Ashley I never meant to crave my best friend's dad like a dirty little secret. But fuck if Arthur Ford hasn't owned my filthiest thoughts since I'd discovered what my body could do in the privacy of my bedroom. Touching myself in the dark guest room, towel stuffed in my mouth to muffle the moans. I'd picture those broad hands pinning me down, his hips grinding slow and brutal while he slept next door. Harmless, right? Just a nerdy girl's guilty escape from algebra books and awkward braces. No one knew. I had originally planned to bury all my memories and fantasies about him when my family moved to Texas. New state, new life, new Ashley, who didn't spend her nights imagining her best friend's father doing unspeakable things to her. Fate had other plans. LA called me back for college. And those sinful fantasies? They clawed their way back to the surface the moment I landed at LAX. *** "Oh my God, there she is!" Chelsea's voice cut through the crowd before I even spotted her. She barreled toward me in cutoff shorts that barely qualified as clothing and a crop top that showed off her perfect stomach. Her blonde hair bounced as she practically launched herself at me. "Chels!" I barely caught her before we both went sprawling across the airport floor. "I can't believe you're actually back. Like, actually here in LA again." She pulled back, gripping my shoulders and looking me over like I'd sprouted a second head. "Pre-med at UCLA. My little nerd made it." "Your little nerd needs coffee and possibly a shower." "Both can be arranged." She grabbed my suitcase before I could protest. "Car's in short-term. I may have parked illegally, but whatever." The California sun hit me the moment we stepped outside. God, I'd forgotten how perfect the weather was here. Texas heat felt like drowning. This felt like coming home. Chelsea's Range Rover sat in a loading zone with a ticket already tucked under the wiper. "Seriously?" "Dad pays them. It's fine." She tossed the ticket in the back seat with what looked like half a dozen others. "Now get in. I want all the details about why you're suddenly single." Right. I'd texted her about Alex three days ago. The breakup still felt raw. "There's not much to tell." "Bullshit. You don't dump a guy after two years for 'not much.'" Chelsea pulled into traffic without checking her mirrors. A taxi honked. She flipped him off cheerfully. "Spill." I slumped against the leather seat. "I found his Instagram." "And?" "And it was full of bikini models and photos of him at frat parties with other girls draped all over him." The words tasted bitter. "He'd been cheating on me for months. Maybe longer." "That absolute piece of shit." Chelsea's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "I never liked him. Too much hair gel. Guys who use that much product are always compensating for something." Despite everything, I laughed. "His hair was pretty tragic." "Tragic? Babe, he looked like a used car salesman trying to sell me a lemon." She merged onto the freeway with aggressive confidence. "You're better off. College is for having fun, not dealing with some mediocre dick who thinks he's God's gift." "I thought I loved him." "You loved the idea of him. There's a difference." Chelsea glanced at me, her expression softening slightly. "So what's the plan? You starting classes right away or taking some time?" "No clue. I just wanted to get settled into uni and maybe find a job. Something part time that won't kill my study schedule. School loans are astronomical." "A job? Like at a restaurant or something?" "Probably. I saw a few places hiring near campus." "Absolutely not." Chelsea switched lanes without signaling. "You're not spending your free time slinging burgers when I have a much better option. Tyler needs a tutor. Like, desperately. His grades are trash, and Dad's been on him about getting them up before college applications start." She shot me a grin. "You're pre-med, you're brilliant, and Tyler actually likes you. It's perfect." My heart kicked against my ribs. Working at their house. Seeing Arthur Ford on a regular basis. "I don't know if that's a good idea." "Why not? You used to help Tyler with homework all the time when we were kids." "That was different." I fumbled for an excuse that wouldn't reveal the real reason. "He was twelve. Now he's what, sixteen?" "Exactly. Old enough to actually need the help." Chelsea drummed her fingers on the wheel. "Dad specifically mentioned you when I told him you were coming back. Said he was proud of you for getting into the pre-med program." Arthur mentioned me. Arthur was proud of me. Heat pooled low in my stomach. Dangerous territory. "The pay would be way better than any restaurant," Chelsea continued. "And you'd set your own hours. Plus you'd be at the house while tutouring, which means more time with me." "What about Tyler? Does he actually want a tutor, or is this your dad's idea?" "Does it matter? He'll do it because it's you." Chelsea's phone