Wet pussy

Isadora's POV 

I was ashamed, and I didn't think I could stop. My room was dark, and I had the covers above me, but my hands worked beneath them, rubbing against my clit.  

A moan slipped through my lips as I writhed in pleasure. My pussy was wet and needy. This was the third night in a row that I would be touching myself, and it was all his fault.  

All of Tristan's Kavanaugh's fault.   

I already had the growing attraction to him to contend with, and then he just had to save me, didn't he? I probably would have preferred that I had fallen face flat on the ground than have his hot, rigid body pressed up against me, scrambling my insides.  

My cunt throbbed hard as I played with my cunt, trying to muffle the noises I made at how good that felt.  

"Tristan," I moaned, clamping my eyes shut while thrusting my fingers. The wet, hot walls clamped around my fingers, clinging to them like a vice. I replayed it all in my head—he stroking his cock and then grabbing me like he had yesterday, his skin burning against mine.   

Those large, capable hands, oh God, stroking me, fondling me, buried inside me.  

"Oh fuck," I whispered, feeling the tension rise in my lower stomach. I was so close to cumming. So close. 

That's it, Isadora. Good girl. Cum for me, darling.  

Tristan Kavanaugh would never say those words to me, but a girl could dream. I could hear his whispers in my ears as I stroked harder. I ground my hips eagerly, sobbing in my orgasm. 

"Oh God. Tristan, Tris..." I gasped, shuddering and riding each wave of my orgasm.  

I slept right afterwards and woke up about an hour later. After a quick shower, I tossed on gym shorts and a sports bra, then stood before the mirror, chanting the mantra Claire had made up for me yesterday.  

"I will not think about my problems during this holiday. I choose to be happy," 

Grinning at my reflection, I pushed all thoughts of my father and Josh, sauntering out of the place.  

"Claire!" I called out to her, making my way down to her room. Walking past her father's room, I flushed at the naughty thing I had done this morning.  

What would he do if he knew I had touched myself thinking about him? I slapped my cheeks and walked quickly to Claire's room.  

"No way,” I chuckled, racing over to her bed. "You're still asleep?" 

Claire groaned in her bed. "Drinking all that bourbon last night was a bad idea." 

I laughed, snickering at the hung-over look on her face. "Oh, get up, will you? I did warn you," 

She popped an eye open and shook her head. "How are you even standing?" 

I flexed a smile, "I can handle my liquor. I also didn't drink way more than three glasses. You promised me a round at the gym, Claire. Come on," 

My hand clasped hers to pull her out of bed, but she groaned and shook her head.  

"I'm sorry," She mumbled, looking very squeamish. "I think I need to sleep a bit more." 

"No, Claire," I refused, tugging at her arms. "I'll make you a hangover cure-"

"Just thinking about it will make me puke," She groaned. "I'll join you later. Go away," 

Trying to convince Claire was no use, I dragged the covers over her and made my way to the kitchen, preparing a hangover cure. Mom used to make it for Dad when he came home drunk. I had tasted it just once, and it tasted like death.  

But it did work wonders. 

I placed a glass on Claire's bedside table, watched her snuffle while she slept, and then moved down to the home gym.  

I felt a bit giddy when I walked through the doors.  

I strolled to the bench press he had been stretching before and ran my fingers over the frame, inhaling the slight woody scent that filled the entire place. He must spend a lot of time in here.   

I moved around the place, imagining him working out, and giggled like some love-struck fool. The sound of the shower running hit my ears, and I blinked rapidly. 

Did the gym have a bathroom? I moved in the direction of the sound, a lump in my throat and my heart pounding like crazy. If there was a bathroom and the shower was running, that would mean—

"Oh," 

The sigh slipped from my lips before I could contain it. Peeping in his room hadn't done justice to Tristan Kavanaugh.  

I stood before a glass shower stall at the back of the gym, staring at him. Shower droplets rolled down his golden skin, running rapidly down the clefts and ridges on his chest, down the V that led to his thighs, and then over his beautiful cock, then down his powerful thighs.

Heat and moisture pooled between my thighs shamelessly. I should have left before he noticed me. But I couldn't help it. I didn't want to. 

My imagination was nothing compared to the real deal. Nothing.  

I watched him rinse his face, wet hair cradling his face. And then he turned off the shower, grabbed a towel from the rack, and dried his body, turning his back to me.  

My eyes fell on those powerful glutes and thighs. I licked my bottom lip, wetting it on hunger. Being as gorgeous, this had to be sin.  

Ogling your best friend's dad is also a sin, Isadora.  

Slowly, he raised his head, piercing green eyes fixed on me as he pushed the glass door open. My eyes widened. I had been caught.  

I swallowed the lump in my throat, racking my head for an excuse when he spoke.

"See something you like?" A grin spread on his beautiful cheeks; then and there, I knew that I would have sex with my best friend's father before the holidays were over.