~ Amira ~

I’m Amira Jackson, and I’ve been fucking obsessed with my dad’s best friend since I was a teenager and now I’m twenty years old, and I can’t control it anymore.

It’s been a week since my dad dropped me off at Mr. Jeffrey’s house, I’d had a blowout fight with his new wife, the one he brought home so he decided I needed space.

He drove me straight to his best friend’s place to stay for a while.

Little did he know, he’d just handed me the best gift of my life.

Because Mr. Jeffrey is the man I’ve dreamed about for years. The one I’ve pictured bending me over his desk, fucking me mercilessly, pounding into me so hard and deep that I’m sobbing, begging for mercy and he doesn’t stop.

“Amira, we’re leaving! See you next week,” Joyce and Ethan called out, lifting their bags over their shoulders.

Mr. Jeffrey was divorced, so his sixteen-year-old twins always split their time between parents. This week it was their mom’s turn, which meant the big house would be empty except for him and me.

I followed them down the long driveway, Mr. Jeffrey walking just a step behind me and I was hyper-aware of how close he was—the faint scent of his cologne.

Their mother waited outside the gate in her silver SUV, engine idling. Joyce and Ethan threw their bags in the back, then turned to hug me.

“I’ll miss you guys,” I said, squeezing them both tight, mostly so I could steal a quick glance over Joyce’s shoulder at Mr. Jeffrey leaning against the gatepost, arms folded, watching us with that quiet, unreadable look he always has.

The kids climbed into the car, waving through the windows as their mom pulled away, I waved back until they turned the corner and disappeared.

Then it was just us.

The gate clanged shut behind me, I turned around slowly.

Mr. Jeffrey hadn’t moved, his dark eyes met mine, steady and calm, like he already knew exactly what kind of week this was about to become.

One whole week, no kids and no interruptions.

Just him and me in that big, quiet house.

And every filthy fantasy I’ve carried since I was old enough to have them.

The evening stretched out slow and heavy after the kids left, we ate dinner together…the steak he grilled, salad I threw together while making small talk about school and work.

But every time his eyes met mine across the table, my pulse jumped, every time his fingers brushed mine passing the salt, heat shot straight between my legs.

By nine o’clock he pushed back from the table.

“I’m gonna take a shower and turn in early,” he said, voice low and even. “Long week.”

I nodded, throat tight. “Goodnight, Mr. Jeffrey.”

He gave me a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and headed upstairs.

I waited exactly five minutes after I heard his bedroom door click shut.

Five minutes of sitting on the edge of my bed, thighs pressed tight together, trying to talk myself out of it but the ache between my legs was already throbbing, wet and insistent, and every time I closed my eyes I saw him at the grill earlier, his shirtless sculpted body and forearms flexing while he flipped the steaks.

Fuck it.

I crept down the hallway in my bare feet, wearing nothing but those tiny cotton sleep shorts and the oversized T-shirt I’d stolen from the laundry basket this morning because it smelled like him.

The house was dead quiet except for the low hum of the AC.

His bedroom door was a little open and the bathroom light spilled out in a warm strip across the hardwood floor, and I could hear the shower running strong and steady.

Steam curled out through the crack he’d left open, probably thinking he was alone in the house tonight.

I stopped just outside, heart slamming against my ribs, I should go back to my room…I should be good.

Instead, I walked in, close enough that the steam kissed my face, and I looked.

Holy fucking hell.

There he was, completely naked and water pounding down on those wide shoulders, running in thick streams over the hard lines of his back, down to that perfect ass I’ve jerked off thinking about for years.

His muscles shifting every time he moved.

I squeezed my thighs together, but it wasn’t enough.

My hand was already sliding under the waistband of my shorts before I could stop myself.

He turned a little, giving me the side profile of his chest, fucking thick, powerful, with that trail of dark hair leading straight down to his cock. Even soft, it was heavy, thick, hanging long between his thighs.

My mouth actually watered.

I bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep from whimpering out loud.

My fingers slipped through my soaked folds, finding my clit swollen and begging.

I’d want him right now, damn it.

I started circling it slow at first, eyes locked on him as he tipped his head back under the spray. Water poured over his throat, down his chest, over those cut abs.

One big hand dragged through his hair, the other bracing against the tile wall.

I imagined that hand fisted in my hair instead, forcing my head back while he fucked my mouth.

