Chapter 173 My fiancé's dad 1

Chapter 173 My fiancé's dad 1
The fire crackled softly in the massive stone hearth, casting flickering shadows across the lodge’s timber walls. Lena sat curled on the leather couch, half a glass of red wine forgotten in her hand. The weekend getaway was meant to be romantic. A final celebration before the wedding. But Ethan had left hours ago, called back into the city for a sudden client crisis. She’d smiled and waved as he drove off, but the silence after his departure had settled heavy.

Everyone else had gone to bed. The laughter, the champagne, the toasts were over. Now there was only the fire, the storm outside, and the slow, curling unrest in her chest.

Then came the footsteps. Slow. Steady. Confident.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Mr. Maddox.

Her fiancé’s father.

He stepped into the firelight like he belonged to it. Dressed in a black sweater and dark jeans, his presence carried something dangerous. Something composed, yet simmering just under the surface. His salt-and-pepper hair was still damp from a shower. He looked freshly shaven, but his jaw was still rough. Every time Lena had seen him, her stomach had tightened without reason.

Tonight, her pulse did more than flutter. It jumped.

“You’re up late,” he said, voice deep and smooth.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, too quickly. She sat up, pulling her robe tighter over her satin nightgown. It didn’t help.

He glanced at the glass in her hand. “Mind if I join you?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Go ahead.”

He poured himself a scotch from the tray near the bookshelf and settled in the armchair across from her. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just looked at her. Not in the way a father should look at his son’s fiancée. No, this gaze made her feel like her skin was on fire.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” he asked finally.

She blinked. “About the wedding?”

He nodded, sipping his drink.

She exhaled slowly, unsure whether to lie. “A little, I guess.”

“That’s honest.” He leaned forward slightly. “Ethan’s a good man. But he isn’t always… present. He has his blind spots.”

The words struck too close. Her throat tightened.

“He works a lot,” she said, her voice quieter.

“He’s never really known how to appreciate what’s in front of him,” Maddox said.

Silence settled again. This time, thicker.

“You deserve someone who sees you.”

She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

His eyes met hers. “Exactly what I said.”

The air seemed to warp. She shifted in her seat, feeling heat crawl beneath her nightgown.

“You’ve always been the quiet one,” he said. “But not invisible. Not to me.”

Her heart pounded. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asked, setting his glass down on the side table. “I’m not your father. You’re not married to him yet.”

She stood abruptly, but her legs felt weak.

“I should go to bed.”

He rose too. Slowly. Deliberately. “Lena.”

She froze.

He stepped closer. The firelight danced across his face, throwing sharp shadows under his cheekbones. “Do you want to pretend you haven’t felt it too?”

She didn’t respond.

He reached out and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

Her breath hitched.

“I’ve tried to ignore it,” he said. “But you walk around this place in these little nightgowns, barefoot, smiling at him like he’s the only one who wants you.”

“I never meant to—”

His hand moved down, tracing the edge of her throat, dragging slowly along her collarbone. “But you did.”

She should have stopped him. She should have turned away. But her body betrayed her.

When his mouth finally touched hers, it was not a gentle kiss. It was deep. Possessive. Raw. The kind that pulled the air from her lungs and replaced it with hunger.

Her fingers curled into his sweater. She didn’t push him away. She pulled him closer.

His hands gripped her waist, dragging her against his chest. She gasped as he pushed her back against the stone wall, the cold shocking her spine just before his warmth surrounded her. His mouth left hers to explore her neck. His teeth grazed the skin beneath her ear.

“You don’t want me to stop,” he growled.

She didn’t answer. Her thighs clenched involuntarily. Her hips pressed forward.

He grabbed the tie of her robe and yanked it open. Her nightgown clung to her body, thin and useless. His hand slid beneath it, palming her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until she moaned.

“You’re soaking through,” he whispered, biting the inside of her shoulder.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“But you already did,” he answered, slipping his hand between her thighs.

She cried out, grabbing his arm. His fingers found her slickness, teasing, circling. Then two fingers slipped inside her with a deep, slow thrust.

Her legs trembled. She clung to him as he worked her over, his other hand pressing over her mouth to quiet her cries.

The sound of the fire roared in her ears. The scent of him—scotch and cedar—made her dizzy. Her orgasm hit like lightning. Her body arched, mouth open in a silent scream behind his hand.

She shook with the aftershocks as he pulled his fingers out of her. He dropped to his knees.

She stared down at him, dazed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking what I’ve wanted since the first time I saw you.”

He pushed her nightgown up to her hips and buried his face between her thighs.

Her knees gave out. She sagged against the stone as he devoured her, tongue circling, flicking, plunging, his hands holding her wide open like he owned her.

She came again. Harder. She bit into her own arm to keep from crying out.

When he rose again, his lips wet with her, his eyes were darker.

“Turn around,” he said.

She did.

He bent her over the arm of the couch, yanked her nightgown down. She felt the head of his cock press against her entrance.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against her ear.

She couldn’t.

She didn’t.

So he sank into her with one deep thrust, filling her completely.

She cried out, her nails gripping the couch. He moved slowly at first, then faster, slamming into her, one hand gripping her hip, the other covering her mouth again.

“You think my son could ever fuck you like this?” he hissed into her hair.

She whimpered, grinding back into him, too far gone to lie.

He drove into her harder. Her body took every inch.

She felt herself tightening again, climbing to another peak.

He didn’t let up.

She shattered around him with a sob, clenching so tight around his cock that he groaned low in his chest and came inside her with a curse.

He didn’t move right away.

He stayed pressed against her back, breathing hard.

Finally, he pulled out.

She turned slowly, wrapping the robe around herself, legs unsteady.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave her.

As she climbed the stairs, her thighs sticky with his release, she knew there was no taking it back.

No pretending it didn’t happen.

She had crossed a line.

And the worst part?

She wanted to cross it again.