The man I shouldn't Want

He was only supposed to stay for a day but my father said he should stay for the WHOLE Christmas holiday There he is– my forbidden Prince, im not suppose to want my father bestfriend like a slutty b***h but f**k it. He stood there working the grill like a Greek God in only an apron and Sweatpants. Sweat glistened on his black hair and the exposed area of his chest. I was practically drooling at this point, I could feel my panties getting damp, I imagined myself sucking on his c**k, making him feel good, I imagined him bending me over and pounding me in front of everyone while I screame– I tore my eyes away from him and forced my feet to move. Every step toward my father felt like walking away from something dangerous. Something delicious. “Go help him with the drinks,” Dad said, clapping my shoulder like he hadn’t just handed me over to temptation itself. Him. My father’s best friend. My ruin. I swallowed and turned slowly. He was still at the grill, apron low on his hips, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. He looked… calm. Controlled. Like he hadn’t felt the way my stare had undressed him. Like he hadn’t noticed. Liar. I grabbed the tray of drinks, my pulse drumming in my ears. When I stepped beside him, the heat from the grill wasn’t what made my skin prickle. It was him. “You’ve been avoiding me,” I said softly, keeping my voice steady. His hand paused mid-flip. Just for a second. Then he resumed. “I’ve been busy.” Busy pretending you don’t want me. I stepped closer. Too close. Close enough that my hip brushed the counter near his thigh. Close enough to smell him—smoke, cedarwood, something distinctly male. “You didn’t hug me properly when you arrived,” I added. He finally looked at me. God. Those eyes. Dark. Intense. Warning. “Anastasia,” he said quietly, my name rough in his throat. “Don’t.” Don’t what? Breathe? Stand here? Want you? I tilted my head innocently. “Don’t what?” His jaw tightened. “You know exactly what.” The air between us thickened. The laughter from the backyard faded into distant noise. It felt like we were the only two people in existence. He turned back to the grill. But his arm brushed mine when he did. And he didn’t move away. My stomach flipped. “You’re staying the whole holiday?” I asked. “Yes.” One word. Low. Controlled. My heart fluttered. “That’s… unexpected.” He leaned closer—just slightly—like he needed to make sure no one heard him. “It’s a mistake.” My breath hitched. “Why?” I whispered. His fingers tightened around the metal tongs. “Because you’re not a little girl anymore.” The words slid over my skin like heat. I felt exposed. Seen. “And that bothers you?” I asked, barely audible. He finally looked at me again. And this time, there was no pretending. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t safe. It was hunger wrapped in restraint. “You have no idea what bothers me,” he said. Footsteps approached. He straightened instantly, the mask snapping back into place. “Drinks,” he said smoothly, taking a glass from the tray and handing it to a guest as if we hadn’t just nearly combusted. But when his fingers brushed mine… He held on. Just a second too long. And in that second, I knew. This Christmas was going to ruin us.