I return to the bedroom, cringing at the wistful note in her voice. Of course, she had to pick tonight of all nights to talk about her dad when she never normally does it. It’s like fate is playing a sick game with me.
“What?” I whisper as Roman’s words replay in my head.
He said he owned me. That he’s going to claim me and make me his. That he’s going to take me and he wants me even more now that he knows I’m a virgin.
And I want it too. I sizzle and burn with it, even as my heart aches and a feeling of guilt stabs me.
“He said it’s the only time he doesn’t have to think. He just sits there and the words come out of him, and sometimes he won’t even remember what he’s written. He accesses this zone, this crazy zone, that I can’t even dream of. I don’t know. And then it just went away.”
She sighs. “Anyway, that’s not why I called. How are you doing? I know how much you hate storms.”
I drop onto the bed, glancing at the window. The rain is relentless, a never-ending stream down the glass. The thunder seems to stop, but the second I relax, it crackles and lightning strikes. But it’s only now – with Roman gone – that the fear creeps up on me, the old memory spiking.
When he was here, when his lips were on mine, when our bodies were melting together, I didn’t feel it.
“I’m doing okay. It’s a crazy bad storm. But I’m doing fine.”
“It’s so annoying. It was my idea to head out there and now I’ve trapped you.”
Yes, trapped me… with her dad, my best friend’s dad, with the man who sends desire pumping through my veins, even if I know it’s wrong, even if I know I have to stop myself. But this desire is something primal like I’m a cavewoman and he’s a ripped hunter, and I know I have to seduce his thick cock and coax his creamy seed out of him to fuse him to me. To make him mine, and me his.
Forever.
I want him. I need him. But Millie will hate me.
“At least you’re not alone,” she says a moment later. “Dad knows how it all works down there, so I know you’re safe. Why didn’t we check the weather forecast? Freaking hell. I only found out about it as it was happening. I’m such a klutz.”
I giggle. “Klutz? Okay, grandma.”
She laughs. “You’re a klutz too. You didn’t check.”
“I know.” I sigh. “It was pretty silly. But I didn’t think. That’s what happens when you spend too long living in California. It makes you forget that weather exists.”
She laughs again, a sound I’ve heard countless times but I’ll never get tired of hearing. “Yeah, well, Dad will take care of you. He can be a grumpy old man sometimes. But he’s great really.”
“He’s not old,” I say before I can stop myself.
I love that he’s twenty-two years older than me, more mature, ready to live like a man not like the immature boys my age, all so inexperienced, so needy.
But it’s not like I’ve ever had much choice anyway.
The boys have never wanted me. Nobody has. But now the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on has claimed me.
Freaking heck, why does the world have to be so unfair? Why does he have to be Millie’s dad?
“I know. I was only kidding. He is grumpy though. How’s he been? Have you spoken, or has he been locked away in his office? Oh, I just thought of something. You must’ve met Tanker.”
Millie often does this, excites herself in the middle of what she’s saying to come out with something else, starting spiraling conversations that show how enthusiastic she is about just talking. It’s so sweet, just one of the things I love about her.
But can I really say I care about her after what I did?
“Yeah, I met Tanker. He’s so freaking cute. He’s in his crate at the moment.”
“Aw, he gets like that when it’s stormy. He’s such a little baby. People say we should encourage him to grow up, but if he feels safe if he feels protected, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” I whisper.
“So how has dad been?”
“Fine, fine,” I say quickly. “Not too grumpy.”
She pauses. “Maybe ask him how he found Tanker. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that story, have I?”
“No.”
“It could pass some time.” She sighs. “I can’t believe you’re stranded. At least dad keeps that place well-stocked. They’re saying it might even be a couple of days before I can come out there.”
A couple of days is a long time to be caged up with a bear like Roman, his glinting sharp eyes and his growling words telling me I’m his, I’m his property.
But I saw that look in his eyes before he left the room, clearly making an excuse just so he could leave…
It was pain and regret, the same feeling coursing through me as I squeeze the phone too tightly. “Yeah, a couple of days.”
My voice is dull, receding from the happiness which flourished in my soul the second Roman kissed me. He awoke something inside of me, a hopeful and optimistic flurry of starlight… And now it’s decaying, ashen, and falling like ruined snow.
I can’t think about Roman like that and talk to Millie at the same time. It’s too weird.
“Have you been working on the play?”
I drop onto my bed and lie back, staring up at the ceiling. And yet everything feels familiar, almost as though something led me here. I should laugh at the thought, but it whirls around me with the sharpness of a truth I have to face – now, now. I came here for a reason, to this storm, to meet the man who will protect me for the rest of our lives.
My womb throbs, pulses, straining with need. She wants it now. My insides sizzle.
Fuck.
I have to calm myself down.
“Yes,” I say, staring at the ceiling, not letting my mind wander to naughty places. “I mean – no. I haven’t. I can’t rehearse for this one and write at the same time.”
She groans, and I can hear her smiling. “Yes, you can. What else are you going to do during the storm, huh?”
An answering smile spreads across my face, making my cheeks ache as the emotion spirals through me.
