Chapter 93 MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND
Chapter 93 MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND
MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND
HARPER HAYES (FL) - 21YRS
ROMAN BLACKWOOD (ML) - 43YRS
HARPER’S POV
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, smoothing down the short black pencil skirt that clings to my hips like a second skin. It’s professional enough for the office, but the way it stops mid-thigh and rides up with every step makes it feel deliciously risky. I pair it with a crisp white blouse, leaving the top two buttons undone so a hint of black lace bra peeks through. My long blonde hair cascades in loose waves over my shoulders, and I swipe on red lipstick that makes my full lips pop against my pale skin. At twenty-one, I know exactly how I look—curvy, confident, irresistible. And today, every bit of it is for him.
Roman Blackwood. My dad’s best friend since college, business partner for the last fifteen years, and the man who’s haunted my fantasies since I hit puberty. He’s forty-three now, divorced, all sharp edges and controlled power. Tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his tailored suits perfectly, dark hair with those silver streaks at the temples that make him look even more distinguished, and gray eyes that can pin you in place with one look. He’s always been around—family barbecues, holidays, graduations—but the way he watches me lately feels different. Hungrier.
This summer internship at Blackwood & Hayes is my chance. Dad thinks it’s to teach me responsibility. I know better.
I arrive at the glass tower early, the lobby still quiet. My heels click on the marble as I ride the elevator to the executive floor. Roman’s office dominates the corner, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The door is ajar, and I peek in. He’s at his desk, focused on his screen, tie already loosened, sleeves rolled up to expose those veined forearms. My mouth goes dry.
I knock softly. “Morning, Roman. Dad asked me to drop off the quarterly reports.”
He looks up, and his eyes darken as they sweep over me—from my heels up my legs, lingering on the skirt, then to the open buttons of my blouse. He leans back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. “Come in, Harper. Close the door.”
I do, the click loud in the silence. I walk to his desk, hips swaying more than necessary, and lean forward to set the folder down, giving him a clear view down my blouse. My breasts strain against the lace, nipples already hardening under his gaze.
He doesn’t touch the folder. “You’re dressed… differently today.”
I straighten slowly, meeting his eyes. “Do you like it?”
His jaw tightens. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
I step closer, perching on the edge of his desk, legs crossed so the skirt rides higher. “Maybe I like danger.”
He stands, towering over me, close enough that I smell his cologne—woody, masculine. His hand rises, hesitating, then brushes a strand of hair from my face. Electricity sparks where he touches.
“Harper,” he warns, voice low. “Your father—”
“Isn’t here.” I lean in, my breath mingling with his. “And I’m not a kid anymore.”
His control frays. He grips my chin, tilting my face up, and crashes his mouth onto mine. The kiss is brutal, hungry—his tongue invades, claiming, tasting. I moan into it, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him between my legs.
He groans, hands sliding down to grip my thighs, spreading them wider. His hardness presses against my core through his pants—thick, hot. I grind against him shamelessly, already soaked.
He breaks the kiss, breathing ragged. “We shouldn’t.”
But his hands betray him, pushing my skirt higher, fingers tracing the edge of my lace thong. He finds me drenched, growling as he strokes my slick folds.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he mutters, circling my clit slowly.
I arch into his touch, whimpering. “For you. Always for you.”
He sinks to his knees, yanking my thong aside. His mouth descends—hot, wet tongue lapping my pussy in long, slow strokes. He sucks my clit gently at first, then harder, fingers plunging inside me, curling to hit that spot that makes my thighs shake.
The office fills with wet sounds—his tongue fucking me, my juices coating his chin. I grip his hair, riding his face, chasing release.
He edges me mercilessly—bringing me right to the brink, then pulling back, blowing cool air on my throbbing clit until I beg.
“Please, Roman—let me come.”
“Not yet.” He stands, unzipping his pants. His cock springs free—long, thick, veined, the head angry red and leaking precum. He strokes it once, rubbing the tip through my folds, teasing my entrance.
I wrap my legs around him, trying to pull him in. He resists, eyes locked on mine.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I need your cock inside me. Please.”
He thrusts in slow, stretching me inch by inch. The fullness is overwhelming—I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. He bottoms out, pausing to let me adjust, then starts moving—deep, powerful strokes that rock the desk.
Papers scatter, a coffee mug tips. He fucks me hard, one hand on my throat, the other rubbing my clit in tight circles.
I come first—hard, clenching around him, juices squirting as I scream his name.
He pulls out just in time, stroking himself to spill thick ropes of cum across my pussy and thighs, marking me hot and sticky.
We pant, staring at each other. Cum drips from my folds, pooling on his desk.
