Claimed By Her Best Friend's Dad

by Flora Ferrari

  I stare, unable to stop.

  I’ve never been this captivated before.

  Her long dark hair spills out of a snow white beanie hat, the contrast making her hair look even darker and more luscious. It falls down to her shoulders, framing her round and cute-as-fuck face, with big green eyes that send urgent signals right down to my core. She’s wearing a baggy hoodie and gray sweatpants, but they can’t hide the curves beneath the material.

  She’s plus size grab-me-now sexy, the sort of woman—

  No, she’s not the sort of anything.

  She, whoever this goddess is, is just her and nobody else.

  There is no comparison.

  Her breasts are large and round and bouncy looking, made for tit fucking and for sucking until her nipples are red and pulsing and yet needy for more. And later, once I’ve fucked and sucked and licked her a thousand times, then I’ll let our children have access to them so they can suck her milky life juices from her. That’s what she is – and now my cock is really aching as I think about this, staring hard at her, staring like a predator – a mother and a sex goddess rolled into one.

  A crazy thought strikes me like lightning.

  I need to impregnate this woman.

  She’s looking down at her Kindle, biting her bottom lip now, her cheeks kissed red from the heat. She’s not wearing any makeup and this just heightens her natural beauty.

  She has the sort of skin I imagine dappling red all over, her breasts and her big juicy ass cheeks getting nice and crimson for me when I lick her from clit to collarbone.

  She looks up, letting her lip go.

  “Oh, hello,” she says.

  “Hi,” I smirk, masking the need inside of me with my business asshole façade. “I was expecting my daughter.”

  “Right here, Dad,” Yasmin says from behind me.

  I turn, finding it insanely difficult to drag my gaze away from this woman…

  This woman who, in my mind, is already mine. I imagine somebody coming in here and trying to make a claim on her, trying to touch those curvaceous hips, trying to kiss that pouting drill-me-hard mouth.

  I’d kill them.

  I’d tear them apart.

  Yasmin stands at the kitchen counter, chopping onions, her black hair tied up in a bun. I walk around the obsidian kitchen island and give her a hug.

  “How was the flight?” she asks.

  “I worked most of the way,” I tell her, trying my best to keep my voice steady.

  I want to roar, to slam my fists against my chest and shout as loud as I can that this woman, whoever she is, belongs to me.

  “Are you going to introduce me?” I ask.

  “Introduce you?” she murmurs. “To who?”

  I narrow my eyes at her, wondering if this is one of her jokes that I always seem to misunderstand.

  “How about to the only other person in the apartment?” I say.

  She looks at me and then the woman – my woman – and back again. She bursts out laughing, dropping her knife on the chopping board so that she can clutch her sides and throw her head back.

  “I’m missing something, I assume,” I mutter drily.

  That just makes her giggle, even more, tears springing to her eyes.

  I bite down my annoyance and turn to the woman, the tension within me morphing to something else entirely as I drink in the sight of her once again. She’s placed her Kindle on the sleek glass table and leans forward, as though unsure if she should stand and join us.

  Leaning forward like that causes her breasts to shift with her, making my cock hammer at the base, go tight and hungry like any second it could explode.

  But I wouldn’t let it.

  I won’t waste a single drop of my seed anywhere but her hungry little pussy.

  Fuck, I never knew I wanted any more kids.

  But now I know.

  I need more kids … with her.

  “Have we met before?” I ask.

  She stands, cheeks blushing an even fiercer shade of red. I feel myself grimacing at her because it’s the only shape my lips can make that isn’t a declaration of my need for her. I almost laugh when I imagine how that would go down with Yasmin standing right here.

  “Um, yes, we’ve met,” she says, her shyness just making me want to grab her, claim her even more, draw her desires out of her, draw everything out of her.

  “Dad,” Yasmin says, finally calming down, “it’s Jade. You know, Jade. My best friend? The girl I mentored like forever ago? She’s lived here for almost half a decade?”

