Page 9 of My Best Friend's Dad

She’s so painfully honest that it’s humbling and terrifying.

“You could just touch me a little. Even that would be welcome. I want to feel like a woman right now, not like a thing that’s been discarded. I want to feel like I matter, like I’m beautiful, like I’m treasured. I get that it’s asking a lot.” Her hands pause, and her eyes sweep to mine. “If you want to, you could just finger me or something.”

“What?” My legs nearly buckle while my dick does its best impression of a rapier, ready to redeem her honor through…well, I suppose it would be throughdicking. “I’m not going to finger you!”

She sighs, tucking her hands between her knees. “If I’m being honest, that’s disappointing.”

Her coat rides up, revealing what looks like the top of a lace stocking. I don’t want to think about what she has on under there, even though, to be honest, I very much want to.

“It’s not because I don’t find you attractive or because I don’t want you. It’s because that doesn’t feel respectful.”

“Do you want to touch me?” she asks.

“Yes, but—”

“What if I told you what to do?”

My head buzzes like I’ve consumed half the damn bar. But I only had one shot. What the fuck was in it? I need to throw thatbottle away. Logically, I know I can’t blame it for my lack of control, but there’s nothing logical about this.

“I’ve been reading some epic smut lately. I thought I’d like to give it a try. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ll just go, but could I borrow your phone to call a tow truck?”

“A tow truck?” I echo.

“My car died.”

Right. She said that.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It’s just the perfect ending to a terrible night.” She turns again and starts playing some jarring, aggressive music. She’d be great at writing scores. I wonder if that’s what she does. Something in the music industry? Maybe she’s a concert pianist. It’s not like I would have heard of her before.

“I could give you a ride home,” I offer.

“How about just a ride?” She watches me carefully, then giggles at my astonishment even though her cheeks are pink too. “Why don’t you just start by coming up behind me and putting your hands on my shoulders? You could sweep my hair back, kiss my neck, work your way forward, slowly unbutton this coat…”

My swallow is another cannon blast in the room. I should go open that door immediately, call her a tow truck or a cab, and make sure she gets home okay. Then, I should run the bar for another few hours, close up, and go the fuck home.

But a larger part of me wants what she said she wanted. To be desired. Seen. To feel like I matter. She doesn’t know who I am, and that’s sweetly refreshing. It’s like a cold shower after working out, five minutes of bliss on sore muscles and overheated skin. It’s a tempting idea to have the world fade completely away for just a few minutes and to be able to lose yourself in another person. The romantic in me wants it to bemore than that, but then again, the romantic in me was crushed years ago.

“What else?” I force out thickly.

She sighs. “I don’t really know. I guess something that involves getting the rest of this coat undone in some fancy manner that makes us both panting hot and then, umm, the fingering and getting impaled on top of this insanely expensive and beautiful piano. Playing it was a dream. Having the best sex of my life on top of it? That’s a fantasy that would never get to come true otherwise.”

Holy fuck knuckles.“The best sex of your life?”

“Don’t worry.” She actually giggles. “It’s not a very tall order. If you can actually find my clit, you’d be golden.”

She turns her head, tilting it forward and away from me. She’s not going to say anything else. She’s waiting, waiting for me to stay. To go, to touch her, to make my decision.

I can’t help stepping forward and sweeping the heavy mass of her glistening chestnut hair off her shoulder and away from her neck. The softest sound escapes her lips. I can actually see the way her pale skin pebbles with goosebumps at just the smallest gesture.

The allure of her draws me in like a fairy to that forest path I know I shouldn’t walk down because those fairies are allied with wolves, and the wolves want to devour me. She knows this is a bad decision. She said she wanted to make one, and I’ve allowed myself to make very few. I know she’s right, but it doesn’t feel wrong.

Especially now when she tilts her face, lengthening her neck.

I lean in and place my lips at her thrumming pulse point. She’s silk and strawberries, and my lips burn at that first sweet taste. My hands follow, ghosting over her shoulder. I can’t stop it from brushing down over her arm.

She spins around on the bench, spreading her long legs, leaning back, and undoing the first few buttons on the coat herself. It gives me a full view of the lace peeking out underneath. Scraps at the top and bottom and bare skin just below.

Is she not wearing anything under that coat except a bra, panties, and stockings?