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.

CHAPTER 5

AVA'S POV

I lie on Lisa’s bed for a long time after he leaves, staring at the ceiling.

His cum is leaking out of me, slow and warm, soaking into the sheets. I can feel it every time I shift — thick, messy, sliding down between my cheeks and onto the soft blue fabric. My thighs are sticky. My pussy feels used and swollen, stretched in a way that still throbs with every heartbeat. There’s a dull, deep ache inside me from how hard he fucked me, a reminder that will probably still be there tomorrow.

I should get up. Shower again. Change the sheets. Pretend none of it happened. Pretend I didn’t just let my best friend’s father come inside me on her bed while she was out on a date with the other man I’m fucking.

Instead I stay exactly where I am, naked and cooling in the open air of the room. My hand slides down almost on its own, fingers trailing through the mess he left between my legs. It’s disgusting. It’s still hot. I push two fingers through the slick combination of both of us and shiver at how sensitive I am. My clit is swollen. Even the lightest brush makes my hips twitch.

I am so fucked up.

The door opens without a knock.

Marcus steps back in like he owns the room — which, right now, he does. He’s still in the same black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. His hair is slightly messy. His eyes go straight to my hand between my thighs and a slow, mean smirk pulls at his mouth.

“Couldn’t help yourself,” he says.

I snatch my hand away, face burning with fresh shame. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click and walks closer, unhurried.

“Lisa texted,” he says, holding up his phone so I can see the screen for a second. “They’re leaving the restaurant soon. She said she’ll be home in about an hour.”

My stomach drops hard. An hour. Sixty minutes before my best friend walks back into this house. Into this room. Sixty minutes before she could smell sex in the air or notice her sheets are ruined.

Marcus stops at the edge of the bed and looks down at me. I’m still completely naked, legs slightly open, his cum visibly wet and shiny on my pussy and inner thighs. He doesn’t look away. He takes his time looking.

“You should clean up,” he says mildly. Then he tilts his head, considering me. “Or maybe not. Maybe I should send you downstairs just like this when she gets home. Let her see what her best friend looks like after taking her dad’s cock. Legs shaking. Cum dripping down her thighs. That fucked-out look on her face.”

Fear spikes through me, sharp and cold. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He reaches down and drags two thick fingers through the mess between my legs, scooping up the cum leaking out of me. He holds them up between us so I can see the thick, sticky strings stretching between his fingers. “You’re the one who spread your legs. You’re the one who came on my cock while I called you a slut. Don’t act shy now.”

He pushes the same two fingers into my mouth. The taste hits my tongue immediately — salty, filthy, the mix of both of us. He watches me with dark eyes as I suck them clean like he expects it. Like it’s the least I can do. My face burns, but I don’t pull away.

“Good,” he mutters, voice rough with approval. “At least you’re useful.”

He pulls his fingers out of my mouth with a wet sound and stands there for a second, looking down at me like he’s deciding something. Then his hand wraps around my ankle and he drags me closer to the edge of the bed in one strong pull. I gasp, hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock. He’s already hard again — thick, heavy, the head still slightly shiny from earlier.

“Wait—”

“We have time.” He rubs the fat head of his cock through my soaked, used folds, smearing the mess around, tapping it against my swollen clit. “Unless you want me to stop right now and let you explain to Lisa why her sheets are ruined and why her room smells like sex.”

I shake my head quickly, almost frantically.

“That’s what I thought.”

He pushes back inside me in one long thrust. I’m still sensitive and puffy from the first time, and the sudden stretch makes me cry out. Marcus doesn’t give me a second to adjust. He hooks my legs over his arms, bending me open, and starts fucking me deep and steady, eyes locked on the place where his cock is disappearing into my body.

“Look at that,” he groans. “Taking it like you were made for it. No wonder Ryan keeps sneaking around with you. This greedy little cunt just swallows everything up.”

Every filthy word makes me clench around him. I hate how much it turns me on. I hate that the shame only makes me wetter. I hate that I’m already getting close again like the desperate slut he keeps calling me.

He fucks me harder. The bedframe starts knocking lightly against the wall. The wet, obscene sound of his cock driving into my cum-filled pussy fills the room. I’m moaning too loud and I can’t stop myself.

“Quiet,” he snaps, though there’s no real anger in it — just control. “Unless you want the neighbours to hear what a whore you are. Unless you want someone to tell Lisa how you sound when you’re getting railed in her bed.”

I bite my lip hard enough that it hurts, trying to smother the noises while he pounds into me. He reaches down between us and starts rubbing my clit with rough, precise circles. The pressure builds terrifyingly fast. My back arches off the bed. My hands fist in the sheets.

“I’m gonna—fuck—Marcus—”

“Come,” he orders, voice low and hard. “Now.”

I do. The orgasm rips through me so hard my whole body locks up. I come around his cock with a broken, choked-off cry, squirting a little from how intense it is, pulsing and clenching like I’m trying to milk him. Marcus curses under his breath and keeps thrusting through it, using the way I’m squeezing him, chasing his own release with short, brutal snaps of his hips.

A few seconds later he slams as deep as he can go and holds there, groaning low and guttural as he empties himself inside me for the second time. I feel every thick pulse. Feel him filling me up again. Feel the heat of it when there’s no more room and it starts to push back out around his cock.

When he finally pulls out, the mix of both rounds of cum spills out of me in a warm, messy rush onto Lisa’s sheets.

He stands there for a moment catching his breath, looking down at the complete wreck he’s made of me — legs open, chest heaving, pussy red and used and overflowing. Then he checks his phone.

“Forty minutes,” he says, voice almost normal again. “Get in the shower. Change the sheets. Open a window if you have to. If Lisa walks in and smells sex in her room, I won’t cover for you. You’re on your own.”

He tucks himself back into his sweatpants and walks to the door. Before he leaves, he glances back at me one more time over his shoulder.

“And Ava?”

I look up at him, still spread open, still trembling, his cum leaking out of me in slow ticks.

“Next time you let Ryan fuck you,” he says, quiet and clear, “remember whose cum is going to be dripping out of you after. Clear?”

I nod shakily.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.

I lie there for a few more seconds, heart still racing, body aching in that deep, used way, his threat sitting heavy in my chest right next to the sick heat that hasn’t fully faded. Forty minutes. Maybe less.

I force myself to move.

I get up on unsteady legs, strip the sheets with shaking hands, and carry them to the laundry basket like that will somehow erase what just happened. I open the window. I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it and step under the spray, watching the evidence of what we did swirl down the drain.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

Forty minutes isn’t a long time.

And Lisa is already on her way home.