My pussy clenched hard around nothing, I shoved two fingers deep inside myself, pumping them in time with the filthy rhythm in my head.

Wet sounds filled my ears…mine and the shower’s, both loud as hell to me, but he couldn’t hear.

He had no idea I was right here, getting off to the sight of his naked body like a desperate little slut.

He grabbed the soap, worked it into a lather, and started washing himself.

His hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, then wrapped around that gorgeous cock just to clean it but the way he stroked it firmly, thorough…made it swell and thicken right in front of me.

Veins standing out, the head getting darker, shinier under the water.

I fucked myself harder, palm grinding against my clit, thighs shaking and I was dripping down my own fingers, so wet I could feel it on the inside of my thighs.

Please, I thought, staring at him. Please turn around let me see how big you get when you’re hard.

He didn’t but just watching his strong hand grip himself once, twice more, was enough.

My orgasm slammed into me, sudden and brutal. I had to slap my free hand over my mouth to muffle the high, broken moan that tore out of me.

My pussy spasmed around my fingers, pulsing so hard my vision blurred at the edges, I sagged against the doorframe, knees buckling, riding it out while he kept washing, completely oblivious.

The water shut off.

Panic hit me like ice water, I yanked my fingers out, wiped my pussy juice frantically on my shirt, and bolted back to my room on wobbling legs.

I shut the door as quietly as I could, collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks.

Six more days.

Six more days of this torture.

And tomorrow night, I already knew I’d be right back at that door, fingers buried deep, praying he’d never catch me.

Or maybe praying he would.

The next morning, I woke up with my body still buzzing from the night before, that slow stroke of his hand, the click of the bathroom door behind me.

But when I opened my eyes, I was alone in the guest bed and no sign he’d ever been there.

Maybe I’d dreamed it.

Either way, the ache between my legs hadn’t gone away, If anything, it was worse.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered fast, and picked my outfit carefully.

A thin white tank top, almost transparent when the light hit it right, clinging to every curve, nipples already hard just from thinking about him seeing me in it, paired with the shortest denim cut-offs I owned, the ones that barely covered half my ass.

I made breakfast, fried eggs and toasted bread, enough for two, I loaded it onto a tray with fresh coffee, exactly how he liked it—black with no sugar.

He was working from home today and door to his office cracked open, low murmur of a conference call drifting out.

Perfect.

I knocked lightly, pushed the door open with my hip, and stepped inside.

He was at his desk, laptop open, AirPods in, shirtless again in those damn gray sweatpants.

He glanced up mid-sentence “Yeah, I’ll have the numbers by end of day” and he froze.

His eyes dropped straight to my chest.

The tank was doing exactly what I wanted, thin enough that the dark circles of my areolas showed through, nipples peaked and obvious against the fabric.

I shifted my weight, pretending to balance the tray, and the movement made my breasts sway just enough.

He stared for a beat too long.

He flicked his gaze back to the screen, jaw tightening as he cleared his throat. “Appreciate it, team. Talk soon.”

He ended the call quickly and pulled out his AirPods, exhaling under his breath.

“Brought you breakfast,” I said softly, setting the tray on the corner of his desk.

He didn’t look up right away. “Thanks, Amira.”

I lingered for a second, letting him feel my presence and when he finally glanced up again, his eyes flicked down once more but quick, involuntary before he forced them back to my face.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” I smiled, small and sweet, then turned to go.

As I walked out, I felt his stare on my back, on the way the shorts barely covered me, the bottom curve of my ass peeking out with every step.

He didn’t say anything but I heard him exhale, low and rough, the second the door clicked shut behind me.

Mission accomplished.

I spent the rest of the morning restless, eventually curling up on the big television in the living room with a movie I didn’t even care about, I needed something loud and mindless to drown out the throb between my legs.

I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I knew, sunlight had shifted across the room and my phone was buzzing like crazy on the table.

I was half-asleep, face smushed into a pillow, legs tucked under me, shorts riding even higher than before.

Footsteps approaching.

Mr. Jeffrey came down to the living room, paused in the doorway, I didn’t hear him at first.

My phone kept ringing.

He stepped closer, picked it up, glanced at the screen, it was Emma calling and he answered before I could move.

A beat of silence.

Then Emma’s voice exploded through the speaker, loud enough that even half-asleep I heard every word.