  Jade? I almost shout it in shock but manage to keep it contained to my mind.

  The last time I saw Jade, she looked like a child, dorky in the extreme, wearing a T-shirt with a wizard on it. I don’t remember ever thinking anything about her. She was just one of Yasmin’s friend. Fine, her best friend. But still just a background figure.

  Now she’s my main focus.

  Now I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

  Now she’s my everything.

  “Okay,” I say, masking everything as though I’m in a business meeting. “Nice to meet you – again – Jade.”

  “And you, Mr. Jensen,” she murmurs.

  “Jade, just call him Jamie,” Yasmin laughs. “That’s alright, yeah, Dad?”

  I shrug. “Makes no difference to me. What’s for dinner? Tell me it’s steak.”

  “Yeah, just like you asked, your Highness.”

  I nod and stride out onto the balcony, closing the door behind me and looking down upon the city. I grip the handrail and force my breathing to come slowly.

  Otherwise, I’ll let out a savage roar that’ll bring every single building in the city crumbling down.

  I need to get myself under control.

  Because there’s no world where I can make a move on Jade Clark.

  She and Yasmin are too close.

  They’ve been best friends for years.

  But as I stand here, my cock just now beginning to soften, I know that I can’t let her go.

  It’s already too late.

  She belongs to me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jade

  We sit around the absurdly large dining table, the surface sleek wood, and the air smelling of the vanilla candles that Yasmin likes to light. We rarely eat in here when it’s just the two of us, preferring to hunker down on the couch with our trays in our lap.

  But this is a special occasion, the return of Jamie Jensen, Yasmin’s billionaire father.

  And the man who seems to be angry with me for some reason.

  I feel almost naked under the glittering chandelier light, the stark lights doing nothing to help the feeling of exposure. The dining room table is big, but we all huddle around one end so that as Jamie glares at me there’s not enough space in between us to stop the force of it.

  I sneak looks at him in between the deliciously cooked steak, my eyes roaming over him in his steel gray suit and his black and iron peppered hair. His eyes are just as pale and eerie as I remember them, but now he’s let a light sprinkle of salt cover his square, strong jaw.

  His body is as muscular as I remember too—as I see sometimes in my illicit dreams.

  His biceps bulge as he cuts his steak, as though any second they could erupt from his suit jacket.

  I find myself thinking of his ex-partner, Yasmin’s mother, the woman who fled to Europe to live a life of Bohemian abandon, deserting Jamie and Yasmin and never coming back.

  How could she leave this man?

  What dark secrets are buried in that stony chest?

  I have to focus hard on cutting my steak, my hand trembling as I focus on the movement. My body is sending up a flurrying riot of sensations, my skin tingling, my sex pulsing as I sit here and try to tell myself that Jamie Jensen isn’t glaring at me.

  But every time I look up and his gaze is on me, I see the flaring blue fire in his eyes, as though he hates me for being here and ruining his reunion with his daughter.

  Th
eir conversation passes over me as though it’s coming from far away. It’s like I’ve locked myself inside a translucent soundproof box, a defense mechanism to save myself from having to hear Jamie telling his daughter how angry he is that I’m here, how I should’ve found my own place the day I turned eighteen, how he’s not going to support me leeching off his daughter anymore.

  “Jade?” Yasmin says, tugging me from the reverie.

  I look up to find that they’re both staring at me. Yasmin has a smile on her face, but Jamie looks like I’ve just slapped him. He grimaces firmly and for a crazy second, I let myself imagine that the grimace might mean something else, that he’s imagining doing sinful wonderful things to me.

  Obviously not, I scream in my mind, assuring myself sharply that the thought is downright insane.

  “Yes?” I murmur.

  “Dad asked you a question,” she says. “But as usual you were off in the clouds. See, Dad, I told you … she’s a typical writer.”

  Yasmin rolls her eyes and grins at me, the same way she smiled at me when I was just a little girl and she was this cool-as-heck teenager.

