CHAPTER 2

AVA'S POV

I meet Lisa near the campus gate after my shift.

She’s already waiting with two iced coffees, one in each hand, phone tucked under her arm. When she sees me her whole face lights up, like I’m actually someone worth being happy about. The smile is real. Warm. It makes my stomach twist so hard I almost look away. I’m still walking around with her boyfriend’s cum dried on my thighs, the sticky reminder of what I let him do to me in that storage room, and all she’s doing is smiling at me like a good friend.

“There you are,” she says, holding my coffee out. “Extra ice, just how you like it. I had them add a bit of vanilla too.”

I take it. The cup is sweating in my hand. “Thanks.”

We start walking with no real destination, just the usual slow loop we always take when we need to talk. Lisa launches into her day — a boring lecture where the professor droned on for an hour, group project drama with a girl who still hasn’t done her part, how she’s already sick of the semester and wants to drop half her classes. Normal shit. Sweet shit. The kind of easy conversation we’ve had a hundred times.

I’m only half listening.

Every step I take makes me feel the sticky mess Ryan left between my legs. I had pressed my thighs together in the storage room afterward, trying to keep it from running down, but some of it still dried in a thin film on my skin. I can feel it pull slightly when I walk. The sensation is filthy. It makes me wet all over again, a fresh pulse of heat that soaks into my already ruined panties. I shift my weight and pretend I’m just adjusting my bag.

I am such a fucking slut.

Lisa glances at me after a few minutes, eyes narrowing the way they always do when she can tell something’s wrong. “You’ve been quiet. Quieter than usual. Is it your mum?”

I shrug and take a sip of the coffee to buy myself a second. “She got bad last night. Came home already drunk. Broke a plate, then a glass. Started screaming at nothing. I locked myself in my room until she passed out.”

Lisa’s expression softens immediately. No judgment. No awkward pity. Just real worry. She stops walking so she can look at me properly.

“You’re staying at mine tonight,” she says. “I’m not asking.”

“Lisa—”

“No.” Her voice is firm but gentle. “Ryan’s taking me out later. Dinner and drinks. He’s been trying lately, so I said yes. We’ll be gone for hours. The house will be empty. You already have the key. Just go over, shower, eat whatever you want, sleep in my bed if it makes you feel better. I don’t want you going back there when she’s like this.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste metal. The second she said “the house will be empty,” my mind went straight to Marcus. His hands. The way he looks at me across the room like he already knows I’d drop to my knees if he told me to. The low voice. The size of him. My pussy clenches around nothing just from the thought, and I feel a fresh pulse of wetness mix with what Ryan left inside me earlier.

I’m standing here with my best friend while her boyfriend’s cum is still smeared on my thighs, getting turned on by the idea of her dad. The guilt is sharp, but the heat is stronger.

“My dad’s been working late all week,” Lisa continues, already planning it out in her head like she always does when she’s trying to take care of me. “He’s probably not even going to be home. You’ll have the place to yourself. You can even stay the whole weekend if you need to. I don’t mind.”

The words go straight to my cunt.

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound normal, like my heart isn’t beating in my pussy. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

She looks so relieved it almost makes me feel sick. Almost. The other part of me — the worse part — is already thinking about walking into that house, hoping Marcus is there, hoping he can smell the sex on me the second I step through the door. Hoping he does something about it.

Lisa pulls me into a hug without warning. She smells clean and sweet, like the vanilla lotion she’s used since we were sixteen. I stand there stiffly for a second before hugging her back, the coffee still in one hand. I wonder if she can smell me — the faint sweat, the sex, the way I’m already soaked again just from standing this close to the idea of her father. The thought makes my nipples tighten against my bra.

“Text me when you get there, okay?” she says when she pulls back. Her hands stay on my shoulders for a second. “And eat something. You look like you haven’t all day. There’s leftover pasta in the fridge. Just heat it up.”

“I will.”

She squeezes my hand one more time, then checks her phone and makes a face. “I have to go meet Ryan. He’s picking me up in twenty.” She gives me another quick smile, the soft one that used to make me feel safe, and heads off toward the parking lot.

I watch her go, smiling and waving like the good friend she thinks I am.