But then pain crushes my features and pulls my lips into a frown, my eyebrows heavy, everything threatening to crumble as I hold back tears. I should scream and tell her, tell her what we did.
But are we going to do something again?
Will Roman want to now? Will I want to?
“I know. You’re right, Millie.”
“Anyway, I’ll let you go. I know it’s late. But speak soon, yeah?”
“Of course.”
My mouth is dry, my lips cracked. The lying causing shudders to move through me, invasive and effective as they burn.
I kissed your dad. Your dad did things to me. I want him forever.
Screaming the words silently within my mind does little to relieve the desire, the guilt.
“Of course?” She giggles. “So formal? See you later.”
“See you, Millie. Later.”
She hangs up and I hold the cell phone to my chest, against my heart, so I can feel the reverberations moving up my arm and back into my body. And that’s what it is, I realize, the need warring with the guilt, a beat drumming through me. It’s Millie and Roman, the man I never knew I needed, not until I set eyes on him.
And now my world is aflame.
Chapter Twelve
Roman
Tanker has calmed down a little, padding softly across the bed and sniffing around, his tail perked and wagging. He sometimes cringes when the thunder sounds and the lightning cracks, but he doesn’t whine or whimper. He looks at me every so often with his ears perked, as though asking me a question.
I nod. “You’re doing well, boy. Keeping us safe.”
I’m convinced that’s what he’s doing as he sniffs around the bedroom, hopping off the bed and patrolling the room. He thinks he’s warding away the storm, setting boundaries across which it cannot venture… boundaries that will keep out the chaos, l
ightning, and the pain.
Boundaries like I should’ve had with Rayla, with that brown-haired angel, those curves, and that tight young virgin slit…
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I howl in my mind as lightning burst iron-blue into the room, casting long shadows on the walls, tall and impressive. Tanker looks at his shadow, head cocked like he’s wondering where this giant black dog came from. But then it passes and he whines, hopping up into my lap.
Catching him, I hold him to my chest, looking into his face. His eyes have got that trying-to-be-brave look.
“Do you think I’ve made a mess, boy?” I scratch the back of his neck. “What the fuck am I doing? I came here to write, not to…”
I can’t say the words aloud. It’s like there’s a block in my throat, the revelation too messy and big.
I kissed my daughter best friend’s. I made her cream.
And I want to do it again.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been in here, sitting in the dark, but it must be a while because when I look up I see Rayla in the doorway. She stands there framed in semidarkness, with just enough light for me to see her. She’s changed into a hoodie and jeans, but it does nothing to hide her gorgeous shape.
Her breasts make the hoodie tight across her chest like the luscious round tits are begging to be caressed and used hard. And the jeans cling tightly onto her hips, outlining that gorgeous voluptuousness. She’s got a spank-me look about her, like any second I could bend that fine ass over and make it work.
Luckily Tanker’s in my arms, stopping me from acting on my carnal desires. He wriggles and springs down, padding over to Rayla. I watch him go, trying to focus on him rather than Rayla.
Looking at her too long is like taking a bet I know I’m going to lose. I tell myself not to eye-fuck her ruthlessly, savagely appraise every inch of her when just a glance makes me so hard. I tell myself I’m not going to imagine bending her over and forcing my cock right into her pink hole, grabbing her shoulders and pushing tighter as she gasps at how fierce and sudden it is.
Creaming, shivering, gushing wetness down my length until I’m slipping in and out of her at animal speed.
I take a breath, forcing away the image. I lost the bet. Again. I can’t stop my possessive mind.
She kneels and runs her hands over Tanker’s fur.
“That was Millie,” she says.
“I know.”
She nods, smiling softly as she plays and cuddles with the dog. “She said hello.”
“Okay.”
There’s a field of explosives in the room, sensitive to touch, and it’s like we’re trying to step around them as we navigate the conversation. We don’t want to venture too close to the betrayal, to what we did, or there will be an explosion. Of what? Pain? Regret?
“It’s good that Tanker’s doing better,” she says, as she strokes him.
I know what she’s doing. Changing the subject.
But I can’t blame her.
Sitting forward, I nod. “Yeah, he’s calmed down a little now. He needs the crate so he can get used to the sound. If it’s a short storm he’ll stay in there until it’s over. But with one like this, the little man knows he has to get stronger, he has to toughen up. And he does, every time. But he always needs that hour or so in the crate, to get his confidence up.”
Her smile widens, radiant, eyes glimmering like miniature suns. “You sound like you love him.”
My chest tightens at the word.
Love.
I thought I understood how hopeless it was this morning. I thought I knew how pointless it was to try to love, to try to care when there’s a black hole in my chest sucking all the light out or trying to. Trying to empty me and make me dead inside.
But then my angel, my Rayla, crashed into my life and rearranges my insides. Suddenly there’s potential there, more than there ever was, flaring and surging and roaring into me. Every second I’m not with her is like I’m being pulled apart at the seams. That’s the pain of holding myself back from her.
I clear my throat and my thoughts. “Yes, I love the little bastard.”
“Millie said to ask how you got him.”
