My Best Friend Father's Omega

Chapter 5: You Shouldn't Be Here

Iris's POV

I ordered a whiskey sour.

The bar was three blocks from campus that Chloe and I had been coming since we turned eighteen, I was steady enough to sit down without gripping the stool.

I took a sip of my drink, the alcohol burning a path down my throat. I didn't cry, I was past crying about Tristan. The words came flooding through my mind.

Corpse. Dead when I touch her.

I set the glass down and looked at it and thought about the thirty seconds in his bedroom that had undone eight months of nothing. Thirty seconds of thinking about Rafael, his large hands, and my p***y tightened at the mere thought of him. I thought about the way I wanted him in ways I had never wanted anyone.

I signaled for a third drink.

I wasn't broken. I'd been telling myself that because it was easier than admitting that the reason Tristan had never once reached anything real in me was because something else had already taken up all the space, it had been taking up space since I was sixteen, waking up flushed and shaking in a guest room.

I shouldn't want him, he was off limits, he was Chloe's father, he was eighteen years older than her, but god I wanted him.

I was twenty years old and I was in love with my best friend's father.

I'd never let myself say it that plainly before, not even in my own head. I'd called it a crush, a fixation, a stupid fantasy I needed to grow out of. I'd called it everything except what it was because what it was had no good ending attached to it.

I ordered a fourth drink.

The bartender slid it without a word. I wrapped both hands around it and sat with the knowledge I'd just let myself have.

I felt tired and a little drunk, and alone in a loud bar.

I pulled out my phone.

Chloe had texted twice, how did it go? Then, hello?? and I stared at her name for a long moment. I couldn't tell her, not tonight. I wasn't ready for that conversation when sober, let alone at the bottom of my fourth drink.

I put my phone face down on the bar.

I thought about the mansion, how quiet it was. The pool light glowing in the dark, the warm water, how I felt when I was in it and then I thought about who else was in the house tonight.

I picked up my phone and texted Chloe. Tristan and I are done. I'm okay, going back to your house, don't call me tonight.

I sent it before she could respond, put my phone in my bag and finished my drink.

The mansion was dark when I let myself in.

The key worked on the third try, which was probably because I was drunk, and I stood in the doorway for a moment, heels in one hand, the cool tile of the entrance hall under my bare feet. The house was quiet. The clock above the hall table read ten forty.

I should go upstairs, should have drank a glass of water, take off my makeup, sleep this off, and wake up tomorrow with a sober head.

I walked toward the back of the house instead.

The pool light was on, the water glowing pale blue in the dark, and I pushed the glass door open and stepped out into the night air and stopped.

He was in the water.

Rafael was moving through the pool in long z deliberate strokes, his body cutting clean through the surface, his hair slicked back, every line of him lut by the water below.

I stood there and watched him and felt the air leave my body, my body reacting instantly. My n*****s hardened, my p***y tightened, my mouth went dry.

He reached the wall, stopped, turned and saw me.

He went still in the water. His grey eyes locked on mine across the length of the pool, then he moved to the edge, put his hands on the tile and pulled himself out of the water in one smooth motion.

I should have looked away but I didn't, I was frozen, my eyes were locked on him as he pulled himself out of the water.

Water dripped down his chest, his abs, his thighs. His boxers were soaked through, clinging to him, leaving nothing I didn't already know from the dreams. My gaze dropped without meaning to, my eyes widened as I took in the bulge between his legs. He was hard, even from here, I could see the outline of his c*ck, thick and heavy, pressed against the boxes.

My p***y ached.

His grey eyes stayed on me, calm, assessing, reading everything I was too drunk to hide.

"Where's Chloe?" My voice came out steadier than I expected.

"She went to her mom's place." He picked up his phone from the lounger, checked the screen, set it back. "She texted an hour ago. She said she'd be home late."

"Oh," I said. "That's okay."

He looked at me and said nothing.

I moved for no reason. One step, then another, my bare feet silent on the cool concrete, closing some distance between us until I was close enough to see the water still tracking down the column of his throat, close enough to smell him. Something underneath that made the omega in me go completely, dangerously still.

"You're drunk," his jaw tightened.

I held his gaze. "So?"

Something moved through his eyes, then it was gone before I could name it. He took a step toward me, and the air changed between us. His hands came up and he tucked a loose curl behind my ear, his fingers brushing my cheek and I felt it everywhere.

His hand stayed. His thumb dragged once, slowly, across my cheekbone.

His eyes moved over my face, my outfit, my lips. The fact I hadn't stepped back.

"So," His voice dropped low. "You shouldn't be here."