The second she’s out of sight, I step to the side of the path, slip my hand between my thighs, and press two fingers against my pussy through my skirt. Right there on the sidewalk. Just for a second. Just to feel how wet I am. The pressure makes my breath catch. I’m swollen and slick and disgusting.

I am so fucking wet.

I start walking toward her house with the spare key already in my hand, heart beating too fast, thighs rubbing together with every step. My mind is full of every filthy thing I want her father to do to me. I think about him pushing me to my knees in the hallway. I think about him bending me over the same kitchen counter Lisa and I have eaten at a hundred times. I think about how much thicker he might be than Ryan, and the thought alone makes my pussy throb hard enough that I have to slow down and breathe through it.

By the time I reach their street, the sun is starting to drop and I’m aching. My panties are a mess. I haven’t even gone inside yet and I’m already soaked again.

I unlock the front door and step inside.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

I close the door behind me and stand still in the hallway, listening, the key still digging into my palm.

Then I hear it — a soft creak from deeper inside the house. A cupboard. Or a footstep.

Someone is home.

And I already know I’m not leaving.

CHAPTER 3

AVA'S POV

I unlock the front door and step inside.

The house is quiet at first. The kind of quiet that makes my ears ring. I close the door softly behind me and just stand there in the hallway with the spare key still digging into my palm, listening. For a second I almost believe Lisa was right and the place is empty. Then I hear it — a cupboard closing in the kitchen, followed by the low clink of a mug being set down on the counter.

Marcus is home.

My stomach drops and tightens at the same time. Heat flashes low in my belly so fast it almost makes me dizzy. Lisa said he wouldn’t be here. She looked me in the eye and told me the house would be empty. Part of me is glad she was wrong.

I walk toward the kitchen trying to look normal, like I’m just her best friend using the spare key after a long day, not the girl who still has her boyfriend’s cum dried in a thin film on her inner thighs. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. Every step makes me aware of how sticky I still am between my legs.

Marcus is standing at the counter with his back mostly to me, pouring coffee like it’s any other evening. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips. He looks bigger than he does in my head. He always does. When he hears my footsteps he glances over his shoulder.

“Ava.”

Just my name. Calm. Like he expected me.

“Hey,” I say, and I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds. “Lisa said I could stay tonight. She thought you wouldn’t be home.”

He turns fully around, leaning back against the counter with the mug in his hand. His eyes move over me once — not obvious, but slow enough that I feel it. Face. Chest. The short skirt I never changed out of. My bare legs. I have the sudden, humiliating thought that he might be able to tell I’m still messy from earlier.

“She was wrong,” he says simply. “You staying anyway?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” He nods toward the stairs. “Guest room’s clean. Or just use Lisa’s. She won’t mind.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The dried cum on my thighs pulls slightly when I move. I need to get out of these clothes. I need to shower before I do something stupid like push this further right here in the kitchen.

“I’m gonna use Lisa’s shower,” I tell him, already taking a step back. “Change. I’ve been running around all day.”

Marcus watches me for a second longer than necessary, eyes dark and unreadable, then gives a small nod. “Alright.”

I turn and head for the stairs before I can stare at him too long. My legs feel unsteady. Every step up makes the sticky mess between my thighs shift, a filthy reminder of Ryan that only makes me think about Marcus harder. By the time I reach the top I’m breathing too fast.

Lisa’s room looks exactly the same as always — neat bed with the soft blue bedspread, desk still covered in her binders, the faint sweet smell of her vanilla lotion hanging in the air. I go straight into her bathroom and lock the door even though I know the lock doesn’t mean much.

I strip quickly. Blouse. Skirt. Bra. The panties are a lost cause — damp and ruined — so I ball them up and shove them to the bottom of my bag. When I look down at myself I can still see faint sticky traces on my inner thighs. I step under the hot water and finally breathe.

I mean to shower fast. Instead I stand there longer than I should, hands braced on the tiles, letting the water run down my body while my mind stays downstairs with him. My fingers slide between my legs almost on their own. I’m still swollen and sensitive from Ryan. The second I brush my clit I have to bite my lip to stay quiet. I could make myself come right here if I wanted to. It wouldn’t take long.

I force my hand away, finish washing, and turn off the water before I do something even more pathetic.