  She beamed her support for me from those pale blue eyes back then, and suddenly I feel like screaming that I’m sorry.

  I shouldn’t be having these traitorous thoughts.

  I want to beg for forgiveness.

  Instead, I try a smile of my own. It comes out shaky. The skin around my mouth feels tight with the effort of holding the false expression.

  “I’m sorry?” I say.

  That just gets Jamie grimacing even harder.

  His eyes sear into me as he leans forward, his fists clenched slightly, resting on the table like two weapons ready to do their work. I’ve watched his MMA fights more times than I can count, a young Jamie Jensen stalking into the cage and dismantling his opponent like there’s a lion living inside of him.

  I especially love his first title fight with Tyron Kirkenwell, a heavyweight champion that everybody thought was unbeatable. Jamie knocked him out in fourteen seconds, one of the fastest in history. Perhaps it’s macabre of me, but there’s something primal about him in those videos, something downright beastly.

  But if anything this Jamie looks even fiercer, like a proud alpha predator who’s already cleared the jungle of all his minor threats, hair burning silver, eyes blazing almost the same shade.

  “I asked what sort of stories you write,” he says, somehow making it an accusation.

  “Oh,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks flame unfairly, my body all too eager to show this man the effect he has on me. “Mostly romance, but lately I’ve been dabbling in some fantasy. I guess I’m still in the experimental stage.”

  Jamie nods slowly. “Well, you’re only nineteen, so you’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Dad’s an old codger,” Yasmin jokes good-naturedly, beaming over at him.

  “What?” she laughs when he glances at her, still with that grimace on his face. I swear he should get that patented, it’s so unique to him. “I spend most of my time online, Dad. In internet years you’re basically a dinosaur.”

  I find myself shaking my head fiercely, even if this is the last thing I should be doing. I try to remind myself that Jamie is Yasmin’s dad and nothing more, and yet for some passion-filled reason I feel compelled to defend him.

  “I don’t think forty-one is old at all,” I say, looking down at my plate so that I don’t have to feel the combined Jensen gaze on me. “I mean, especially if a person takes care of themselves … and I think you do, Mr. Jensen, Jamie. I think…”

  I trail off, my tongue becoming impossible to direct.

  The silence lengthens and I risk a look up at Jamie.

  He’s glaring at me, his jaw tight, as though my attempt at a compliment has only convinced him all the more that I’m just a silly, naïve, stupid nineteen year old.

  I tighten my hand on my fork and screaming Fuck it in my mind.

  Fine, let him think that.

  What is he to me, anyway?

  It doesn’t matter that my mind keeps leaping to absurd places, places where Jamie’s steel colored hair is almost black with his lust fueled sweat, the scent of his musky manliness filling the air as he leans over me, pressing his firm hard pectorals against my breasts, whispering that he wants me, again and again.

  I recede into myself again, the conversation moving on around me. I’m vaguely aware that Jamie is talking about the Japan branch of Alignment, but mostly my mind is scouring the last few minutes, reliving the awkwardness, crippling myself with anxiety.

  Knowing that this is a bad habit seemingly does nothing to stop me from engaging in it.

  Jamie’s sharp tone tugs me back to the present.

  “And you have no idea why?” he says passionately, glancing between me and Yasmin.

  “Why what?” I ask.

  Yasmin rolls her eyes and smiles again, always willing to forgive my imagination tourism even if we’re in the middle of a conversation.

  “Why that man’s following you,” Yasmin says.

  “No, I don’t have a clue,” I say. “It’s so weird. One day I just left work and noticed him and—”

  “Why are you working as a waitress, anyway?” he asks, turning his full attention to me.

  It’s like being pinned beneath the laser stare of a superhero, the look is so commanding, as though for a few stolen seconds I’m the only woman in existence for him.

  “Writing is clearly your passion.”