“AMIRA! Oh my GOD, so you didn’t tell me you went to your dad’s best friend’s house?! The very one you’ve been in love with since we were teenagers? The only one you use his picture to masturbate to every single night? I thought we were best friends and you couldn’t even tell me you’re literally living with your walking wet dream right now”

I shot upright, eyes wide, heart slamming into my throat.

Mr. Jeffrey stood frozen in the middle of the room, phone to his ear, staring at me.

His expression didn’t change much, just a slight tightening around his eyes, a slow blink.

But he heard it, every filthy word.

Emma kept going, oblivious. “I mean, girl, are you finally gonna climb that man like a tree or what? Tell me you’re—”

He ended the call immediately.

Silence crashed in.

The phone lowered slowly to his side.

I couldn’t breathe and my face burned so hot I thought I’d combust.

He didn’t speak at first, he just looked at me—really looked, taking in my flushed cheeks, the way I was clutching the pillow to my chest like a shield, the shorts that had ridden up even higher while I slept.

Then, quietly, voice low and even:

“Every single night, huh?”

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.

But the way he said it… wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t really shocked either.

It was something darker.

Something that made my thighs clench together all over again.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Just turned and walked back toward the stairs quietly.

Leaving me breathless, exposed, and knowing without a doubt that pretending was over.

I couldn’t sit still after that.

So I waited until the house was quiet again, then I padded barefoot upstairs, heart thudding so hard I felt it in my throat.

His bedroom door was cracked open, I pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them and a till in those gray sweatpants, still shirtless.

He looked up when I came in, eyes dark and unreadable.

I stopped a few feet away, hugging my arms around myself like that could hide how hard I was trembling.

“Mr. Jeffrey” My voice came out small. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t answer right away, he just ust watched me, steady and quiet, like he was giving me one last chance to turn around and leave.

But I didn’t.

I took a shaky breath. “What Emma said on the phone… it’s true. All of it.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for years now.

Since I was way too young to even understand what it meant and I tried to stop, I really did but I can’t and now I’m here, and I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

The silence stretched so long I thought he might send me away.

Finally, he spoke, voice low and rough. “Amira you’re my best friend’s daughter.”

The words hit like a slap, but I didn’t back down.

“And so?” I stepped closer, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened together. “I’m not a kid anymore, I’m twenty years old and I’m an adult, I know what I want and I know who I want.” My voice cracked on the last part, but I kept going. “And I want you, I always have.”

He looked away, staring at the floor like it might give him an answer.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said quietly.

“I do.” I moved even closer, until I was standing between his knees. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. “I’ve thought about it every single day for years and I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

His eyes lifted to mine again. Dark, Searching my face like he was looking for any sign I didn’t mean it.

I didn’t flinch.

“I’m not asking you to love me back immediately,” I whispered. “I’m just telling you the truth finally.”

He exhaled slowly, hands flexing open and closed.

He stood up slowly, letting go of my wrist like it burned him.

The warmth of his fingers lingered on my skin, but his face had gone hard again.

“I can’t do this, Amira.” His voice was low, almost pained. “I can’t have anything to do with you like that, you’re my best friend’s daughter, Please go back to your room.”

The words hit harder than I expected, like a door slamming in my face after I’d finally worked up the courage to knock.

I stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to change his mind but he just looked away, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides.

Something hot and sharp twisted in my chest—anger, humiliation, rejection all at once.

“Fine,” I snapped, voice cracking. “If that’s how you want it.”

I turned and stormed out, slamming his bedroom door behind me hard enough to rattle the frame, I didn’t stop at the guest room, I grabbed my phone and a hoodie from the living room, shoved my feet into my sneakers, and yanked the front door open.

It was pouring outside very heavy, cold January rain that soaked me the second I stepped onto the driveway but I didn’t care, I just started walking fast, down the long street away from his house, tears mixing with the rain on my face.

I don’t know how long I walked, long enough for my clothes to cling cold and heavy to my skin, long enough for my teeth to start chattering.

The neighborhood was quiet, streetlights blurred through the downpour, I kept my head down, arms wrapped around myself, replaying his words over and over.

You’re my best friend’s daughter.

Like that erased everything I felt. Like it erased me.

I didn’t hear the car at first—tires hissing slow on wet pavement behind me, then a door slammed, footsteps running.

A guy stepped out from under a streetlight, mid-twenties, hoodie pulled low, smirking like he’d found easy prey.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called, voice slurred. “You lost? Need a ride somewhere warm?”