buzzed in the cup holder. She ignored it. "Come on, Ash. It makes total sense." Everything she said was logical. The money would be better. The hours are flexible. I'd be able to focus on school without killing myself working nights at some chain restaurant. But it also meant being back in Arthur's orbit. Being in his house, breathing his air, seeing him in those perfectly tailored suits when he came home from work. Or worse, catching him by the pool in those swim trunks that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My mind spiraled into dangerous territory before I could stop it. Arthur's study. Dark wood and leather. Him behind that massive desk, sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms I'd memorized years ago. He'd call me in to discuss Tyler's progress. I'd sit across from him, trying to focus while his blue eyes pinned me in place. "Ashley," he'd say in that deep voice that made my thighs clench. "I appreciate everything you're doing for my son." "It's nothing, really. Tyler's smart when he applies himself." He'd stand and walk around the desk. Each step deliberate. My pulse would hammer in my throat as he leaned against the edge, close enough that I could smell his cologne. "You've always been special." His hand would reach out, thumb brushing my jaw. "Even when you were younger, I knew you'd grow into something extraordinary." "Mr. Ford..." My voice would come out breathless. His other hand would slide into my hair, gripping tight enough to make me gasp. Then he'd pull me up, crush his mouth to mine, and I'd finally know what those lips felt like. He'd taste like whiskey and sin. His hands would make quick work of my jeans, sliding them down while backing me against the desk. "Tell me to stop." His breath was hot against my neck. But I wouldn't. I'd beg him to keep going, to finally satisfy the ache within me. He'd lift me onto the desk, papers scattering. His hands would spread my thighs. That thick cock would press against me, and he'd lean in close, his voice rough with need. Then he'd push inside, splitting me open, making me take every inch while I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming. His hips would slam forward, brutal and perfect, exactly how I'd imagined a thousand times before... "Ash? Hello? Earth to Ashley?" Chelsea's voice snapped me back to reality. The car had stopped at a red light. My face burned. "Sorry, what?" "I asked if you'd think about it at least. The tutoring thing." Chelsea studied me. "You totally spaced. Still tired from the flight?" "Yeah. Exhausted." I shifted in my seat, acutely aware of the dampness between my thighs. "Um. I'll think about the tutoring. Just give me a few days?" "Fair enough." The light turned green. "But don't take too long. Tyler's grades aren't getting better on their own." I stared out the window at the familiar LA landscape, my reflection ghosting in the glass. My cheeks were still flushed. This was exactly what I'd been afraid of. One mention of Arthur and my brain went straight to the gutter. *** A few days later, I steered my Honda Civic through the winding roads leading to the Ford estate, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The car ran perfectly fine, a solid find from the used lot near campus. Nothing fancy, but it got me where I needed to go without breaking down. Then I turned onto their street. A sleek black Porsche sat in one driveway. A Bentley in another. Further down, what looked like a brand new Mercedes SUV gleamed in the afternoon sun. My reliable little Honda suddenly felt like I'd shown up to a black-tie event in jeans. The Ford estate loomed at the end of the cul-de-sac, and my breath caught. Holy shit. The house had been impressive before. Now it looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Extended wings stretched out from both sides of the main structure, all glass and modern angles that somehow worked with the original Spanish colonial style. A reflecting pool cut across the front lawn, mirrors of water catching the light. Beyond that, what looked like an entirely new guest house was perched near the property line. I pulled into the circular driveway, parking behind a Range Rover that probably cost more than my entire college tuition. A Maserati sat in the open garage. Casual Saturday cars, apparently. My hands shook slightly as I grabbed my bag. This was a mistake. I should have taken the restaurant job. Slinging burgers suddenly seemed infinitely safer than whatever I'd walked into. The front door swung open before I reached it. "Finally!" Chelsea bounded down the steps in denim shorts that barely qualified as clothing and a white tank top. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail. "I was about to send out a search party." "Sorry, traffic was worse than I expected." "Traffic is always worse than expected. It's LA." Chelsea looped her arm through mine and pulled me toward the entrance. "Come on, I need to show you what Dad did with the place. It's insane." I barely had time to register the cool marble under my sneakers before she launched into tour guide mode. "So basically, Dad's been killing it in real estate the past few years." She waved her hand at the soaring ceilings. "He closed this massive commercial deal downtown and decided to reinvest in the house. Remember that cramped media room we used to watch movies in?" "The one with the ancient projector?" "Gone. Completely gutted." She dragged me through the foyer, past artwork that was probably expensive. "Now it's this whole home theater situation with reclining seats and a screen that's basically IMAX quality. Tyler lives in there." The kitchen had been completely renovated. White marble countertops stretched for miles, complemented by top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances that looked like they belonged in a Michelin-star restaurant. "Jesus, Chelsea." "Right? And wait until you see the pool situation. Dad extended it and added this whole infinity edge thing." She pulled me toward the back of the house, her ponytail swinging. "The guest house is new too. He keeps talking about renting it out, but never does. I think he just likes having the space." A splash echoed from outside, followed by the rhythmic sound of someone cutting through water. "Oh, Dad must be doing his laps." Chelsea glanced toward the back doors. "He's been super into fitness lately. Like, more than usual. I swear he spends more time in the pool than Tyler does surfing." "Maybe we should come back later when he's done." "Why? It's just Dad." Chelsea pushed open the glass doors. "Besides, he specifically asked me to let him know when you got here." He asked about me. Heat crept up my neck. The backyard had transformed into something out of a resort magazine. The pool stretched twice as long as I remembered, the far edge disappearing into a seamless horizon that made it look like the water poured straight into the LA skyline. Smooth stone decking surrounded the entire area, dotted with teak loungers and a covered cabana that housed an outdoor kitchen. But none of that mattered. Because Arthur Ford was pulling himself out of the pool like some kind of water god, muscles flexing as he gripped the edge and hoisted his body up in one fluid motion. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Water streamed down his chest, following the contours of defined pecs covered in dark hair that tapered down his abs. And God, those abs. Six distinct ridges that looked carved from stone, each one catching the sunlight as water droplets traced their path south. South to where his wet swim trunks clung obscenely to his hips. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at the prominent bulge outlined mercilessly by the soaked fabric. Thick. Impossible to ignore. My mouth went dry. He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, slicking it back. The motion made his biceps flex, veins visible beneath the skin. At forty-one, he looked better than men half his age. Better than Alex. Better than anyone I'd ever seen outside of carefully photoshopped magazines. His blue eyes locked onto mine. "Ashley." His voice carried across the deck, warm and rich. "It's nice seeing you again." He grabbed a towel from a nearby chair and slung it over one shoulder, then walked toward us. Each step made muscles shift under his skin. My gaze dropped to his thighs despite every attempt to keep my eyes on his face. Thick. Powerful. The kind of thighs that could pin someone down. Stop. Stop thinking about that. "Mr. Ford." The words came out slightly breathless. Professional. Keep it professional. "Thank you for having me." He extended his hand. I took it. His palm was rough, his grip firm and warm. Large enough that my hand disappeared completely. Electricity surged through my arm and spine, settling between my legs with an ache that made me want to press my thighs together, igniting a fire in me that I hadn't felt in ages. I was doomed.

Ashley His grip lingered a second longer than necessary before releasing my hand. My palm tingled where his skin had touched mine. "You've grown into quite the woman." His blue eyes swept over me with an expression I couldn't decipher. Appreciation? Simple observation? Whatever it was made heat crawl up my neck. "Thank you, Mr. Ford." I forced my voice to remain steady, professional. My treacherous gaze wanted to drop back to those swim trunks clinging to him like a second skin. "I'm looking forward to you tutoring Tyler." Arthur reached for the towel draped over his shoulder, running it across his chest. Water droplets caught in the dark hair there. "His grades need work before college applications start. You were always the smart one between you and Chelsea." "Hey!" Chelsea protested beside me. Arthur's lips curved. "You have other talents, sweetheart." "Damn right I do." I needed to leave. Right now. This was a terrible idea. The worst possible idea. How was I supposed to tutor