Seducing My Best Friend's Stepfather

Outside the bathroom door:

A stunning woman stood there, wearing only a white shirt that skimmed the curve of her hips and clung damply to her skin.

Fresh from her shower, droplets slid from her hairline, trailing over the hollow of her throat and disappearing beneath the thin fabric.

The damp shirt outlined every soft, perilous curve — a whisper of modesty masking unmistakable intent.

She walked barefoot with a slow, feline grace, each step a deliberate caress against the floor.

Her mission tonight was simple: to bring the man slouched on the sofa to his knees without ever sinking to hers.

The drunkard’s unfocused gaze fixed on the woman approaching him — a vision half-innocent, half-ruin.

Her shirt buttons were half-fastened, offering just enough to spark imagination and wreck judgment.

The man sucked in a sharp breath, his shoulders tightening, his posture snapping into sharpened alertness.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in a hard, audible swallow that betrayed the effect she had on him.

As she moved, her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough to hint at bare skin beneath.

His eyes lit up when he saw the faintest suggestion of lace at her hips — a whisper of underthings, nothing more.

The sides rested delicately against her skin, decorative as breath, sinful as invitation.

She relished the look in his eyes, darkening with unguarded hunger.

Without pausing, she slipped her fingers along the delicate tie at her hip, playing with it as though testing his restraint.

A single pull, and the lace would fall — the possibility hung between them, molten and dangerous.

The man’s breathing deepened, turning ragged.

She licked her lips with a slow drag of her tongue, smiling as though she were tasting his reaction.

Gripping the bow, she drew it open just enough for the lace to loosen and slip down the elegant line of her hip.

The lace surrendered to gravity, drifting to the floor like a fallen petal.

She stepped directly in front of the man.

Her hands glided beneath his shirt, working each button open with unhurried precision, as though unwrapping a gift she intended to refuse at the last second.

The man gazed at the woman before him, his gaze dragging over her — the swell beneath her shirt, the taut lines of her waist, the long, impossible length of her legs — until it halted at the lace at her feet.

He abruptly ripped off his own shirt with a frustrated growl, throwing it aside.

Then, he grabbed the woman in his arms.

“Wait!”

Her slow breath halted his next move.

She gently pushed him away, lifted one thigh, resting it atop his knee in a poised, commanding gesture that made submission his only option.

“Lick my leg!”

Impatient, he seized her calf, leaned in, pressing his lips to her knee, then following the path upward with reverence edged in desperation.

His breath grazed higher, dangerously close to where propriety would shatter—

Bang!

Jennifer Yablonski burst into the room.

Clothes were strewn everywhere, and several foil packets had clattered to the floor, abandoned in the chaos they’d created.

A sharp slap echoed through the room.

Jennifer’s chest heaved with rage as she delivered a savage, ringing blow to the man’s face.

“Sarah is my best friend! How could you do this to her?!”

The blow sobered the man halfway.

He opened his mouth to explain, but his disheveled state betrayed him before a word left his mouth.

“Jennifer, I was drunk earlier. I was completely out of it. I… I don’t even know how it happened. I woke up to find her half-naked on top of me…”