I ignored him, kept walking faster.

He jogged to catch up, grabbed my arm. “Come on, don’t be like that, you’re soaked and I can help”

I jerked away. “Leave me alone.”

He laughed, stepping closer, blocking my path. “Feisty. I like that.”

Then headlights cut through the rain behind us, a truck pulling up fast, door flying open before it even fully stopped.

Mr. Jeffrey.

He was out in seconds, rain plastering his hair to his forehead, white T-shirt instantly transparent against his chest.

He didn’t say a word, he just grabbed the guy by the back of his hoodie and slammed him against the nearest fence.

The guy swung wildly, caught Mr. Jeffrey in the ribs. Once.

That was all he got.

Mr. Jeffrey hit him hard…controlled, brutal punches that dropped the guy to his knees in the wet grass. Blood mixed with rain on the guy’s face.

“Touch her again,” Mr. Jeffrey growled, voice deadly quiet, “and I’ll put you in the ground.”

Sirens were already coming, someone must’ve called it in. Two cop cars pulled up within minutes and statements were taken, the guy was cuffed, shoved into the back of a cruiser for assault and public intoxication.

Mr. Jeffrey barely spoke to the officers—just calm, clipped answers. Then he turned to me, eyes scanning me head to toe, checking for injuries.

I was shaking too hard to say anything.

He shrugged off his soaked jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, then guided me to his truck without a word.

The drive home was silent except for the rain hammering the roof and the heater blasting warm air that did nothing to stop my shivering.

We walked into the house dripping, leaving wet footprints across the floor.

“Go take a hot shower,” he said quietly, voice rough. “I’ll make tea.”

I nodded numbly and went upstairs.

I stood under the scalding water forever, trying to warm up, trying to stop crying, when I finally came out, wrapped in a towel, the house was quiet again.

His bedroom door was cracked, just like the other nights.

I don’t know what made me walk toward it. Maybe I wanted to fight again or maybe I wanted to see if he was as wrecked as I was.

I pushed the door open a few inches.

And froze.

He was on the bed, back against the headboard, sweatpants shoved down just enough, his head was tipped back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling fast.

His big hand was wrapped tight around his cock, thick, hard, flushed dark and stroking slowly

And in his other hand…My phone pictures.

The ones from last summer—me in that red bikini by the pool, laughing with Joyce, another from Christmas, the tight dress I wore knowing he’d be there and a selfie I’d posted last month, biting my lip at the camera.

He had them pulled up on his phone, screen tilted toward him, thumb scrolling slowly as he worked himself harder, a low groan dragging out of his throat.

My name left his lips, rough, broken.

“Amira…”

I couldn’t move.

He didn’t know I was there.

But every stroke, every ragged breath, every time he whispered my name like a prayer.

It told me everything he wouldn’t say out loud.

The rejection earlier?

It wasn’t because he didn’t want me.

It was because he wanted me too much.

I stood frozen in the doorway for only a heartbeat, towel knotted loosely at my chest, water still dripping from my hair down my bare skin.

Seeing him like that sprawled back, fist pumping his thick, veined cock while scrolling through my pictures, my name a ragged groan on his lips, snapped the last thread of restraint inside me.

His eyes flew open when the door creaked wider. Panic flashed across his face.

“Amira fuck get out.” His voice was gravel, hand freezing mid-stroke, but his cock stayed rock-hard, flushed dark and slick at the tip, betraying every word.

I let the towel fall.

It hit the floor with a wet slap, leaving me completely naked, nipples tight from the cold shower and the heat in his stare.

His gaze dragged down my body like a physical touch over my tits, my waist, the bare lips of my pussy already swollen and glistening for him.

I walked forward slowly, hips rolling, until I was at the edge of the bed.

“Amira,” he warned again, rougher, trying to sit up. “We can’t, you’re my best friend’s little girl. This is wrong.”

But his eyes were glued to my cunt, and his cock jerked in his fist like it was begging.

I climbed onto the mattress, straddling his thighs, and wrapped my hand over his. “You’ve been stroking this big dick to thoughts of fucking your best friend’s daughter,” I whispered, removing his fingers away and replacing them with mine on his dick.

He was burning hot, throbbing, precum leaking over my knuckles as I gave one slow, filthy pump. “So don’t lie to me now.”

He groaned, head falling back, hips bucking into my grip. “Jesus Christ… stop.”

