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Forbidden: Dad's Best Friend
Mitch and I sat in the living room, cracked open beers. He leaned back, boots on the coffee table.
I took a slow pull from the bottle. “You staying in it, then? This life?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s honest. It lets me be here for Lila. That’s what matters.”
I nodded. I respected it. Didn’t mean I understood it.
Then the back door opened.
She came in barefoot, wet, sun-drenched. One hand pushed hair from her face, the other held a towel. She wore a bikini—emerald green, tight. Water ran down her legs, her stomach, pooled in the dip of her collarbone. Her skin glowed—tan, smooth, salt-kissed. And her eyes—light green, sharp, alive—flicked to me for half a second before she smiled at her dad.
“Hey, Dad. Spaghetti for dinner?”
Her voice was clear, a little low. Not nervous. Confident, but warm.
Mitch grinned. “Sounds good. You remember Roger? Grew up with me. Told you about him.”
She looked at me again. Really looked.
Time stopped.
Not poetic. Not some movie line. I felt my pulse in my jaw. My fingers curled around the bottle of beer. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was gorgeous. The way her hips moved when she stepped forward. The scar on her arm, tiny, faded. The way she held herself—like she knew her worth and didn’t need to say it.
“Hi,” she said.
I didn’t trust my voice. Nodded instead.
Inside, everything snapped to attention.
Mine.
Not now. Not yet. But the thought hit me like a round from a .50 cal—sudden, final.
Like I’d walked in the dark for twenty years and someone finally flipped the switch.
What the hell is wrong with you? She’s nineteen. Mitch’s daughter.
I took a long drink of beer. Too long. Felt it burn down, did nothing for the heat in my chest.
Mitch talked about the new van, but I didn’t listen.
All I saw was the way her chest rose when she exhaled. The faint pulse at her throat. The way her knee bounced when she got quiet.
Everything had shifted. She wasn’t just Mitch’s daughter.
She was mine.
A primal, urgent need had seized me, and the world had warped around the singular, undeniable she was mine to break, mine to rebuild, mine to own. Every fiber of my being screamed with it. And I was already spiraling.
I was gone. Consumed. And there was no going back.
I took a slow pull from the bottle. “You staying in it, then? This life?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s honest. It lets me be here for Lila. That’s what matters.”
I nodded. I respected it. Didn’t mean I understood it.
Then the back door opened.
She came in barefoot, wet, sun-drenched. One hand pushed hair from her face, the other held a towel. She wore a bikini—emerald green, tight. Water ran down her legs, her stomach, pooled in the dip of her collarbone. Her skin glowed—tan, smooth, salt-kissed. And her eyes—light green, sharp, alive—flicked to me for half a second before she smiled at her dad.
“Hey, Dad. Spaghetti for dinner?”
Her voice was clear, a little low. Not nervous. Confident, but warm.
Mitch grinned. “Sounds good. You remember Roger? Grew up with me. Told you about him.”
She looked at me again. Really looked.
Time stopped.
Not poetic. Not some movie line. I felt my pulse in my jaw. My fingers curled around the bottle of beer. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was gorgeous. The way her hips moved when she stepped forward. The scar on her arm, tiny, faded. The way she held herself—like she knew her worth and didn’t need to say it.
“Hi,” she said.
I didn’t trust my voice. Nodded instead.
Inside, everything snapped to attention.
Mine.
Not now. Not yet. But the thought hit me like a round from a .50 cal—sudden, final.
Like I’d walked in the dark for twenty years and someone finally flipped the switch.
What the hell is wrong with you? She’s nineteen. Mitch’s daughter.
I took a long drink of beer. Too long. Felt it burn down, did nothing for the heat in my chest.
Mitch talked about the new van, but I didn’t listen.
All I saw was the way her chest rose when she exhaled. The faint pulse at her throat. The way her knee bounced when she got quiet.
Everything had shifted. She wasn’t just Mitch’s daughter.
She was mine.
A primal, urgent need had seized me, and the world had warped around the singular, undeniable she was mine to break, mine to rebuild, mine to own. Every fiber of my being screamed with it. And I was already spiraling.
I was gone. Consumed. And there was no going back.
183 pages, Kindle Edition
Published December 31, 2025
10 people are currently reading
3 people want to read
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