Her voice falters when she says my daughter’s name.
It’s like she’s calling some spirit into existence, like she thinks she’s going to bring the weight of the betrayal crushing down on us, killing us for what we did. And what we still might do.
“That old story.” I laugh gruffly. “It’s nothing.”
She raises an eyebrow, sassy. “Now I have to know.”
“It’s not a big deal. Anybody would have done it.”
“Would have done what?”
The rain pommels and pounds against the cabin, every second, until it’s like I can’t hear the guilt and the regret and the shame. All I can hear is my desire for this woman, looking up at me with those wide innocent eyes, with her hair falling in tempting wild curls around her.
“Saved him,” I whisper huskily. “I was down south for some research. That’s another reason I like to keep myself hidden online. I travel for research whenever I can, and I like to pretend I’m a nobody. People are more comfortable being themselves around a drifter.”
My mind flashes back to that evening, the smell of piss in the air, the sound of his cries.
“What happened?” she asks softly. Tanker has curled up in her lap and she’s stroking him gently. His eyes close and he sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the storm. “Roman?”
I swallow. “I was walking by to my hotel late one night and I heard him barking. These high-pitched, soul-searing yaps. Jesus. They were like being cut with a knife. So I followed the noise and I found these guys, these four motherfuckers, and they were…”
“They were what?”
I clench my fists as the memory returns to me with abrupt vividness like I’ve just been dropped inside of it. “They had sparklers, the kind you get on the Fourth of July, and they were poking at him. Having a whale of a time. So I… I did something that was maybe wrong. Maybe I should’ve called the cops. But they were poking at that the little dog, Rayla, and they were laughing. They were making him squeal.”
She blinks and her eyes glisten with tears. “What did you do?”
I clench my teeth, my words coming out as a growl. “I went to work on those bastards. I ran at them and we fought. It was a wild and bloody fight. They knocked out two of my teeth and broke my hand. But I got them worse. I knocked one motherfucker out with a shot clean to the face. I choked one of them out, and the other two cowards ran.
“And then I took Tanker for myself. I swore to him that day I’d never let anything bad happen to him. Maybe that’s why I baby him sometimes but look at him. He’s brave. He’s strong. He just needed a chance.”
“A chance,” she murmurs, staring as though she’s mesmerized. “Is that what…”
“What?” I urge when she trails off. “Say it.”
“What we need, a chance?” she finishes. “Me and you? Do we need a chance?”
Our gazes lock, fuse together like there’s something alive and demanding our attention. It’s like our desire is a separate thing, far more primal and ruthless than our minds. We know we have to put Millie first, but our bond is a loud and dangerous thing, roaring out each second, threatening to crumble us.
“We can’t, can we?” she says a moment later.
“No.” My voice is grave. I don’t know if I’m telling the truth. “We have to pretend this never happened. We have to try and forget how we feel.”
Those are a fool’s words, spoken as though for someone else’s benefit. Not Rayla’s… like there’s an audience watching and I’m trying to make myself look noble. There’s nothing noble about the things I want to do to Rayla’s young body.
But there’s something noble about wanting to be with her afterward, to raise a family together, to watch as she ignites into motherhood.
“I think you’re right.” She flinches as Tanker stirs and climbs from her l
ap. “I guess… you just work on your book. And I’ll work on my rehearsal and my play.”
“You’re writing a play?” I ask, interest sparking.
“Yes. Or I’m trying to. I haven’t really started yet. I’m trying to think of a scene to start with, but, yeah. It doesn’t matter.”
It does. It blazes through me, the thought of my woman writing and starring in her own play, setting the world on fire with her unique vivacity and beauty and genius.
But if I let myself ask any more questions, I know I won’t be able to resist the animal urge to fist her dark hair and bend her over, grinding my swollen cock between her ass cheeks. I’d slip in deep, hard, right to the base, so her ass cheeks pressed against my belly. She’d whimper and shiver and beg that she’s too tight, her young slit is too small.
But then I’d pull out slowly, making her feel every tiny movement until she begged to be filled again.
I turn away, rising to my feet, stalking over to the window, and looking out upon the shimmering blackness. The rain distorting the darkness.
“I should say goodnight then, right?” she murmurs, rising to her feet behind me.
No, no, no, a voice roars inside of me, trying to compel my pulsing body across the room and over to her. Throw her onto the bed and tear her hoodie off, revealing those plump tits, and then pound her virgin hole as those nipples danced for me.
“Y-yes,” I snarl, having to force the words past my instincts. “Goodnight, Rayla.”
“Goodnight, Roman.”
She turns and walks away, her footsteps slowly receding until their sound is lost beneath the rain.
I take in a deep breath, but there isn’t enough air.
I feel empty, hollowed-out, as I think about a future without Rayla in it.
Chapter Thirteen
Rayla
I wake the next morning to the sound of rain, with the room so dark I lean forward to check the bedside clock. It’s eight AM and yet it looks like it’s midnight. Yawning, I turn on the light and look around, as though expecting to find Roman in here, as though he would’ve come to me in the night.
Trapped with My Best Friend's Dad: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 258) Page 6