My Best Friend's Dad - Flora Ferrari Page 0,5

black iron things that fill the space with an infusive cheek reddening heat.

I walk over to the bed and lie down, taking out my cellphone and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, mindlessly watching videos on YouTube … mindlessly doing anything, really, so that I don’t have to think about Saul and the iron dust in his hair, the way his eyes always move around me.

Like he hates me.

An absurd amount of time passes with me doing nothing on my phone, hours ticking by as I scroll and watch.

Really I’m someplace else, a cage in my mind which I can’t break out of, which I don’t want to break out of if I’m going to be bluntly honest with myself.

Saul atop me, pressing down on me with his fine-honed muscles, my hands running through his black-silver hair and then down over his back, feeling how hard and tight every muscle is, feeling his manhood brushing up between my thighs and …

No, stop. This is wrong.

My hand is between my legs now, stroking my clit through the fabric of my underwear.

I turn back to my phone—the battery dead now, as though some twisted force wants me to do this.

To imagine Saul in my bedroom, standing wreathed in shadow at the end of the bed, looking me up and down and liking what he sees.

“Bend over for me now and show me that fucking cunt,” he growls, a savage beast. “Reach back and pull your ass cheeks apart. Make your pussy wink for me, Sadie. Do it now. Before I punish you. Before I spank you for taking too long. Before I …”

I bolt upright and yank my hands from my underwear, letting out a shivering breath as I climb to my feet and head for the bedroom door.

I need to move, to outrun these invasive thoughts until they diffuse and go away entirely.

If I stay here, I won’t be able to resist.

I walk through the house, feeling as though I’m trespassing even if Fiona told me I have free rein of the property.

The house creaks and whines like it’s haunted, and I have to tell myself several times not to be silly as I round corners and mistake shadows for attackers.

I end in the far wing of the house – the mansion, I correct myself – on the opposite side of the living room where we had hot cocoa.

The room I walk into is so out-of-place that I have to blink to assure myself it’s real.

Stark electric lights run along the walls, the sort you might see in hospitals or offices, and the floor is shiny hardwood and not covered with even a single embroidered rug.

All along the sides of the large room sit Formula One cars, propped up on display brackets, their colors vibrant and eye catching, blooming reds, and sunny yellows and luscious greens. I count nine cars in total dotted around the long, wide room.

I walk through it, glancing at the cars, and then behind the cars where the photos hang. Each one shows Saul standing next to the car, his eyes intense as he stares at the camera, the shadow of a smirk on his otherwise grim lips.

He doesn’t even smile in photos.

He starts out young in the photos, a teenager maybe, and then grows progressively older until he looks as he does now, a silver-flecked fox with a bulging muscle laden body and eyes that tell me to run back to my room right now and finish what I started.

Behind me, someone clears their throat.

I freeze.

I turn.

And Saul steps forward, fists clenched, jaw trembling, eyes burning into me.

Chapter Four

Saul

The universe must be having one hell of a laugh at me right now.

The whole reason I came here is to escape the thoughts of this curvy gorgeous off-limits woman, and so of course the second I walk through the door, there she is.

She turns, lips parting slightly, the blossoms in her cheek making her look endearing, making her feel magnetic, as though any moment I’m going to sprint across the room and claim her right here, bend her over one of my old decommissioned cars and ram her hard, ram her like she deserves.

I have to clench my fists and jaw to fight the need that propels unceasingly through me.

I can scent her in the air, which makes no damn sense. But it’s true. Her scent wafts over to me in swirling touches of womb and need and motherhood and pure hot sex. My seed flares within me, roaring