CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter Twenty Three: The Friction of Shadows

Abigail Macron

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Friction of Shadows

The heavy velvet drapes absorbed the sound of my ragged breathing, trapping us in a dark, suffocating pocket of the lounge while the distant bass of the gala thudded through the floorboards. Caleb held my leg pinned high against his hip, his chest crushing my bare shoulders back against the window frame. The glass behind the fabric rattled softly with every heavy, shuddering breath he took.

"You like the edge, don't you?" he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my skin. He pulled his head back just enough to look down at me, his dark eyes entirely black in the dim amber light of the room. "You like knowing your father is just down the hall. You like the fact that if someone walks through that door, everything you’ve ever known ends."

"I like knowing you can't walk away," I gasped, my hands locking tightly around the back of his neck, my fingers tracing the rigid line of his trap muscles. "I like knowing that no matter how hard you try to play the perfect vanguard, Caleb, you belong to me in the dark."

A wicked, dark smirk touched his lips, entirely devoid of the professional charm he used on the public. "Is that what you think, Abby? You think you're the one holding the leash?"

With a sudden, ruthless movement, he shifted his weight, dropping his knee between my thighs to force them wide apart against the drapes. He didn't take off his tuxedo pants; he simply unfastened the front, his heavy, rigid desire pulsing with a desperate, unyielding demand against the soaked center of my core.

He didn't waste time sliding into me gently. He grabbed my hips from behind, spinning me around until my face was pressed against the heavy velvet of the drapes, my hands sprawling blindly against the cold glass of the windowpane. Before I could even draw air into my burning lungs, he positioned himself and drove into me with one deep, ruthless, and punishing thrust.

A loud, jagged sob tore from my throat, completely muffled by the heavy fabric of the curtains. The angle was impossibly deep, a sharp, possessive stretch that filled me so completely my knees buckled. Caleb caught me by the waist, his massive hand anchoring my pelvis, lifting me back up to meet the aggressive, driving rhythm he immediately set.

"Look out the window, Abigail," he commanded, his voice a guttural hiss in my ear as his heavy chest slammed against my bare back with every impact. "Look at what’s waiting for you out there."

Through the small gap in the drapes, the entire backyard gala was visible. From this elevated vintage point in the west wing, I could see the glittering fairy lights, the white tents, and the hundreds of wealthy guests milling around the lawn. And there, standing by the champagne bar just fifty yards away, was my father, laughing and shaking hands with Julian Vance and his father.

The sheer, terrifying velocity of the visual hit me like a physical wave. I was being ruthlessly possessed by my father’s best friend, my face pressed against the glass of his own home, while he stood under the spotlights celebrating the future of his empire.

"Caleb... oh God, Caleb," I whimpered, my fingers clawing at the velvet drapes as the white-hot friction between my legs began to spiral out of control. The risk was too high, the pleasure too sharp, a beautiful destruction that made my entire body tremble.

He didn't relent. He increased the pace, his long, heavy strokes hitting me with a primal, unyielding force that shook the window frame. His breath was a fast, uneven sound against my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of my shoulder blade as he drove us both toward the edge of sanity. He wasn't just taking his pleasure; he was stamping his memory into my skin, ensuring that every time I looked at that lawn, every time I spoke to Julian Vance, I would feel the heavy, bruising weight of his claim.

The internal tension tightened into a suffocating coil, the wet, disorganized sound of our collision matching the distant rhythm of the music outside.

"Tell me who owns you, Abby," Caleb growled, his hand sliding forward to grip my jaw, forcing my head to the side so he could watch my eyes fracture in the dark.

"You," I cried out softly, the word a broken surrender against his palm. "Only you, Caleb. Please."

The confession broke the last shred of his control. With a low, primal groan that vibrated straight through my bones, Caleb delivered three final, brutal thrusts, driving himself to the absolute hilt of my core.

The orgasm hit me like a physical crack, a violent, blinding convulsion that had my inner muscles clamping down around him in tight, wild spasms. I collapsed against the windowpane, my forehead resting against the cold glass as the world spun out of focus. At the exact same moment, Caleb stiffened completely against my back, his jaw clenched, a harsh, ragged gasp tearing from his lungs as he surrendered to his own release, filling me with a heavy, pulsing heat that seemed to burn straight through the silk of my dress.

We stayed completely still in the shadows for a long moment, the only sound the frantic cadence of our breathing as the adrenaline slowly began to recede.

Then, the sharp, distinctive sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the burgundy carpet of the hallway outside.

"Caleb? Are you there?" my father’s voice boomed through the wooden door, the handle beginning to jiggle as he turned the lock.

The illusion was shattered. The minefield had just detonated.