Daddy's Best Friend Pucks Me Every Night

DIANE Holy hell , I was going to hell in a first-class seat. Legs spread, with my father’s best friend’s mouth buried between them. He just dropped to his knees like a man starved dark head moving between my thighs. While that sinful tongue worked for me slowly. Deliberate strokes that made my back arch off the leather seat of his car. His grip on my hips was bruising, possessive. The low, hungry sound he made against my c**t vibrated straight through my bones. I fisted his thick, dark hair, hips rolling shamelessly,chasing the release that was right there. "Yes... daddy." I moaned loudly, my waist moving to his rhythm. "You like that? Want daddy to make you c*m?" I nodded immediately. "Yea... Make me c*m daddy." I could feel my release building up slowly till it felt like I was about to explode. Ring...Ring... A sharp noise that sounded like my alarm rang loudly in the room. The alarm screamed like a fire drill. My eyes flew open, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. For a second I still felt the phantom heat of his mouth. My eyes flew open and I took in my environment. I was in my room and my dad's best friend was no where to be found. What the f*****g hell. "You've got to be kidding me. Not again." I've been having this dream for four damn years. At first I thought it was just because I felt my dad's best friend was hot. But as time passed, it kept getting worse and messier. Every single felt real, like he was actually pleasuring me. I looked down at myself and realised I was wet with sweat. My p***y was still throbbing and yearning for more. Then reality crashed in, cold and unforgiving. “Not again,” I groaned, dragging a pillow over my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”Four years. Four damn years of these dreams. And they only got filthier with time. I was twenty-four, freshly graduated,and apparently still incapable of developing. A normal crush on a normal guy who didn’t happen to be twice my age and completely off-limits. I tossed the pillow aside and sat up. Morning light poured through the tall windows of my Paris apartment. Catching on the half-packed suitcases in the corner. My body was still throbbing, aching in places that had no business aching this early. I pressed my thighs together and cursed under my breath. Even thinking his name felt dangerous. I dragged myself to the bathroom and confronted the disaster in the mirror. Blonde hair looks like a bird’s nest. Yesterday’s mascara smudged into smoky raccoon eyes. And a faint lipstick stain on my jaw like I’d tried to make out with my own pillow. Last night’s goodbye party with Isabella and the girls had clearly won. I wasn’t usually the “dance on tables” type. But when your entire college chapter is closing, you make an exception. Still, the hangover was reminding me why I preferred quiet nights with a book and a glass of wine. I wiped my face clean, splashed cold water on my skin, And tried not to think about the little scar that cut through my dad's friend's left eyebrow. Or the way his voice dropped when he used to call me “kiddo” . Back before that word started feeling like foreplay in my twisted head. God, I was pathetic.The phone rang just as I was toweling off. Dad’s name lit up the screen. A genuine smile tugged at my lips for the first time that morning. I answered on speaker. “Good morning, old man. ”“There she is,” his warm, familiar voice filled the room. “Though maybe my daughter had forgotten she still had a father back in New York. ”“Yesterday was yesterday, Dad. New day, new guilt trip?” I teased, heading back into the bedroom in just my underwear. “I’m literally packing right now. ”He chuckled, that deep. Comforting sound I’d missed more than I wanted to admit. I could practically hear him sipping his absurdly strong coffee. Some things never changed.“You coming home in time for your old man’s fiftieth?” He asked, trying (and failing) to sound casual.“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I already booked my flight. Landing Friday evening. “Good. I’m sending the driver. No arguments. ”I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m twenty-four, not twelve. I can take a cab.”“You’ve been gone four years, Diane. Let me pick you up properly.”I softened. After Mom died when I was fourteen, it had just been the two of us. He’d done everything possible to make sure I never felt the hole she left behind. The least I could do was let him play overprotective dad for one weekend. “Fine. But only because I love you.”“That’s my girl. ” He paused, then added more gently, “You sound good, sweetheart. Ready to be home?” , The word sent equal parts warmth and panic through my chest. “Yeah,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “Can’t wait. ”We said our goodbyes, and I stared at the blank screen for a long moment, Standing in the middle of my half-packed room wearing nothing but a lace bra and matching panties. In three days I’d be back in New York. In three days I’d have to look Damon in the eye for the first time in years. He was still my father’s best friend. Still the man who had been like a second father to me growing up. Showing up to every soccer game, every school play, every awkward teenage. Moment with quiet support and those intense dark eyes that always seemed to see too much. And still the man whose wife had died three years ago after a brutal battle with cancer. I remembered the photo Dad sent me from the funeral. Damon in a black suit, Jaw tight, eyes hollowed out by grief. He had looked devastating even then. Like sin wrapped in mourning.I shook my head hard. As if I could physically dislodge the memory. Get it together, Diane.This was temporary. I was only coming home for the birthday party and a few weeks to figure out my next move. I could be normal, I could be polite and I could keep the filthy. Forbidden dreams locked where they belonged in my subconscious. Never to see daylight. I walked to the window. Staring out at the Paris rooftops one last time. New York here I come.