Midnight Taboos: Forbidden Erotic Steamy Fantasies collection.

Part 1: Seducing my best friends dad. Chapter 1: The Tease My heart pounded like a drum in my chest as I pulled up to Riley's house, the familiar two-story colonial looming in the late afternoon sun like a forbidden castle. I was 23 now, fresh out of college with a degree in graphic design that felt as useless as my attempts to forget about him. Riley, my best friend since middle school, had begged me to house-sit while she was off on some spontaneous road trip with her new boyfriend. "Just water the plants, check the mail, and make sure Dad doesn't burn the place down with his terrible cooking," she'd texted with a string of laughing emojis. Little did she know, I had ulterior motives. Motives that involved her dad, Mr. Harlan—David, as I'd heard him called by his colleagues on the rare occasions I'd eavesdropped—and the way he'd starred in my dirtiest dreams for years. I parked my beat-up Honda in the driveway, glancing at myself in the rearview mirror. My dark hair was tousled just right, falling in waves over my shoulders, and I'd chosen an outfit that screamed "innocent accident" but whispered "come and get it." Tiny denim shorts that hugged my curvy hips and rode up just enough to show the curve of my ass when I bent over, paired with a low-cut white tank top that clung to my full breasts, the thin fabric leaving little to the imagination if you looked close enough. No bra—why bother when the air conditioning would make my n*****s perk up like they were begging for attention? I was confident, yeah, but this was next-level bold. Secretly obsessed? That was an understatement. David Harlan had been my ultimate fantasy since I was old enough to understand what that fluttering low in my belly meant. It started innocently enough, back in high school. Pool days at their house during those endless summers, where Riley and I would splash around in bikinis, giggling about boys from school. But my eyes always wandered to him—Mr. Harlan, lounging by the grill in his swim trunks, flipping burgers with that effortless strength. I'd catch glimpses: him shirtless after mowing the lawn, sweat glistening on his tanned skin, making his muscles gleam under the sun. Or post-workout in the garage, where he'd installed a home gym after his wife passed away five years ago. He had this gruff exterior now, all stern glances and short sentences, like the loneliness had armored him up. But his voice... deep, rumbling, with that slight gravel that sent shivers down my spine every time he said my name. "Ava, pass the ketchup." Innocent words, but in my head, they twisted into something filthy: "Ava, bend over for me." Family BBQs turned into torture sessions for teenage me—watching him laugh with the neighbors, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, that salt-and-pepper hair making him look distinguished, sexy as hell. I'd excuse myself to the bathroom, lock the door, and touch myself frantically, imagining his mouth on me, his c**k filling me up. And now? Riley was gone for the weekend, and I was here, keys in hand, pulse racing. I told myself it was just to "help.” But deep down, I knew the truth. I wanted him to see me—not as his daughter's friend, but as a woman. A curvy, confident woman who could make him forget his grief, even if just for a night. I let myself in with the spare key under the mat, the house quiet except for the hum of the fridge. I wandered into to the kitchen, pretending to busy myself by unloading a few groceries I'd brought as an excuse: wine, cheese, some fruit. Really, it was props for the show. I heard the garage door rumble open sooner than expected—he was home early from the office. My stomach flipped. Showtime. "Mr. Harlan?" I called out, my voice sweeter than honey, as I heard his footsteps in the hall. He appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie, his crisp button-down shirt hugging his chest. At 45, he looked even better than I remembered—those blue eyes sharp, jawline shadowed with a day's stubble, hair tousled like he'd run his fingers through it during a stressful meeting. He paused, surprise flickering across his face as he took me in. I saw it: the quick scan down my body, lingering on the way my shorts rode high on my thighs, the swell of my breasts under the thin top. