SEDUCING MY BESTFRIEND'S DADDY

Chapter 7

The tension in the breakfast nook had become a physical weight, a thick, suffocating fog that made every clink of silver against porcelain sound like a strike of a hammer. Alejandro sat rigid, his breakfast forgotten. The "spice" of the sausage was a flimsy lie, and judging by the way he was breathing—shallow, jagged bursts that barely reached his lungs—he knew it. His body was a map of contradictions: his face was a mask of cold, Director-level authority, but his hands, hidden now beneath the table, were clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Across from him, Sofia was looking between the two of them, her brow furrowed in a way that made Emily’s pulse spike. Sofia wasn't stupid; she was just blinded by the impossibility of the situation.

"I have... a conference call," Alejandro suddenly announced. The chair screeched harshly against the hardwood as he stood abruptly. He didn't look at Sofia, and he pointedly looked through Emily as if she were made of glass. "An urgent matter with the Tokyo branch. I’ll be in my suite for the remainder of the morning. Do not disturb me."

He turned on his heel and strode away, his gait stiff, the silver head of his cane striking the floor with a rhythmic, angry 'thud-thud-thud'.

Emily watched his retreating back, her heart hammering against her ribs like a drum. She waited, counting the seconds, forcing herself to take a sip of her now-cold coffee.

"He’s so stressed," Sofia sighed, slumped over her plate. "I swear, since Mom died, he treats that company like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. I’m going to go lay by the pool, Em. Want to join?"

"In a bit," Emily said, her voice smooth and practiced. "I think the coffee is hitting me. I’m going to use the guest bathroom and freshen up. I’ll meet you out there in fifteen?"

"Deal," Sofia chirped, already reaching for her sunhat.

Emily didn't go to the guest bathroom.

She waited until she heard the sliding glass door of the patio click shut, and then she moved. Her bare feet were silent on the plush Persian rugs as she ascended the grand staircase. The master wing was a forbidden zone, a place of shadows and heavy doors, but today it felt like a magnet pulling her in.

As she reached the hallway leading to Alejandro’s private suite, she slowed her pace. The air here felt different—cooler, smelling of his signature sandalwood and the faint, lingering scent of the Scotch from the night before.

She stopped in front of his door. It wasn't fully closed. A sliver of darkness, no wider than a finger, revealed the room beyond.

Then, she heard it.

It was a low, guttural sound—a moan of such raw, unbridled agony and pleasure that it made Emily’s knees turn to water. It was the sound of a man who had reached his breaking point.

Holding her breath, Emily leaned forward, peeping through the crack.

The room was draped in shadow, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight against the morning sun. Alejandro was sitting on the edge of his massive king-sized bed, his shirt discarded on the floor. His back was to her, a broad expanse of tensed muscle and silver-scarred skin. He was j*rking off with a frantic, desperate intensity.

His movements were jagged, his head thrown back as he fought for air. Emily’s breath hitched in her throat as she caught a glimpse of him in the mirror across the room. She saw it—how truly big he was. He was thick, engorged, and pulsing with a life of his own, his large hand barely able to wrap around the sheer length of his d**k.

Emily felt a wave of heat wash over her that nearly made her gasp aloud. She stood frozen, her eyes wide, watching the rhythmic friction. Her mind raced, a chaotic blur of forbidden imagery. She imagined herself kneeling on that plush carpet, taking that heat into her mouth, licking the salt from his skin. She imagined the weight of him, the way it would feel to be stretched open by that incredible size, to have him finally, completely inside of her.

She reached out, her fingers trembling, her hand resting on the cool wood of the door. She wanted to push it open. She wanted to walk in, discard her sundress, and tell him to stop hiding. She wanted to join him in that dark, desperate ritual.

"Emily?"

The voice was distant, coming from the foyer below, but it hit Emily like a bucket of ice water.

"Emily! Did you find your swimsuit?" Sofia called again, her voice echoing up the stairs.

Inside the room, the rhythm stopped instantly. Alejandro went deathly still.

Emily bolted. She turned and sprinted down the hallway, her heart leaping into her throat, her feet barely touching the floor. She reached the guest bathroom just as the door to the master suite creaked, a heavy silence falling over the wing.

By the time she reached the patio, she was flushed, her chest heaving, but she forced a smile onto her face as she stepped into the sunlight.

"There you are!" Sofia said, lounging on a chaise. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Just... the heat," Emily lied, her mind still trapped in the shadows of that bedroom. She looked toward the upper floor, toward the darkened window of Alejandro’s suite.

She was here, under the sun with her best friend, playing the role of the innocent guest. But her skin was still humming from what she had seen. She could still hear those moans. She knew now that the Director wasn't just rattled—he was haunted. And the next time she walked through that door, she wouldn't just peep. She would make sure he never had to finish alone again.