  “There’s a little thing called money,” I laugh, shifting my thighs under the table, my sex more than pleased to have his undivided attention. “Maybe I don’t want to mooch off my friend while I wait to become a bestselling writer, huh? I mean, it’s not like I’m even guaranteed to get a book published anyway. What if I quit my job and just end up living here, writing bad stories that nobody wants to read? What if …”

  I trail off, realizing my voice has become loud and laced with red hot anger.

  Unfairly, I see Dad toppling over the edge of that snow touched hill. I see him rolling head over skis and then smashing into the broad trunk of a tree, the wooden sound mixing with the bony snap of his death.

  I see it all, in a flashing vignette, and then I remind myself that this is why I try to keep myself calm.

  Passion brings pain.

  Okay, Yoda.

  “It’s natural to be frightened,” Jamie says slowly.

  For the first time since he sat down, something like humanity creeps into his voice.

  “Why, thank you,” I snap, unable to stop myself. “I’m so happy I have your approval.”

  He smirks, just a short twitching touch of his lips, but it’s a smirk all the same.

  “Maybe you should just use your sarcasm against this stalker,” he chuckles.

  He somehow laughs without outright smiling, more of a grim grimacing rumble, but at least it’s something.

  It proves that he’s human.

  But then I remind myself that it doesn’t matter if he’s human or if I can make him laugh. He’d never be interested in me, and even if he was – which he wouldn’t be – it would be downright evil to pursue anything with Yasmin’s father.

  I let his comment hang, thinking that I’ll let us slip into an awkward silence that will kill this banter or whatever the heck this is.

  But then Yasmin leans forward with a spark in her eyes I recognize well. It’s the same one she gets when an idea for a YouTube video or a particularly good Instagram post comes to her. It’s the spark that has seen her go from a few hundred followers to a few thousand and now almost a million.

  “Dad, are you going to be doing your charity work now that you’re home?”

  Jamie nods. “The self-defense stuff? Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “Well …”

  Her eyes shift between her father and me, and then back again, her grin getting wider as she silently implores us to get what she’s hinting at. She sighs and throws her hands up.

  “Are yo
u two really that dense? Dad, you’ve always talked about how martial arts builds self-confidence, how it makes you feel less afraid and all that stuff, right?”

  “Oh,” I say when I realize what she’s saying.

  Is the universe playing some sort of twisted trick on me right now?

  Is my best friend really suggesting that I spend one on one time with her dad?

  But then of course she has no reason to suspect that I’ve crushed mega hard on Jamie Jensen for years. She doesn’t know that even now my body is pulsating and singing with desire.

  “Oh as in yes? Or oh as in no?” Yasmin laughs.

  “I’m sure Jamie is too busy,” I murmur, my mouth suddenly way too dry.

  “Well, Dad?” Yasmin says, like the most devious matchmaker in the universe.

  But there’s no way she knows what she’s doing, the strings she’s tugging inside of me, the hidden world she’s awakening.

  “I could help you, Jade,” he says, turning that irresistible gaze onto me. “Martial arts have always kept me centered and focused. I’m not saying I’ll be able to train you to become some badass killer in the cage in a few weeks. But I can help.”

  I swallow a big ball of nerves, moving my gaze between the two Jensens.

  I know I should say no, even if the chances of anything happening between us are so slim they’re basically nonexistent.

  And yet my body sings at the prospect of spending some private time with Jamie Jensen.

  “Okay,” I murmur. “Yeah, I think that could be good.”

  “Excellent,” Jamie growls. “I’ll have my secretary fit you in sometime in the next few days.”

  Fire winged butterflies dance in my belly, my sex giving an insistent pulse and something deeper screaming at me in victory.

  For a crazy second, I think it’s my womb, my body giving me messages to throw myself at this man and beg for him to push himself inside of me, to fill me with his burning seed, to give me my first child.

  Stop. Being. Crazy.

  I scream the words in my mind, but the feeling persists, swimming all around me as I turn to my plate and try to focus on my meal.