Chapter 14: My Bestfriend’s dad 1

Her POV – Aria

I should’ve known the weekend would go sideways the second he walked through the door.

I was only here for a quick girls’ getaway with Chloe. Her dad was supposed to be out of town, busy with whatever important things divorced, rich, painfully attractive men did. But instead of finding an empty house and a stocked wine fridge, we were greeted by him—Grayson Carter, in the flesh.

Tall, broad, with that salt-and-pepper hair tousled like he’d just stepped off a yacht. His suit jacket hung over one shoulder, his shirt open at the collar, exposing just enough chest to make my brain short-circuit.

He froze when he saw me, eyebrows raising slightly. His eyes dragged over me—slow, sharp, calculated.

“Aria,” he said, voice deep and smooth, like aged whiskey. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Surprise.”

Chloe hugged him, oblivious. I stood there, heat rising up my neck, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. I hadn’t seen him in years. But somehow, he’d only gotten hotter. Like the universe had given him an upgrade just to test my self-control.

He was my best friend’s dad. Taboo. Off-limits. Absolutely not the kind of man I should be thinking about late at night. But my body hadn’t gotten the memo.

Dinner was easy enough. Chloe chatted endlessly, filling the silence while I avoided looking at Mr. Carter—Grayson—too much. But he noticed me. I felt it. Every time I laughed, every time I tucked my hair behind my ear, I caught the flicker of his gaze. Lingering.

By the time dessert was done, Chloe got a text and groaned.

“Ugh. I forgot I promised Megan I’d help her set up for her sister’s baby shower tomorrow morning. She’ll kill me if I don’t show.”

“So go,” I said. “I’m good here.”

“You sure? I might be gone overnight.”

I nodded, trying not to glance across the table at her father.

He was sipping wine, jaw tight, one arm slung over the back of the chair. There was nothing inappropriate about it. And yet… his eyes were on me. Steady. Intent. My skin prickled under the weight of it.

She left within the hour.

And then it was just us.

I wasn’t trying to be seductive when I padded into the kitchen later in one of Chloe’s oversized sleep shirts. I just wanted tea. Something to calm the way my body buzzed with energy, with awareness.

He was already there. Shirtless. Leaning against the counter in gray sweatpants, muscles relaxed but alert. A glass of scotch in his hand.

I froze.

He didn’t.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“No.” I reached for a mug, doing everything I could not to look at the way his chest flexed as he sipped. “Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

“I’m usually up late. Old habits.”

His voice was low and thick, laced with something heavier. The tension in the room shifted—warmer, heavier, like the air was made of steam. I should’ve walked away. I should’ve gotten my tea and left.

But instead I leaned against the island across from him.

“What kind of habits?” I asked.

His eyes darkened. “Dangerous ones.”

My pulse skipped. “Like what?”

He took a step closer. “Like letting things happen even when they shouldn’t.”

My breath hitched. His gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, trailing down my bare legs to where the hem of the shirt clung to the top of my thighs. When his eyes met mine again, I was no longer imagining the heat.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I whispered.

He didn’t smile. “And yet I do.”

I should’ve run. I should’ve turned around and locked myself in Chloe’s room until the shame wore off. But I didn’t. Because I wanted it—wanted him. I always had. He was the man I used to daydream about when I was too young to understand why my stomach flipped every time he picked me up from school with his rolled-up sleeves and that unreadable look.

Now I wasn’t a girl anymore. And he wasn’t just a fantasy.

I took a step forward.

“You’re Chloe’s dad,” I said, like that would save us from what was already unraveling.

“I know.”

Another step. We were barely a foot apart now.

“This is wrong.”

“So stop me.”

His hand came up, fingers brushing my cheek so softly it made me shiver. My body leaned into his touch like it had a mind of its own.

“You’re too young,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint. “Too tempting.”

“And you’re too dangerous,” I whispered.

Then his lips were on mine.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was claiming—rough, hungry, like he’d been holding it in for years. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me against him as his mouth devoured mine. I gasped, and he took the chance to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against mine in a wet, sinful dance.

My knees buckled, but he held me firm, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter. The cold surface beneath me was nothing compared to the heat between us.

His mouth trailed down my neck, slow kisses and bites that made me whimper.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against my skin.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, begging without words.

His hands slid up my thighs, bunching the shirt higher and higher until I was bare before him, aching and ready. He paused, eyes devouring me like I was the finest thing he’d ever seen.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said hoarsely. “More than I should.”

“Then do it.”

He groaned—low, primal—and in the next breath, his mouth was between my thighs, licking and sucking until I was crying out, shaking, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. He tasted me like a starving man, pulling orgasm after orgasm from me until I collapsed against him, dazed and breathless.

When he stood, his lips were wet with me, eyes dark and full of fire.

But instead of taking it further, he stepped back.

“We can’t,” he muttered. “Not tonight.”

My heart stuttered. “Why?”

“Because if I take you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

I bit my lip, legs still trembling.

He turned and walked away, leaving me panting on the counter, shirt twisted around my hips, my body still echoing with his touch.

And I knew in that moment—

This was only the beginning.