/Esme/

  He should be down to meet us any second. He likes to make an entrance.

  Dave's words repeated in my head like a ticking clock as I sat across from him, legs crossed, hands folded neatly on the table pretending I wasn't falling apart on the inside.

  I smiled, laughed softly at whatever Dave had just said, nodding like the perfect fiancée, but every inch of me was on high alert. My stomach twisted. My skin prickled with nerves. My mind couldn't stop replaying him - the way Felix had touched me last night, the way he whispered against my ear this morning, the way he said:

  "Tomorrow, I'm going to be inside you."

  I clenched my thighs under the table, my body betraying me all over again.

  Stop Esme, you are here with your Dave so you need to get your act together and focus. This is brunch with Dave's dad. Just breathe, you already guilty of cheating as it is don't make it worse.

  Then... I felt it.

  That shift in the air. Like gravity had suddenly thickened. A quiet hush fell over the dining room as the glass doors at the back slowly opened.

  And there he was.

  My breath caught, it was like my ability to breathe and function like a proper human was taken away the instant he stepped in.

  Walking toward our table like the world belonged to him tall, commanding, dressed in a dark charcoal suit that looked like it cost more than my entire apartment lease. His presence was magnetic. Every step was calm, deliberate. People glanced his way, some even stared. Not because he was flashy... but because he owned the space without trying.

  And then I saw his face.

  Felix.

  My mouth went dry.

  No. No no no no no. It can't be him, please God let it not be him, why was fate so cruel, when others cheat they don't get caught in there first try, why the hell was my own case different.

  But it was him. That same perfectly carved jaw. Those green eyes that had watched me cum. That wicked smirk I'd kissed. The very man who had finger-fucked me into delirium last night... was now walking toward my table... I hope he's not here to rat me out.

  ...and Dave was standing up with a proud smile.

  "Dad!"

  I blinked so hard I thought I might pass out.

  Dad? What the actual fuck man.

  My head was spinning. No. This wasn't happening. My one-night sin, my secret sex god, my Felix was not Dave's father right?

  But he was.

  "Esme," Dave said brightly, reaching for my hand. "Meet my father."

  I tried to speak.

  I couldn't.

  Felix,  if that was even his real name smiled at me politely and offered his hand like we'd never met before. Like he hadn't moaned into my mouth. Like he hadn't licked my pussy clean that morning.

  "Pleasure to finally meet you," he said smoothly.

  Not a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Not a twitch. Not a smirk. Not even a tease. Just cool, elegant composure. 

  I stared at his hand, unsure if I was supposed to shake it or run away screaming.

  Dave nudged me playfully. "Babe?"

  I snapped out of it and awkwardly slipped my hand into his.

  His grip was warm. Strong. Familiar.

  Too familiar, 

  His thumb pressed ever so slightly against the back of my hand just once. A small movement.

  But it was intentional, and the little touch made me wet instantly, gosh I'm doom.

  I jerked my hand away quickly and forced the biggest fake smile of my life. "I-I'm honored, Mr. Vane."

  "Please," he said, still cool and unreadable. "Call me Gerald."

  Gerald. So... Felix was a lie. A name he gave me for the night.

  And now Gerald my fiancé's father was sitting right across from me like nothing had ever happened.

  What the actual fuck?

  Dave laughed. "I told you he doesn't look old enough to be my dad."

  I couldn't laugh. I could barely breathe.

  Gerald Felix folded his hands on the table and gave me a polite nod. "So you're the young woman who stole my son's heart."

  I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole.

  Because I wasn't just the girl who stole Dave's heart.

  I was the girl who moaned his father's name in the dark.

/Gerald/

  Last night had been... unexpectedly great.

  I hadn't planned it. Didn't go to that hotel looking for anything. Hell, I'd only gone to unwind after a week of board meetings and fake-ass handshakes. But then there she was sited by the bar. Sunshine. All curves and attitude, lips like sin, a mouth that didn't know how to behave.

  And God, what a mouth it was.

  I hadn't even fucked her. Just two fingers deep, and she came apart like I'd shattered her soul. The sound she made still echoed in my ears. Sweet, desperate little cries muffled by the my pillows. I'd meant to call her again. I really had.

  I wanted to take my time next time taste every inch of her, ruin her properly, make her forget anyone else had ever touched her. I'd kept her number on that sticky note, planning to reach out today.

  But then... fate decided to fuck me instead.

  Because the second I stepped into that restaurant and saw her sitting across from my son smiling like a well-behaved fiancée, legs politely crossed like they hadn't been wide open for me twelve hours ago my cock went hard with rage and something much darker.

  Sunshine.

  My son's soon-to-be wife.

  The woman I had every intention of bending over again.

  She went pale the moment she saw me. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth slightly parted. And oh, how I remembered what that mouth felt like wrapped around my fingers. What it might look like wrapped around something else.

