It was 10 pm at night when me and Claire, my best friend got back to hers. We had just had a really good night out. I was wearing my low-cut white camisole, which showed my cleavage, and a black mini skirt. We tried to be quiet as she still lived with her mum and dad at 18, still struggling to find a house of her own.
Her dad was sitting with her mum, they were on the couch watching an old romantic movie. “Did you have a good night, girls?” He turned his head and looked at us, his eyes seemed to go on me, and he was staring from my feet and all the way up. Damn, his wife was right there too, who was just watching the television.
Claire, oblivious to her dad’s lingering gaze, kicked off her heels and yawned. “Yeah, it was fun! The club was packed,” she said, flinging herself onto the armchair near the couch.
I shifted on my feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how little fabric my outfit covered—especially under the weight of Mr Carter’s stare. The dim living room light did nothing to hide the way his eyes traced over me, slow and deliberate. Damn. A quiet thrill skittered down my spine, equal parts discomfort and something else I didn’t want to name.
Mrs Carter reached for her wineglass, still focused on the movie. “You girls heading up soon? Don’t forget to hydrate.”
“Yeah, just grabbing water first,” Claire said, nudging me toward the kitchen.
I followed, but not before catching the way Mr Carter’s gaze dragged after me—like he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. My pulse jumped. It felt like he was eye fucking me in front of his wife.
In the kitchen, Claire rummaged through the fridge like nothing was off. “You okay, Kat?” she asked when she noticed me gripping the counter.
“Yeah,” I lied, forcing a smirk. “Just buzzed.” Sounds freakingly weird, but I kind of liked how an older man looked at me. Like he’s old enough to be my dad.
But as I took the water bottle she handed me, my mind snagged on that look. The way his attention had burned, and worse… how part of me had liked it.
Claire’s laughter pulled me back. “Come on,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “Let’s crash before my parents start questioning why you’re blushing.”
Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet. I was thirsty. I was in just one of Claires t shirts and in my black knickers. Surely everyone is asleep. I sneaked out of Claire’s bed and headed downstairs into the kitchen.
I filled a glass with cold water, the sound of the running tap too loud in the stillness. As I turned to leave, a floorboard groaned behind me. My breath hitched.
Mr Carter entered the kitchen in just his boxers. I then stayed, and I leaned my back against the kitchen counter.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was a low rumble, too intimate for the silence of the house.
I swallowed. “Just thirsty.”
He smirked as he tried to reach for a glass behind me, as he pressed his body against mine. He grinded into me. “Sorry, just wanted to get a glass. You know they’re all asleep upstairs.”
He poured some orange juice into the glass and drank it. Instead of putting the glass in the sink, he wanted to put it where he took it from. Just so he could press against me. So he did; this time, he stayed pressed against me. Grinding against my pussy.
After a moment, he stepped back a little. I decided to tease him. I pulled my knickers to the side. He smirked and got his cock out. He stepped forward a little as he picked one of my legs up, and he put his cock inside my pussy. He started rocking his hips as he started to fuck me in the kitchen.
His hands were rough against my thigh, his grip firm as he held me steady against the edge of the counter. The cold granite bit into my back, but the heat between us drowned out everything else. His cock slid into me with an ease that made my breath stutter—filling me in a way that sent sparks through my veins.
Damn.
I should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve whispered no and bolted upstairs before anyone heard. But the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in this dim-lit kitchen worth devouring—had my body betraying me. My fingers dug into his shoulders as he rocked into me, slow at first, then deeper. Harder.
“Quiet,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear. “Wouldn’t want Claire waking up, would we?”
The mention of her name sent a guilty jolt through me. Claire. My best friend. Her dad’s hands were on my hips, his breath hot against my neck. If she walked in now—
But the thought vanished when his teeth nipped at my collarbone. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my nails scraping down his back.
He chuckled darkly, fingers tightening on my thigh. “You’ve been teasing me all night in that little skirt,” he growled. “Didn’t think I’d notice?”
I hadn’t. Or maybe I had. Maybe some sick, hidden part of me wanted this—wanted to feel his eyes on me, wanted the way his hands claimed me like I was his.
His thrusts grew harder, the rhythm uneven, desperate. The cabinet rattled behind me with every snap of his hips. I could hear the quiet, slick sound of us—the way I clenched around him, the way he groaned under his breath.
“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing against mine. “You feel so goddamn good.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My back arched as pleasure coiled low in my stomach, so close to unravelling. His hand slid between us, his thumb finding my clit, and—
A creak from upstairs.
We both froze.
His grip on me tightened, his cock still buried deep. My heart hammered—was that Claire? Her mom?
Silence stretched. Then, distant footsteps padded down the hall.
The bathroom.
He exhaled slowly, but his smirk returned as he dragged his gaze over my flushed face. “Close?”
My breath hitched. “Y-yeah.”
“Good.” He moved again, his thrusts shallow now, deliberate. “Then come for me. Quietly.”
His fingers worked me in cruel, perfect circles. I choked back a whimper as the tension snapped, pleasure crashing over me in waves. My body clamped around him, and he cursed, hips stuttering as he followed. He grunted as he pounded gallons of cum inside my needy cunt.
For a second, we just stayed there, panting. His lips brushed my jaw before he finally pulled away, tucking himself back into his boxers.
“You should go back to bed,” he said, voice rough but casual, like we hadn’t just wrecked each other against the kitchen counter. While is wife was in bed upstairs. I felt bad that he cheated on her with me.
I swallowed, adjusting Claire’s t-shirt, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed I was. How wrong this was.
But when I turned to leave, his hand caught my wrist.
“And Kat?” His thumb traced my pulse point—slow, possessive. “Maybe… wear that skirt again tomorrow.”
The implication hung between us, thick and electric.
I didn’t answer. Just slipped out of his grip and padded upstairs, my legs still shaking.
Claire was asleep when I crawled back into bed, her breathing steady. I stared at the ceiling, my body humming with the ghost of his touch.
What the hell did I just do?
Worse—why did part of me want to do it again?