Tyler when his father looked like walking sex, and my brain kept supplying me with vivid images of what lay beneath those obscenely tight trunks? Bad idea. Horrible idea. Run away and take the burger-flipping job. But my mouth betrayed me. "I'd be happy to help Tyler however I can." "Excellent." Arthur's smile widened. "Chelsea mentioned you're studying pre-med. That's impressive." "Just trying to keep my head above water with the course load." "I'm sure you'll manage brilliantly." He tucked the towel around his hips. It did absolutely nothing to help my situation. If anything, it drew more attention to the V of muscle disappearing beneath the fabric. "I'll let you two catch up. Chelsea, your friend is welcome here anytime." He walked past us toward the house, and I caught the scent of chlorine mixed with something masculine and clean. My knees went weak. Chelsea grabbed my arm the moment the glass doors closed behind him. "Come on, I still need to show you the upstairs. Dad went crazy with the renovations up there too." She dragged me back inside before I could form a coherent response. My mind was still stuck on the way Arthur's muscles had flexed when he'd moved, the casual power in his stride. This is such a bad idea. My fantasies were going to spiral completely out of control if I accepted this job. Hell, they already were spiraling. One look at him, dripping wet, and my brain had short-circuited into a montage of increasingly filthy scenarios. "So the guest rooms got completely redone." Chelsea pulled me up the curved staircase. "New furniture, new everything. Dad hired this interior designer who charged an obscene amount, but honestly, it looks amazing." She wasn't wrong. The upstairs hallway gleamed with fresh paint and modern light fixtures. Framed photographs lined the walls, a mix of family shots and artistic black-and-white prints. "Tyler's room is at the end. Fair warning, it smells like teenage boy and wax." Chelsea wrinkled her nose. "Surfboard wax, I mean. He's obsessed." We passed several doors before she pushed one open with a flourish. "And this is my kingdom." Chelsea's bedroom was exactly what I expected and somehow more. The walls were still that princess pink she'd loved since we were kids, but everything else screamed expensive upgrade. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, covered in white linens and approximately seven million throw pillows. A flat-screen TV hung on one wall. Her closet was the size of my dorm room. "It's very you." "Right?" She flopped onto the bed. "Dad wanted to redo it completely, go for something more 'mature,' but I told him pink stays, or I riot." "The pink is iconic." "Thank you!" She propped herself up on her elbows. "Now sit. Tell me more about this Alex situation because I'm still processing the fact that you dated a cheating douchebag for two years." I perched on the edge of her bed. "In my defense, I didn't know he was a cheating douchebag until recently." "Fair. But still. You're better off without him." Before I could respond, someone grabbed me from behind. I shrieked. Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, lifting me slightly off the bed. A laugh rumbled behind me. "Missed you, Ash." Tyler. He released me, and I spun around, my heart still hammering from the surprise. Holy shit. The scrawny little brat I remembered had vanished completely. In his place stood a golden-haired god who'd clearly spent the last few years either in the ocean or the gym. Probably both. He towered over me now, all broad shoulders and lean muscle. Sun-bleached curls fell across his forehead. His grin was pure trouble. "Tyler?" "The one and only." He sprawled into Chelsea's desk chair, spinning it lazily. "Chels said you're gonna tutor me. Is that true?" "I... yeah. Maybe. We're still figuring out the details." "Cool. When do we start?" I glanced at Chelsea, who was smirking like she'd planned this ambush. Probably had. "How about twice a week?" I offered, my brain finally catching up. "We can do one session for math and another for science. What are you struggling with most?" "Everything except PE and lunch." "Helpful." Tyler's grin widened. "I'm kidding. Sort of. Math is brutal. And chemistry makes zero sense." "We'll start with those then." I pulled out my phone. "What days work for you?" "Literally any day. My social calendar isn't exactly packed with college prep activities." "More like packed with surf sessions," Chelsea muttered. "Surfing is important." "Surfing isn't getting you into college." Tyler shrugged, unbothered by his sister's jab. We settled on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, right after my morning classes ended. It gave me enough time to prep materials and still have my evenings free for studying. "Perfect." Tyler stood, unfolding his tall frame from the chair. "This is gonna be way better than the tutor Dad hired last year. That guy was like a hundred years old and smelled like mothballs." "I promise to smell significantly better than that." "Already an improvement." He headed for the door. "Catch you, ladies, later. I've got waves to catch before dark." The door closed behind him. *** The study room was pristine. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes that looked more decorative than functional. A massive oak desk sat near the window, papers and textbooks already spread out waiting for Tyler. Who was twenty minutes late. I checked my phone again. Flipped through the chemistry textbook I'd brought. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of the pool filter outside. Finally, footsteps echoed down the hallway. "Sorry, sorry." Tyler burst through the door, phone in hand, hair still damp from what I assumed was a shower. "Lost track of time." "We're supposed to start at three." "I know, I know." He dropped into the chair across from me, immediately pulling out his phone again. The screen lit up with notifications. "Give me one second." One second turned into two minutes of furious typing. "Tyler." "Hmm?" "Phone away. We need to focus." He sighed dramatically but tucked it into his pocket. "Fine. What's first?" "Chemistry. Your dad said you're struggling with the basics." I slid the textbook toward him. "Let's start with atomic structure." His eyes glazed over before I finished the sentence. This was going to be harder than I'd anticipated. Ten minutes in, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out without thinking. "Tyler." "It's just one text." "It's never just one text." He grinned, caught. "Fair point." The phone disappeared again. "Okay, atomic structure. Hit me." I launched into an explanation of electrons and protons, drawing diagrams on the notepad between us. Tyler nodded along, but his gaze kept drifting to the window overlooking the pool. "Are you even listening?" "Yeah, electrons go around the nucleus like... like waves around a reef." I blinked. "That's actually not a terrible analogy." "See? I pay attention." His grin widened. "Just gotta make it relatable. Like surfing." "Everything's like surfing to you." "Everything is surfing if you think about it hard enough." Despite myself, I laughed. "Okay, surf genius. Explain chemical bonds using wave metaphors." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead. "Easy. Two atoms bonding is like two waves combining into one bigger wave. The stronger the bond, the bigger the impact when it hits the shore." "That's... surprisingly accurate." "Told you." He looked pleased with himself. "Dad got me into surfing when I was like eight. Said I needed something to burn off energy. Best thing he ever did." "Does he still surf with you?" Tyler shook his head. "Nah, work got crazy the past few years. He'll come out sometimes on weekends, but mostly he just does laps in the pool now. Says it's better cardio." He scrolled through his phone, then remembered and set it down. "You should come out with us sometime. I could teach you." The image slammed into my brain before I could stop it. Arthur on a surfboard, water streaming down his chest. Salt spray catching in his dark hair. Those powerful thighs flexing as he balanced on the board, riding the wave with casual confidence. His body would move with the water, hips shifting, muscles contracting. Then he'd turn toward shore, toward me, and... "Ash?" I blinked. "What?" "You completely zoned out." "Sorry. Just thinking." Heat crept up my neck. "Um, surfing sounds fun. Maybe." Tyler's phone buzzed again. This time, he didn't even pretend to resist, snatching it up immediately. "Tyler." "Sorry, it's the group chat. Mason's having a thing tonight." He typed rapidly, thumbs flying across the screen. "Anyway, where were we?" "Chemical bonds." "Right, right." He glanced at the textbook without really seeing it. "Look, real talk? College success isn't about memorizing this stuff. It's about connections. Who you know. Dad's proof of that. Half his biggest deals came from knowing the right people at the right time." "Your dad also worked hard to build those connections." "Sure, but he'd be the first to tell you networking matters more than homework." Tyler spun his pencil between his fingers. "Not saying grades don't matter at all, just... they're not everything." I studied him across the desk. "Then why are you even doing these sessions?" "Because it's you teaching me." Before I could respond, his phone exploded with notifications. He grabbed it, scrolling quickly, then stood. "Shit, I gotta go. Mason needs me to grab something before tonight." He was already heading for the door. "Same time Thursday?" "Tyler, we still have forty minutes left." "I know, I'm sorry. Emergency. I'll make it up to you Thursday, I promise." Then he was gone, footsteps retreating down the hallway. I sat alone in the study, surrounded by chemistry textbooks and half-finished notes. This tutoring arrangement was already proving impossible, and not because of Tyler's attention span. I packed up my materials