Chapter 264 CRAVING MY ADOPTED FATHERS COCK 3

Chapter 264 CRAVING MY ADOPTED FATHERS COCK 3

I couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. Even after Alex left, that deep, heavy ache between my legs refused to fade. It was like a constant throb, a reminder of how Marcus had felt in my mind. I tried to ignore it, but every time I shifted my weight, I felt the slickness. My panties were a lost cause—soaked through and clinging to me like a second skin.

I needed a shower. I needed to wash the dream off my skin and the heat out of my blood. But my bathroom had other plans. For days, the pipes had been groaning, and this morning, the shower head gave up entirely. Only a pathetic, ice-cold trickle came out.

I stood there in the hallway, biting my lip. The only other shower was in Marcus’s room.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked down the hall. I told myself it was just for the water. I told myself I was being practical. But my hands were shaking before I even reached his door.

“Dad?” I called out. My voice sounded small, barely a whisper. “My shower’s broken again. Can I use yours real quick?”

No answer. I pushed the door open just an inch. The room smelled like him—cedar, expensive soap, and warm skin. I could hear the steady hiss of water from the bathroom. He was in there.

I should have turned around. I should have waited in the kitchen. But I stayed. I stood by the edge of his big, unmade bed, the same bed from my dream, and waited. The water stopped. The silence that followed was so thick I could almost taste it.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Marcus stepped out into the bedroom, a cloud of steam following him like a ghost. He was wearing nothing but a white towel. It sat dangerously low on his hips, clinging to the curve of his waist. My eyes tracked the water droplets as they chased each other down his broad chest, over the hard ridges of his abs, and disappeared into the terry cloth. His dark hair was messy and dripping, falling over his eyes in a way that made him look younger, wilder.

My breath hitched. He looked exactly like the man who had been pinning me down in my sleep.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep, vibrating in the quiet room. He smiled, that same gentle, fatherly smile he always gave me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark, hooded. “I didn’t hear you. What’s wrong?”

I tried to find my voice. My throat felt like it was full of sand. I took a step toward him, ready to explain about the broken pipes, but my bare foot hit a puddle of water he’d left on the hardwood.

My heel slid. My balance snapped.

“Dad—!” I gasped, my arms flailing.

I reached out to grab anything to stop my fall. My fingers curled around the edge of the white fabric at his waist. I went down hard on my knees, and with one swift, accidental tug, the towel came undone.

It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Marcus stood completely naked in front of me. I was on the floor, looking up, and there was absolutely nothing left to the imagination. His cock hung heavy and thick between his legs, already beginning to stir. It was dark, veiny, and intimidating. Water droplets ran down the length of it, glistening under the bedroom lights.

Neither of us moved. I should have looked away. I should have covered my eyes and screamed an apology. But I was frozen. My gaze was locked on him, my mouth slightly open. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his skin filling my lungs.

“Oh my god… Dad, I’m so sorry,” I stammered. I scrambled to my feet, my face burning with a feverish heat. I was still clutching his towel in my hand, my knuckles white.

Marcus didn’t move to cover himself. He didn’t reach for the towel. He just stood there, watching me. His jaw tightened, a small muscle jumping in his cheek. The air in the room changed—it became heavy, charged with a tension that felt like a physical weight on my chest.

“Lila,” he said quietly. His voice had dropped an octave, turning into a raspy growl. “Are you okay?”

I nodded quickly, but I couldn’t look at his face. My eyes kept drifting back down to his lap. My dream flashed through my mind again—the way he had filled me, the way he had groaned my name. My pussy throbbed so hard it hurt. I felt a fresh wave of wetness soak into my nightgown.

Marcus took a slow, deliberate step closer. The heat from his naked legs was almost touching mine.

“You’ve been acting strange since this morning,” he murmured. “You’re flushed. You’re shaking. Is something bothering you?”

“My… my shower is broken,” I whispered. My voice was trembling. “I just wanted… to use yours.”

He didn’t say anything. He just reached out and took the towel from my hands. He didn't wrap it around himself. He just dropped it on the bed behind him. Then, he leaned down, his face inches from mine.

His hand came up, his large, warm fingers cupping my chin. His thumb moved slowly, stroking the sensitive skin of my jaw. It was a gentle touch, but his eyes were burning.

“You shouldn’t be looking at me like that, Lila,” he whispered. “Have you not seen a man like this before?”

“Dad… I…” I couldn't finish the thought. I was looking at his lips. They were so close.

I don't know who moved first. I don't think it mattered.

Suddenly, the distance was gone. His mouth crashed against mine, and it wasn't the kiss of a father. It was deep, hungry, and desperate. His tongue slid into my mouth, tasting like mint and heat, claiming me. I moaned int
o his throat, my hands flying up to grip his wet shoulders.