FORBIDDEN: CRAVING DADDY TOUCH

018

I follow Valeria into the main hall, the maid scurrying behind us. The interior is even more stunning than the exterior—high ceilings, marble floors, expensive art covering the walls. I grasp the banister of the staircase, taking it all in.

Valeria turns to the maid. "The room Anastasia is staying in needs to be prepared immediately. Arrange her things. Anything she wants, you get it."

The maid nods vigorously. Valeria turns to me, "I will be upstairs in my room. My husband will be back soon. Make yourself at home."

With that, she sweeps up the stairs. The maid looks at me expectantly. "Is there anything you need me to bring you, Miss?"

I force a smile. "I'm fine for now. You can go."

She nods and disappears down a corridor. Left alone in the massive living room, my mind drifts back to the mysterious man my mother is married to. I tried to look him up on the plane, but I fell asleep. Curiosity gets the better of me now. I pull out my phone, but the screen is black.

"Dead. Seriously?" I groan and slam the phone down onto the velvet couch behind me.

Frustrated, I pace the room until a massive frame on the far wall catches my eye. I move closer, needing to feed my curiosity. It’s a large portrait of a man—powerful, intense, with eyes that seem to follow you. and it's the man.

I gasp, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. A scream builds in my throat, but I choke it back. I know those eyes. I know that jawline. I know that body.

I’m so overwhelmed by the realization that I don’t hear the footsteps approaching. I don’t notice the presence until a large arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against a hard, muscular chest. The scent of strong, expensive cologne—cedar and sandalwood—engulfs me.

Then, I feel it. A kiss on my neck, warm and wet.

"You look different today," a deep, husky voice murmurs against my skin. "So soft."

Everything in me freezes. Every touch feels terrifyingly familiar. My body reacts instinctively, a traitorous warmth spreading through my limbs. I don't know when I close my eyes, the memories of a night in a room flooding my senses—the rough hands, the commanding voice, the way he made me c*m until I couldn't see straight.

Then, reality snaps back. My eyes fly open. I struggle, panic rising in my chest. "Get off me!"

I manage to shove his arm away and spin around. My instinct was right. It’s him. The man from the club. The one-night stand I never forgot.

He’s staring at me with wide eyes, shock written all over his face. "You?"

The sharp click of heels on marble echoes from the staircase. We both jump, distancing ourselves instantly. Valeria appears at the top of the stairs, a bright smile lighting up her face when she sees him.

"Tristan!" she calls out, descending the stairs.

She rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He hugs her back mechanically, but his eyes never leave me. They burn into me, filled with confusion and a lingering hunger that makes my knees weak.

Valeria pulls back, oblivious to the tension thick enough to choke on. She grabs his face and pulls him in for a peck on the lips. Then she looks at me, beaming.

"It looks like you’ve met my daughter, Anastasia."

She walks over to me, linking her arm through mine and pulling me close. She presses our cheeks together, forcing me to look at him. "Tristan, tell me, don't we look alike?"

Tristan stammers, his composure cracking. "Y-yes. Yes, you do."

He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. "I... I have some work to do. I need to rest for tomorrow."

Valeria nods, all sweetness. "Of course, darling."

She helps him with his bag, sliding his jacket off his shoulders. As she does, he keeps glancing at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. They head upstairs together, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the grand foyer.

I stand there, frozen, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. What have I done? I slept with my mother’s husband. I’m living under the same roof as the man who had his d**k inside me some month ago.

I look terrified, my skin cold despite the warmth of the room. I groan, dragging a hand down my face.

A tap on my shoulder makes me jump. It’s the maid again.

"We are done with your room, Miss. You can go now."

She bows and leads me down a long hallway. I drag my feet, my mind racing with images of Tristan—his hands on me, his voice in my ear, the way he looked at me just now. How is my life going to be like this?

We reach a door at the end of the hall. The maid opens it to reveal an elegant suite. There’s a massive four-poster bed, soft lighting, and a balcony overlooking the garden. It’s beautiful, but it feels like a cage.

"Your room is just down the hall from Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair," the maid says softly before leaving.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I hear it. Faint voices through the wall. Valeria’s laugh, then Tristan’s low rumble. They are so close. Too close.

I strip off my clothes, needing to wash away the day—the travel, the paparazzi, the shock. I walk into the bathroom, turning on the gold faucets. I take my time filling the tub with warm water, adding some scented oil I find on the edge.

I sink into the water, the heat enveloping me. I close my eyes, but the images won't stop. The memory of his c**k filling me up, the way he dominated me, mixes with the image of him hugging my mother.

I sink lower into the tub until the water covers my chin. I’m trapped in a house with a man who knows exactly what I sound like when I c*m, and he’s married to my mother. I’m f****d. Truly, utterly f****d.