and went to find Chelsea. She was sprawled across her bed, scrolling through her phone when I knocked. "Hey! How'd it go?" "Harder than expected," I admitted, dropping into her desk chair. "Your brother's stubborn." She waved it off. "Don't stress. He's got time before applications. Dad'll handle it if it comes to that." She rolled onto her stomach, kicking her feet in the air. "Honestly? We just wanted you around more. And maybe you'll be a good influence on the delinquent." "I'm not sure I'm influencing anything except his ability to find creative excuses." "Give it time." Chelsea grinned. "He'll come around. Besides, Dad's paying you fifteen hundred for two weeks of tutoring, so even if Tyler's being a brat, you're making bank." I choked on air. "What? Fifteen hundred? Chelsea, that's insane." "That's what Dad offered." She shrugged like we were discussing pocket change instead of more money than I'd make in a month slinging burgers. "He knows good tutors are expensive, and you're literally perfect for this." "That's way too much. I can't accept that." "Why not?" "Because it's ridiculous! Normal tutors charge less." Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Normal tutors aren't pre-med students who've known Tyler since he was a kid. Dad specifically wanted someone Tyler would actually listen to, not some random person from a tutoring service. You're doing him a favor." "A favor that apparently pays better than most actual jobs." "Welcome to having rich friends." She grinned wickedly. "Now stop complaining about making money and accept the blessing. You can put it toward those student loans you were whining about." She had a point. The loans were crushing. And fifteen hundred dollars for basically hanging out at their house twice a week... "I still think it's too much." "Cool story. Dad already approved it, so unless you want to argue with him directly about his money..." She raised an eyebrow. The thought of arguing with Arthur about anything made my stomach flip. No. Absolutely not. I'd take the absurd payment and keep my mouth shut. "Fine," I muttered. "But I'm working my ass off to actually help Tyler. I'm not taking that much money for nothing." "See? Everyone wins." Chelsea bounced on her bed. "Oh, and speaking of Dad, he mentioned wanting to talk to you later about Tyler's progress. Just so you're not surprised when he corners you." Arthur wants to talk to me. Privately. My pulse kicked up. "Sure. Yeah. That's fine." Chelsea's phone buzzed, and she grabbed it immediately, her attention shifting. I shifted in the chair, suddenly very aware of how much iced tea I'd consumed during our conversation. My bladder was starting to protest. "Hey, where's the bathroom?" "Guest bathroom is down the hall, third door on the left." Chelsea waved vaguely without looking up from her phone. "Can't miss it." I slipped out of her room and headed down the hallway. Third door on the left. Easy enough. The house was quiet, just the distant hum of the pool filter and muted sounds from somewhere deeper in the estate. I counted doors. First, second, third. I pushed through and barely made it two steps before colliding with something solid. Not something. Someone. My hands hit bare skin. Hot, damp skin stretched over hard muscle. I stumbled backward, words tumbling out. "Sorry, I didn't..." I looked up. Arthur Ford stood inches away, shirtless, skin flushed from what must have been a workout. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, dark hair matted with sweat. Those ridiculous abs flexed as he steadied himself, one hand braced against the doorframe. Water droplets clung to his collarbone. His hair was mussed, that salt-and-pepper mess falling across his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to push it back.

Ashley My palms were still pressed against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Completely unlike my own racing pulse. "Ashley." His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my hands. "You okay?" I jerked backward like I'd been electrocuted. "Fine. I'm fine. Sorry, I was looking for the bathroom and..." "This one's about to be occupied." Arthur gestured vaguely behind him. The bathroom door stood open, steam still lingering from what must have been a recent shower. Or maybe he was about to take one. "I just finished at the home gym." No shit. His sweatpants hung obscenely low on his hips, revealing that V of muscle that pointed downward like a goddamn arrow to paradise. Gray fabric clung to his thighs, darkened with sweat in places. And God, the way they outlined everything. Everything. My eyes dropped before I could stop them. The bulge was right there. Thick. Prominent. The fabric did nothing to hide the shape of him, the weight. I could see the clear outline of his cock, heavy and substantial, even soft. My mouth went dry imagining what it would look like hard. Thick and veined, the head flushed dark, straining toward his stomach... "I can use the