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Ava? What are you doing here?" His voice was that deep rumble, sending a spark straight between my legs. He set his briefcase down, eyes narrowing slightly, but there was something else there—interest? Curiosity? I smiled, leaning casually against the counter, which pushed my chest out just a bit. "Riley asked me to house-sit while she's away. You know, water the plants, make sure everything's okay. I figured I'd drop off some snacks too—thought you might be lonely rattling around in this big house by yourself." He chuckled, a low sound that made my n*****s tighten under the fabric. Damn, the AC was doing its job. "Lonely? I've got work to keep me company. But thanks, kid. Appreciate it." Kid. Ouch. That stung, but it fueled me too. I wasn't a kid anymore. I turned to the fridge, bending over slowly to put away the wine—making sure he got a good view of my ass in those shorts. I lingered a second longer than necessary, feeling the cool air on my skin, imagining his eyes on me. When I straightened up, I caught him staring, his gaze snapping back to my face a beat too late. Gotcha. "Want a glass?" I asked, holding up the bottle. "It's a good red—helps unwind after a long day." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, muscles flexing under his shirt. "I shouldn't. Got emails to catch up on." "Oh, come on, Mr. Harlan. Live a little." I poured two glasses anyway, sliding one across the island to him. Our fingers brushed as he took it—electrifying. His hand was warm, rough, and I felt a jolt shoot up my arm. He didn't pull away immediately, his thumb grazing my knuckle for a split second. Accidental? Or testing? We clinked glasses, and he took a sip, his eyes locking on mine over the rim. The kitchen felt smaller, the air thicker. "So, how's life post-college? Riley says you're job hunting." I hopped up on the counter, swinging my legs playfully, my shorts hiking up even more. His gaze dipped again, and this time, he didn't hide it as quickly. "It's okay. Freelancing some designs, but it's tough. Adulting sucks sometimes." I laughed, tilting my head. "You make it look easy, though. Running your firm, being the hottest dad in the neighborhood..." The words slipped out—subtle flirt, but bold. His eyebrows shot up, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Hottest dad? Flattery will get you everywhere, Ava. But watch it—I'm old enough to be your father." "Not my father," I shot back, my voice dropping a notch, husky. I took a slow sip of wine, letting my tongue dart out to catch a drop on my lip. His eyes followed the movement, darkening. He stepped closer, reaching past me for a napkin on the counter. His arm brushed my thigh, hand lightly grazing my lower back as he "excused" himself. "Pardon," he murmured, but his touch lingered, warm pressure sending heat pooling in my core. I could smell him—clean soap, a hint of sweat from the day, intoxicating. Our eyes met again, inches apart now. His were stormy, conflicted, but hungry. I leaned in just a fraction, my breath mingling with his. "Why are you really here, Ava?" he asked, voice low, almost a growl. "Riley's plants don't need that much attention." My pulse thundered. "Maybe I wanted to see you. Catch up. It's been a while since those family BBQs." He didn't move back. "Those were simpler times." "Not for me," I whispered, my hand brushing his arm, feeling the muscle tense under my fingers. I could see the war in his eyes—duty versus desire. His wife gone, years of celibacy maybe? I wanted to be the one to break him. Then, clumsily—on purpose—I knocked my wine glass over, spilling red liquid across my top. "Oh s**t!" I gasped, jumping down. The wine soaked through the white fabric, turning it sheer, clinging to my skin. My n*****s hardened instantly, visible peaks under the wet material. His eyes widened, fixed on my chest. "Uh, I'll clean this up," he muttered, grabbing a towel, but I waved him off. "No, it's fine. I'll just... change. Mind if I use your bathroom? Riley's is upstairs, and this is sticky." He nodded, voice rough. "Sure. Down the hall." I grabbed my bag—conveniently packed with a change of clothes—and headed to his master bathroom, heart racing. The door closed but I left it open a bit. Enough for a peek. I stripped off the wet top, letting it fall to the floor, standing there in just my shorts, my full breasts bare in the mirror. Curvy, soft, aching for touch. I turned on the faucet, pretending to rinse, but really, I waited. Then In the mirror, I caught a glimpse: him in the doorway, frozen, eyes dark with lust. His pants tented, hard outline clear. He was fighting it, fists clenched, but he didn't leave. I smiled to myself wondering what he'd do next?