  Still, I kept my composure. I had years of practice wearing masks.

  "Esme," I said, offering my hand. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

  I watched her hesitate, torn between horror and arousal. She slipped her hand into mine like it burned her, and I couldn't help it I let my thumb drag once, slow and knowing, across the back of her hand.

  She flinched.

  Perfect.

  I sat down like this was just another brunch. Like I wasn't already hard beneath the table. Like I hadn't finger-fucked my future daughter-in-law into a shaking mess the night before.

  I sipped my wine. Looked at her.

  "So," I said, voice casual, "how did you two meet?"

  I wasn't asking because I cared.

  I was asking because I wanted to see her squirm.

  She stiffened, shoulders tensing just slightly before she glanced at Dave, who started to answer.

  "Oh, we met through mutual friends at a gallery showing downtown. Esme was helping curate an exhibit and I-"

  But I wasn't listening to him.

  I was watching her.

  The way she wouldn't quite look me in the eye. The way her fingers curled tightly around her napkin like it might save her. The flush rising on her cheeks, delicate and damning.

  Every expression was a gift.

  My eyes dropped to her lips as she smiled nervously, nodding along with Dave's story. Those lips had trembled last night soft, parted, wet. I imagined them again now, wrapped around my cock, those pretty lashes fluttering as she gagged on me like a good girl.

  I shifted slightly in my seat.

  God, what a twisted little joke the universe had played. But I wasn't laughing.

  I was imagining how she'd look kneeling at my feet in that same yellow sundress, choking on me while I told her what a dirty slut she was for letting her future father-in-law wreck her.

  She crossed her legs under the table, clearly uncomfortable. And I knew it wasn't just guilt. She could still feel me. Her body remembered what my fingers did what my voice sounded like in the dark.

  And I wasn't done. Not even close, she made the mistake of glancing at me.

  I raised a brow, slowly, and gave her the smallest hint of a smile. Just enough to make her panic.

  She looked away immediately. Beautiful.

  So polite. So sweet. So utterly ruined inside.

  And I hadn't even touched her properly yet.

  Dave kept talking about the gallery, about how Esme had impressed him with her art knowledge, about how "different" she was from other women he'd dated.

  I nodded, smiled like the proud father. Meanwhile, I was busy imagining what those "other women" might do if they knew Esme had moaned into my mouth before ever shaking my hand.

  "She's brilliant," Dave said, eyes lit. "And she's got a heart. Not just the surface stuff, you know?"

  Esme gave him a shy look, then peeked at me like she was trying to measure if I'd speak if I'd say anything that would give us away.

  I didn't.

  I just leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on the table, watching her.

  "You must have been quite the charmer to win her over," I said to Dave. Then I turned to her, deliberately slow. "He's not always this smooth."

  Dave laughed. "Come on, Dad."

  But Esme's throat bobbed. She wasn't laughing.

  She knew what I was doing.

  And I knew what I was doing.

  "You're very beautiful," I said to her, letting the compliment hang just long enough. "Inside and out, I'm sure."

  She blinked hard. "Thank you... Mr. Gerald."

  "Gerald," I corrected softly. "We're going to be family, aren't we?"

  I didn't miss the twitch in her jaw. She hated this. She loved it. She didn't know what the hell to feel and I was feeding on that confusion like a man starved.

  God, she was gorgeous when flustered. Her thighs pressed together again under the table, and I knew exactly why.

  She was wet.

  Still aching for the man who had touched her in the dark and now sat before her in the light respectable, calm, and completely untouchable.

  Except I wasn't.

  And we both knew that.

  I let the conversation die down for a moment, then swirled the wine in my glass, watching the blood-red liquid move. "You remind me of someone," I said lightly, eyes fixed on her.

  Dave glanced at me. "Really?"

  I didn't answer him.

  I was still looking at Esme.

  She stared back, lips parted just barely. Her breath quickened, nostrils flaring faintly.

  She remembered my voice saying something similar in the hotel elevator. Before I kissed her. Before I lifted her against the wall and made her beg me with nothing but her body.

  Dave laughed awkwardly, probably thinking it was just one of my weird moments. "My dad meets a lot of people," he said, sipping his drink. "His memory's freakishly good."

  "Oh, I never forget a face," I murmured, eyes still locked on her. "Especially one that makes such a... lasting impression."

  Her fork clattered softly against her plate. She dropped it.

  "I'm sorry," she said quickly, leaning down to pick it up.

  I beat her to it.

  We both reached under the table at the same time. My fingers closed around the fork and around her hand.

  I held it there for a second too long. Her eyes shot up to mine under the tablecloth, wide and drowning in panic. I brought the fork back up, set it neatly on her plate, and gave her the faintest smile.

  She looked like she might faint. Good, she needed to remember who I was. What I was, what I could do to her again.