I dry off with one of Lisa’s towels. That’s when I realize what I actually brought: one clean pair of panties and an old oversized T-shirt of hers I’ve been keeping in my bag for nights like this. No shorts. No pants. The T-shirt is light grey and soft from too many washes. When I pull it on, it only comes down to the middle of my thighs. My wet hair drips onto my shoulders and makes the fabric cling to my chest and stomach. My nipples are still hard from the mix of cool air and leftover adrenaline. The shirt does nothing to hide them.

I look at myself in the mirror. Flushed face. Damp skin. Hard nipples pressing against the thin cotton. Bare legs. I look like I just got fucked. Or like I’m about to be.

I unlock the bathroom door and step back into Lisa’s bedroom—

Marcus is sitting on the edge of the bed.

I freeze.

He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped, like he’s been waiting the whole time. His eyes go straight to me — wet hair dripping down my back, the way the T-shirt sticks to my body, my bare thighs, the fact that there’s clearly nothing underneath.

Neither of us speaks.

Water runs from the ends of my hair, down my collarbone, and under the neckline of the shirt. My heart is slamming so hard I can feel it in my teeth. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m not wearing a bra and that the shirt is thin enough for him to see the exact shape of my nipples. I’m also aware that if I move wrong, he’ll see everything else too.

Marcus’s eyes move slowly down my body and back up to my face. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t pretend he’s not looking.

And I don’t move.

I just stand there in the doorway of my best friend’s room, dripping wet, barely dressed, already aching between my legs, waiting to see what he’s going to do about it.

CHAPTER 4

AVA'S POV

I stand in the doorway with water still running down my back, the oversized T-shirt sticking to my damp skin. Marcus doesn’t move from the edge of Lisa’s bed. He just looks at me like he has all the time in the world.

My nipples are hard against the thin fabric. I know he can see them. The shirt is too short and too light, clinging to every place I’m still wet from the shower. I should have locked the bedroom door. I should have gotten dressed properly. Instead I just stand here like an idiot, heart hammering so hard it hurts.

“You’re staring,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. It doesn’t work.

“You’re standing there wet in my daughter’s shirt.” His eyes drop to my thighs. “What do you expect?”

I should tell him to get out. I should pull the shirt down and walk past him like this is normal. Instead I stay where I am, frozen, because the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip and my pussy throb at the same time.

Marcus leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies me for a long second. Then he asks, calm as anything:

“How long have you been fucking Ryan?”

The question hits me like a slap. My stomach drops so hard I feel sick.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice stays low, but there’s a sharp edge under it now. “I saw you. Last week. Behind the café. His hand up your skirt. You looking around like a guilty little slut before you pulled him into that storage room.”

My face goes hot so fast it burns. Shame and fear smash into me at the same time. My mind starts racing — how much did he see, how long did he watch, does he know how many times it’s happened?

“You—you watched?”

“I was driving past. Recognized your skirt. Then I recognized the way you opened your legs for him.” He stands up slowly, and suddenly the room feels smaller. “Does Lisa know her best friend is taking her boyfriend’s cock?”

“Please don’t tell her,” I whisper. The words come out fast and desperate, tumbling over each other. “Marcus, please— she can’t know. She can’t.”

He walks toward me. I back up on instinct until my shoulders hit the wall. He plants one hand beside my head and looks down at me, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath and the soap on his skin.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asks quietly. “You’re in her house. Wearing her clothes. Standing here half-naked after using her shower. And if I had to guess…” His other hand grabs my thigh and pushes the T-shirt up. I gasp at the contact. “You’re still wet from him, aren’t you?”

I try to close my legs. He forces them apart with his knee and cups my pussy through my panties. The heat of his palm is shocking. His eyes darken the second he feels how soaked I already am.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice drops even lower. “You’re dripping. He fucked you today, didn’t he?”

I nod, eyes burning with humiliation. My throat feels too tight to speak.

“Say it.”

“He fucked me,” I whisper.

Marcus makes a low, ugly sound of approval. He yanks my panties to the side like they offend him and drags two thick fingers through my folds, spreading the wetness around. I flinch hard at how sensitive I am. I’m still swollen from Ryan, and every brush of his fingers feels too much.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, watching my face while he does it. “Your best friend is out on a date with him right now, sitting across from the same cock that was inside you a few hours ago… and you’re here leaking onto my hand.” He pushes one finger inside me. Then a second. The stretch makes me moan before I can stop it. “You gonna cry if I tell her? Or are you just gonna open your legs wider like the slut you are?”

