CHAPTER 5: I'M SLEEPING WITH MY BEST FRIEND'S FATHER [V]

CHAPTER 5 AVA'S POV I lie on Lisa’s bed for a long time after he leaves, staring at the ceiling. His c*m 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 p***y 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 f****d 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 f*****g. 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 c**t is swollen. Even the lightest brush makes my hips twitch. I am so f****d 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 s*x 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 c*m visibly wet and shiny on my p***y 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 c**k. Legs shaking. c*m dripping down her thighs. That f****d-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 c*m 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 c**k 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 c**k. 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 c**k through my soaked, used folds, smearing the mess around, tapping it against my swollen c**t. “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 f*****g me deep and steady, eyes locked on the place where his c**k 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 f***s me harder. The bedframe starts knocking lightly against the wall. The wet, obscene sound of his c**k driving into my c*m-filled p***y 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 w***e 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 c**t with rough, precise circles. The pressure builds terrifyingly fast. My back arches off the bed. My hands fist in the sheets. “I’m gonna—f**k—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 c**k 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 c**k. When he finally pulls out, the mix of both rounds of c*m 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, p***y 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 s*x 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 c*m leaking out of me in slow ticks. “Next time you let Ryan f**k you,” he says, quiet and clear, “remember whose c*m 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.