I didn’t… I stroked him harder, twisting at the head, thumb smearing that slick precum. “You’ve wanted to bury this cock in my tight little pussy for years, haven’t you? Ever since I started filling out these tits and teasing you in those tiny bikinis.”

A broken sound tore from his throat, his hands shot to my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise but not pushing me away.

I leaned in, lips at his ear. “I’ve been fingering my cunt every night dreaming of you splitting me open and now I’m here naked and dripping, so fuck your rules.”

I shoved against his chest hard, seductive and he let me push him flat on his back. His resistance crumbled, I slid down his body, yanked his sweatpants off completely, and tossed them aside.

Now we were both bare.

I wrapped both hands around his cock, still not enough to close around him fully and pumped slow and dirty, watching his abs clench, his thighs tense.

Then I leaned down and dragged my tongue from his heavy balls all the way to the swollen head, tasting salt and him.

“Fuck” He fisted the sheets.

I took him deep into my mouth, lips stretched wide, throat relaxing until he hit the back and I gagged around him. Spit ran down my chin as I bobbed, sucking hard, hand twisting at the base.

His hips fucked up into my face, controlled but desperate.

“Goddamn, baby your mouth is so fucking hot.”

I pulled off with a wet pop, stroking him fast and slick. “You like your best friend’s daughter choking on your cock?”

He growled, sat up suddenly, and flipped us, pinning me beneath his big, hard body.

His mouth crashed into mine, tongue fucking deep, tasting himself on me, then he moved lower, sucking bruises into my tits, biting my nipples until I cried out.

His hand shoved between my thighs, fingers finding my pussy soaked and aching.

“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he rasped, sliding two thick fingers inside me without warning. I clenched around them, moaning. “Soaked for the man who’s not supposed to touch you.”

He pumped hard, curling, thumb grinding my clit until I was writhing, begging.

“Please Jeffrey I need you inside me”

He added a third finger, stretching me, scissoring. “You sure you can take my cock, baby? Been dreaming about ruining this tight pussy for years.”

I came hard around his fingers, back arching, juices flooding his hand as I screamed his name.

He didn’t give me time to recover.

He spread my thighs wide, lined up, and pushed in—one long, merciless thrust that buried every inch of his fat cock inside me.

I screamed.

It burned, stretched, filled me so completely I couldn’t breathe. He bottomed out, balls pressed against my ass, and stilled both of us shaking.

“Fuck,” he groaned against my neck. “So goddamn tight. Squeezing me like you were made for this.”

Then he started moving.

Hard.

Deep.

Punishing.

Every thrust slammed into me, headboard banging the wall, his hips slapping against mine.

I clawed his back, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging in to take him deeper.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, pounding harder. “Your dad’s best friend fucking you raw? Stretching this forbidden little cunt until you can’t walk?”

“Yes…yes fuck me harder”

He hooked my knees over his elbows, folding me in half, and drilled into me deeper, faster, the angle brutal.

His cock dragged over that spot inside me with every stroke until I was sobbing, tears leaking down my eyes .

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he snarled. “This pussy’s mine now, it’s been mine since you started teasing me with those fuck-me eyes.”

I came again violent, blinding, pussy clamping down so hard he cursed and faltered.

He flipped me over suddenly, yanking my hips up, face down into the pillows.

Then he slammed back inside from behind, one hand fisting my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave fingerprints.

The new angle was devastating, he fucked me like an animal, so damn raw, taboo, years of pent-up hunger unleashed.

His balls slapped my clit with every thrust.

“Take it,” he grunted. “Take every inch of the cock you’ve been begging for.”

I shattered a third time, screaming into the mattress, body convulsing around him.

He followed with a guttural roar, burying himself to the hilt and pumping hot cum deep inside me, marking me, claiming me.

We collapsed in a tangle of sweat-slick limbs, his weight crushing me into the bed, cock still twitching inside me.

After long minutes of harsh breathing, he pressed his lips to my shoulder, voice rough and wrecked.

“I fought this for so long,” he admitted quietly. “Because it was wrong, because you were forbidden.”

I turned my head, met his eyes.

“And now?”

He thrust once more slow, possessive still hard inside me.

“Now I don’t give a fuck what’s right. You’re mine.”

“I’m never giving this up,” he said roughly. “You’re mine now and fuck the consequences.”

I smiled, clenching around him deliberately, feeling him harden again inside me already.

“Good,” I whispered. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”