“Please… don’t tell her.” My voice cracks. I’m shaking. His fingers are moving now, slow and deliberate, curling against a spot that makes my knees weak.

“Then be useful.” His mouth is right next to my ear, voice rough. “Get on the bed. Now.”

My legs are shaking so badly I almost can’t do it, but I obey. I climb onto Lisa’s bed on my back, face burning, heart slamming. Marcus pulls the T-shirt up and off me completely in one motion, leaving me naked under him. The air feels cold on my wet skin. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to pull his cock out.

It’s thick. Heavy. Already hard. Bigger than Ryan’s. The sight of it makes my stomach flip with a mix of nerves and raw want. I hate how much I want it.

He climbs over me, pushes my thighs wide apart with his knees, and rubs the fat head of his cock up and down my slit, coating himself in the mess Ryan left and the new wetness I can’t control. Every time it bumps my clit I twitch.

“First time I’m getting this cunt,” he says, voice rough with something ugly and hungry, “and it’s already been used today. Still loose and creamy from another man’s cum. Dirty fucking girl.”

Then he pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust.

I cry out. The stretch burns — he’s thicker than I’m ready for, thicker than Ryan, and he doesn’t stop until he’s buried all the way to the hilt. My hands fist in Lisa’s sheets. I can feel every inch of him. It hurts in the best and worst way.

“Fuck—wait—”

“No.” He pulls back and slams back in. The bed creaks hard under us. “You don’t get to play innocent now. You walked into this house knowing what you are. You came upstairs wearing almost nothing. You stood there and let me touch you.”

He starts fucking me hard. Deep, steady, punishing thrusts that force broken sounds out of my throat. One hand pins my wrist to the bed. The other grips my jaw so I have to look at him while he uses me.

“This what you wanted?” he growls. “Your best friend’s dad stretching your used little pussy while she’s out with the boy you just fucked? Huh?”

“Yes,” I choke out. Shame makes my eyes sting. It also makes me clench hard around him. I hate that it turns me on. I hate that the degradation only makes me wetter.

“Slut.” He thrusts harder, the wet sound of his cock driving into me filling the room. “Say it.”

“I’m a slut—”

“Louder.”

“I’m a slut—fuck—please—”

He drops his head and bites the side of my neck hard enough to sting as he pounds into me. I can hear how soaked I am. I can feel myself dripping down onto the sheets. My orgasm builds terrifyingly fast, sparked by the shame and the stretch and the fact that we’re doing this in Lisa’s bed.

I come suddenly, hard, with a broken cry, squeezing him like I’m trying to pull him even deeper. My vision goes white at the edges. Marcus doesn’t slow down. He fucks me straight through it, relentless, until my legs are shaking violently and I’m sobbing from how intense it feels. Every thrust forces another weak pulse out of me.

Then his rhythm turns rough and uneven. He shoves himself as deep as he can go one last time and comes with a low, guttural curse, pulsing inside me, flooding me with thick heat. I feel every spurt. Feel it painting my insides. Feel it start to leak out around his cock when he finally stills, breathing hard against my neck.

For a long moment the only sound in the room is both of us trying to catch our breath.

Marcus pulls out slowly. The loss of him makes me wince. His cum immediately drips down between my cheeks onto Lisa’s sheets, warm and messy. He sits back on his knees and looks at the wreck he’s made of me — spread open, shaking, cum leaking out of my used pussy — and gives a dark, satisfied smile.

“Clean yourself up,” he says, already tucking his cock back into his sweatpants. “And if you tell anyone about this… I tell Lisa everything. About Ryan. About tonight. Everything. Clear?”

I nod, still spread open on the bed, chest heaving, unable to close my legs yet.

“Good girl.”

He walks out of the room without looking back, leaving me naked, used, and dripping on my best friend’s bed.

I stare at the ceiling, heart still racing, his cum leaking out of me in slow pulses, the threat sitting heavy in my chest.

I already know I’m not going to say a word.

And the worst part is that part of me is already wondering when he’ll do it again.