SEDUCING MY BESTFRIEND'S DADDY

Chapter 6

The morning air in the Vargas estate was deceptively tranquil, a stark contrast to the storm that had ravaged the high-rise penthouse only hours prior. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the breakfast nook, glinting off the polished silver and the crystal bowls of fresh fruit. To Sofia, it was just another Sunday morning. To Alejandro and Emily, the room felt like a pressurized chamber, the oxygen thinning with every passing second.

Alejandro sat at the head of the table, his "Director" mask firmly back in place. He was dressed in a charcoal grey polo and slacks, looking every bit the composed, grieving widower. But his eyes were bloodshot, and the hand holding his coffee cup was not entirely steady. He hadn't looked at Emily once since they had arrived back at the house at dawn.

"God, I’m so hungover," Sofia groaned, resting her head on her palm as she poked at a plate of eggs. "I barely remember the car ride home. Dad, did you and Emily have a good time after I went to dance with Noah?"

Alejandro cleared his throat, the sound tight. "It was... a professional evening, Sofia. Emily and I had much to discuss regarding her future internships."

Emily, sitting directly to his right, hid her smirk behind a glass of orange juice. The hypocrisy was delicious. She felt a surge of wicked adrenaline. He thought he could bury last night? He thought he could retreat behind his daughter and his coffee? She wouldn't allow it.

Under the heavy linen tablecloth, Emily kicked off her silk slipper.

She began slowly. She found the hem of Alejandro’s slacks with her toes, grazing the fine wool. She felt him stiffen instantly, his fork freezing mid-air. She didn't stop. She moved her foot upward, tracing the hard, cabled muscle of his calf. She could feel the heat radiating through his clothing.

As her foot traveled higher, bypassing his knee to reach the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, Alejandro’s knuckles turned white around his coffee cup. Emily’s toes reached the apex of his thighs, finding the heavy, unmistakable shape of his manhood. Even through the fabric of his slacks, she could feel him starting to stir, his body betraying his iron-clad will as he began to harden beneath her touch.

Alejandro’s breath became shallow. He was secretly suffering, trapped between the domestic chatter of his daughter and the illicit ministrations of the woman he had claimed only hours ago. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"Dad? You’re doing that thing again," Sofia said, squinting at him. "The 'boardroom stare.' Relax, it's Sunday."

"I’m fine," Alejandro managed to choke out, his voice an octave lower than usual.

Emily decided it was time to escalate. With a practiced, clumsy flick of her wrist, she "dropped" her silver spoon. It clattered loudly against the hardwood floor before sliding directly under the center of the table.

"Oh, oops," Emily said with a bashful smile. "I’ve got it."

"Em, don't worry about it, the maid will—" Sofia started, but Emily was already disappearing beneath the table.

The world under the linen was a private, shadow-drenched sanctuary. Emily didn't reach for the spoon. Instead, she crawled on her knees until she was directly in front of Alejandro’s chair. She could see his legs shaking slightly, his pulse visible in the veins of his hands as they gripped the edge of the table above.

She reached out, her fingers nimble and bold. She found the silver tab of his zipper. Alejandro let out a sharp, hissed intake of air that he tried to disguise as a cough. She could feel his secret panic through the way his thighs clamped shut, but she was persistent. With a smooth, quiet tug, she opened his zipper.

He was already pulsing against the constraint of his underwear. Emily worked with focused intensity, her heart hammering against her ribs. She managed to get his d**k out, the sight of him in the dim light making her own breath hitch. He was hot, thick, and fully engorged.

She wrapped her hand around the base, her fingers slicking as she began to massage him gently up and down. She felt him jump, his entire frame shuddering under the table. She picked up the pace, her thumb circling the head as she f*isted him with a rhythmic, demanding pressure.

Above the table, Alejandro was losing the battle. His head fell back against the high chair, his eyes fluttering shut. A low, guttural m*an escaped his throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that he couldn't suppress.

"Dad?" Sofia asked, her voice brimming with confusion. "What was that? Are you okay?"

The sound of his daughter’s voice acted like a bucket of ice water. Alejandro’s eyes snapped open, wild and flooded with a mixture of terror and lust. He looked down, seeing the top of Emily’s dark head between his knees.

Panicked, he reached down and roughly pushed Emily’s hands away. He scrambled to stuff himself back into his slacks, the fabric snagging in his haste as he managed to close his zipper again just as Emily’s head popped back up from under the table.

He was panting, his face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He grabbed a link of breakfast sausage with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, chewing frantically.

"The sausage," Alejandro rasped, his eyes darting toward Sofia before landing on Emily with a look of sheer volatility. "The sausage is just... good. Too much spice. It caught in my throat."

Emily sat back in her chair, smoothing her hair with a serene, cat-like expression. She picked up her spoon—which she had actually grabbed on the way up—and took a delicate bite of her yogurt.

Alejandro glared at her. It was a look of pure, unbridled fury, the look of a man who wanted to scream at her for her recklessness. But beneath the anger, the fire in his pupils was unmistakable. His nostrils flared, and his gaze dropped briefly to her lips, his expression melting into one of raw, undeniable lust.

He was angry, yes. But he was also completely, utterly hers.

"Well," Sofia said, looking between them suspiciously. "If the sausage is that good, maybe I should try one."

Alejandro didn't respond. He just kept his eyes locked on Emily, the silent promise of retribution—and more—hanging in the air between them like a loaded gun.