

Arthur under the spray, water cascading down his chest. His hand would wrap around his cock, stroking slowly at first. His head would tilt back, lips parting slightly as pleasure rolled through him. Those abs would flex with each movement of his hand.

He'd stroke faster. Grip tighter. His other hand braced against the tile wall while he fucked into his fist. Water would stream over his shoulders, down his back, catching in the curve of his spine.

His cock would be magnificent. Fully hard, jutting from his body, angry and desperate. He'd grunt, that deep sound echoing in the shower. His hips would thrust forward, chasing his orgasm.

Then he'd come. Thick ropes of cum would paint the shower wall, his abs, dripping down his thighs. His whole body would tense, muscles straining, face contorted in pleasure.

Heat pooled between my legs, slick and demanding.

No. No, I couldn't do this.

But my hand was already sliding down my stomach.

This was Chelsea's house. Chelsea's bathroom. Her father was down the hall in the shower, and I was about to touch myself thinking about him.

Wrong. This was so fucking wrong.

My fingers slipped beneath my jeans anyway.

I fumbled with the button, shoving the denim down my thighs along with my panties. The cool air hit my overheated skin. I spread my legs slightly as I leaned back against the sink.

One touch and I nearly gasped. I was soaked. Absolutely drenched from nothing but imagining Arthur's cock.

My fingers circled my clit, and the bathroom tilted.

The fantasy slammed into me with brutal clarity.

Arthur's hands gripped my hips, spinning me around in the shower. Water pounded against my back as he pinned me to the tile wall, his body crushing mine from behind. His cock pressed against my ass, thick and insistent.

"You've been teasing me." His voice was rough in my ear, nothing like the polite businessman. "Walking around my house in those tight jeans. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Mr. Ford, I..."

His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. "That's right. Say my name while I fuck you."

His other hand slid between my thighs from behind, fingers finding me wet and ready. He growled, the sound vibrating through my back.

"Fuck, you're dripping. How long have you been thinking about this?"

"Since I was-"

"Don't." His fingers pushed inside me, two thick digits stretching me open. "Don't tell me how long you've wanted this. Don't make me think about you touching yourself, imagining my cock."

But I had. God, I had.

His fingers pumped brutally, curling against that spot inside me that made my legs shake. Water streamed over us both, making everything slick and desperate.

"Please," I begged. "Please, I need..."

"You need my cock." He withdrew his fingers, and I felt the thick head of him pressing against my entrance from behind. "Beg for it."

"Please fuck me. Please, Mr. Ford, I need you inside me."

He slammed forward.

My fingers worked faster, harder, mimicking the brutal pace in my imagination.

The stretch was overwhelming. He was too thick, too much, splitting me open as he buried himself to the hilt. His hips pinned me to the wall, giving me nowhere to escape the fullness.

"Take it," he growled against my neck. "Take every fucking inch."

He pulled back and thrust again, setting a punishing rhythm. Each stroke hit deep, forcing gasps from my throat. The shower wall was cold against my breasts, my nipples hard from the contrast. Behind me, Arthur's body was all heat and muscle and raw power.

"You're so tight." His hand wrapped around my throat, holding me still while he pounded into me. "This pussy was made for my cock. Feel how perfectly you take me."

I did. God, I felt everything. The thick drag of him against my walls, the way my body clenched around him, desperate to keep him inside. His balls slapped against my clit with each thrust, sending sparks through my core.

"Harder," I gasped. "Please, harder."

He obliged. His hips snapped forward with bruising force, fucking me into the tile. Water made everything slippery, our bodies sliding together with obscene sounds. His grip on my throat tightened just enough to make my head spin.

"You're going to come on my cock." His voice was a command. "Right here in my shower, where anyone could hear you. Come for me, Ashley."

My fingers circled my clit frantically, chasing the orgasm building in my core. In my mind, Arthur's cock drove into me relentlessly, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge.

"Mr. Ford, I'm going to..."

"Do it. Come all over my cock."

The orgasm crashed through me like a tidal wave.

I bit down on my hand to muffle the cry, my body convulsing as pleasure ripped through every nerve. My fingers worked through the waves, drawing it out until I was gasping and shaking against the sink.

Reality slammed back.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks. My jeans and panties pooled around my ankles.

I'd just masturbated in Chelsea's bathroom.

Thinking about her father.

While he showered down the hall.

Guilt crashed over me so hard I nearly threw up.

What the fuck was wrong with me? This wasn't some harmless fantasy anymore. I'd actually done it. Actually touched myself in their house, imagining Arthur Ford fucking me against a shower wall.

I cleaned up quickly, hands still trembling as I pulled my jeans back on. Splashed cold water on my face. Tried to make myself look less like I'd just had the most intense orgasm of my life.

Chelsea's voice drifted from her room as I emerged. "There you are! I was about to send a search party."

"Sorry." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I think I'm getting a migraine. The flight earlier this week must have messed with me more than I realized."

"Oh no." She sat up, genuine concern crossing her face. "Do you need Advil or something?"

"I have some at home. I should probably just go lie down."

"You sure? You can crash here if you want."

Absolutely fucking not.

"I'm good. Really. I'll text you later."

I fled before she could protest further, practically running down the stairs and out to my car. I didn't look back at the house. Didn't let myself think about what I'd done.

I just drove.

Nearly a week passed before I could face going back.

I threw myself into studying, burying myself in textbooks and notes until my eyes burned. Convinced myself distance would fix this. That if I just stayed away long enough, the fantasies would fade.

They didn't.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Arthur dripping wet from the pool. Felt the phantom heat of his chest under my palms. Heard that deep voice saying my name.

I fucked myself with my fingers three more times that week, thinking about him, wishing they were his cock instead. Hated myself a little more each time.

But I needed the money. Student loans didn't care about my moral crisis. So Thursday afternoon, I drove back to the Ford estate, gripping the steering wheel and repeating a mantra: professional, distant, completely normal tutoring session.

The driveway was chaos.

A catering truck blocked half the circular drive. Two guys hauled cases of beer toward the backyard. Speakers the size of refrigerators sat stacked near the garage. String lights were being draped across trees by someone on a ladder.

What the fuck?

I parked behind a van with "PARTY RENTALS" emblazoned across the side and made my way inside. The front door stood wide open. More people streamed through carrying ice chests, folding tables, and what looked like an entire bar setup.

The study was empty. No Tyler. No textbooks. Just the faint scent of lemon polish and silence.

"Ashley!"

I turned to find Chelsea jogging down the stairs in cutoff denim shorts that barely covered her ass and a white tank top. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, makeup already done, even though it was only four in the afternoon.

"What's going on?"

"Oh shit." She smacked her forehead. "I forgot to text you. Tyler's session is canceled today."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm throwing a party tonight." She grinned like this explained everything. "One of my legendary ragers. Everyone's coming. Like, everyone, everyone."

"You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?"

"I know, I know. I'm the worst." Chelsea grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the kitchen where more people were unloading bottles. "But since you're here anyway, you should totally stay. It'll be fun."

"I have studying to do."

"Bullshit. You study constantly. Live a little." She snagged two water bottles from the counter and tossed me one. "Come on."