He steps back, tucking himself away. “This can’t happen again.”
But the way he looks at me—hungry, conflicted—tells me it will.
The lake house sits nestled in pines, the water lapping gently at the private dock. Dad suggests the weekend getaway to “unwind,” oblivious to the text I sent Roman last night: “Lake house. Friday night. Come alone.”
He arrives as the sun dips low, his black SUV pulling up the gravel drive. I wait on the porch in tiny denim shorts and a red bikini top, skin glowing from the day’s sun, hair tousled from the breeze.
He steps out, dressed casually in jeans and a fitted black tee that hugs his chest. His eyes rake over me, darkening.
“Harper,” he says, voice tight. “This is a bad idea.”
I descend the steps slowly, hips swaying. “Or the best one we’ve had.”
He resists, staying by the car. “Your father trusts me with his company. With you.”
I close the distance, pressing my body against his. “He doesn’t have to know.”
His hands clench at his sides, fighting the pull. I rise on tiptoes, lips brushing his ear. “I’ve been wet all day thinking about you.”
He groans, hands finally gripping my waist, pulling me hard against him. The kiss explodes—teeth clashing, tongues battling. He backs me into the house, kicking the door shut.
Inside, he pins me to the wall, hands everywhere—squeezing my ass, yanking my bikini top down to expose my breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting gently, making me cry out.
I tug his shirt off, nails raking his muscled back. He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the kitchen island, setting me on the cold granite.
Shorts gone in seconds—no panties again. He spreads my legs wide, dropping to feast.
His tongue is relentless—lapping my clit, plunging deep, fingers stretching me. The island echoes with wet slurps and my moans. He edges me again—three times—until tears of frustration streak my cheeks.
“Roman, please—fuck me.”
He stands, jeans shoved down, cock hard and ready. He teases my entrance, rubbing the head through my slickness.
“You’re begging now?”
“Yes—need you inside me.”
He thrusts in hard, filling me completely. I wrap my legs around him, heels digging into his ass as he pounds me on the counter.
The angle is perfect—he hits deep, grinding against my clit with every slam. Sweat slicks our skin, the island rocking.
I come first, clenching around him, but he flips me over, bending me across it. He enters from behind, hand fisting my hair, the other slapping my ass lightly.
We fuck through another orgasm—mine, then his pulling out to paint my back and ass with hot cum.
But the night is young. In the bedroom, we slow down—he lays me on the sheets, kissing every inch, licking his own cum from my skin before sliding back inside.
He fucks me missionary, eyes locked, deep and intimate. I come again, milking him until he spills inside this time—bare, hot pulses filling me.
As he pulls out slowly, his cum leaks from my pussy, thick and warm, dripping onto the sheets. He watches, fingers pushing it back in possessively.
We lie tangled, but he pulls away at dawn. “This ends when we leave.”
I smile into his chest. It won’t.
Back in the city, the office feels charged. Dad’s around more, meetings constant, but Roman avoids my eyes, communicates through curt emails. The resistance only makes me want him more.
Friday evening, after a long board presentation, the floor empties. I wait until the last colleague leaves, then slip into Roman’s office, locking the door.
He’s at his desk, tie discarded, top buttons open, looking worn but still devastating.
“Harper,” he says, voice weary. “Go home.”
I ignore him, walking to his chair, straddling his lap. “No.”
He grips my hips to lift me off, but I grind down, feeling him harden instantly.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he growls, but his hands slide up my thighs under my skirt.
I kiss him—slow at first, then deep, tongue teasing his. He resists for seconds, then surrenders, kissing back fiercely, hands cupping my ass.
I unbutton his shirt, licking down his chest, nipping at his skin. He groans as I sink lower, freeing his cock, taking him deep into my mouth.
I suck him eagerly—tongue swirling the head, hand stroking the base, throat relaxing to take more. He fists my hair, guiding me faster.
The risk heightens everything—glass walls, anyone could walk by.
He pulls me up, bending me over the desk. Skirt flipped, he finds me bare and soaked.
He thrusts in without warning—hard, deep, owning. The desk shakes as he fucks me, one hand on my throat, the other rubbing my clit.
I push back, meeting every thrust, moans muffled against the wood.
He edges me—slowing when I’m close, building it higher. Finally, he lets me shatter, pussy clenching as I come.
He flips me onto my back, legs over his shoulders, pounding deeper. Sweat drips, breaths ragged.
When he’s close, he pulls out, stroking to spill across my pussy—thick ropes coating m
y folds, dripping down.
He rubs it in, fingers pushing cum inside me, marking me thoroughly.
We dress in silence, his seed still leaking from me as I walk out.