master bathroom in my bedroom." Arthur's voice snapped me back to reality. "You go ahead and use this one." "Oh. Thanks. I don't want to..." "It's no problem." He grabbed a towel from somewhere and slung it over his shoulder. The motion made his biceps flex, muscles still pumped from whatever brutal workout he'd just finished. "I need to shower anyway. Might as well do it in there." Shower. The word echoed in my head as Arthur walked past me, his body radiating heat. I watched him disappear down the hallway toward his bedroom, those sweatpants clinging to his ass. I stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. My hands shook as I gripped the sink. This was insane. Completely insane. But my brain wouldn't stop. What did his cock look like when it was hard? The thought slammed into me with brutal clarity. I'd seen the outline through his swim trunks, through those sweatpants. Thick. Heavy. But what would it look like fully erect? My imagination supplied the details with vivid, obscene precision. Thick. God, so thick my fingers wouldn't wrap around it completely. Long enough that I'd struggle to take it all. The head would be dark, flushed with blood, maybe leaking already. Veins running along the shaft, pulsing with his heartbeat. Dark hair at the base, his balls heavy and full. And right now, he was in the shower. The image exploded in my mind before I could stop it. Arthur under the spray, water cascading down his chest. His hand would wrap around his cock, stroking slowly at first. His head would tilt back, lips parting slightly as pleasure rolled through him. Those abs would flex with each movement of his hand. He'd stroke faster. Grip tighter. His other hand braced against the tile wall while he fucked into his fist. Water would stream over his shoulders, down his back, catching in the curve of his spine. His cock would be magnificent. Fully hard, jutting from his body, angry and desperate. He'd grunt, that deep sound echoing in the shower. His hips would thrust forward, chasing his orgasm. Then he'd come. Thick ropes of cum would paint the shower wall, his abs, dripping down his thighs. His whole body would tense, muscles straining, face contorted in pleasure. Heat pooled between my legs, slick and demanding. No. No, I couldn't do this. But my hand was already sliding down my stomach. This was Chelsea's house. Chelsea's bathroom. Her father was down the hall in the shower, and I was about to touch myself thinking about him. Wrong. This was so fucking wrong. My fingers slipped beneath my jeans anyway. I fumbled with the button, shoving the denim down my thighs along with my panties. The cool air hit my overheated skin. I spread my legs slightly as I leaned back against the sink. One touch and I nearly gasped. I was soaked. Absolutely drenched from nothing but imagining Arthur's cock. My fingers circled my clit, and the bathroom tilted. The fantasy slammed into me with brutal clarity. Arthur's hands gripped my hips, spinning me around in the shower. Water pounded against my back as he pinned me to the tile wall, his body crushing mine from behind. His cock pressed against my ass, thick and insistent. "You've been teasing me." His voice was rough in my ear, nothing like the polite businessman. "Walking around my house in those tight jeans. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" "Mr. Ford, I..." His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. "That's right. Say my name while I fuck you." His other hand slid between my thighs from behind, fingers finding me wet and ready. He growled, the sound vibrating through my back. "Fuck, you're dripping. How long have you been thinking about this?" "Since I was-" "Don't." His fingers pushed inside me, two thick digits stretching me open. "Don't tell me how long you've wanted this. Don't make me think about you touching yourself, imagining my cock." But I had. God, I had. His fingers pumped brutally, curling against that spot inside me that made my legs shake. Water streamed over us both, making everything slick and desperate. "Please," I begged. "Please, I need..." "You need my cock." He withdrew his fingers, and I felt the thick head of him pressing against my entrance from behind. "Beg for it." "Please fuck me. Please, Mr. Ford, I need you inside me." He slammed forward. My fingers worked faster, harder, mimicking the brutal pace in my imagination. The stretch was overwhelming. He was too thick, too much, splitting me open as he buried himself to the hilt. His hips pinned me to the wall, giving me nowhere to escape the fullness. "Take it," he growled against my neck. "Take every fucking inch." He pulled back and thrust again, setting a punishing rhythm. Each stroke hit deep, forcing gasps from my throat. The shower wall was cold against my breasts, my nipples hard from the contrast. Behind me, Arthur's body was all heat and muscle and raw power. "You're so tight." His hand wrapped around my throat, holding me still while he pounded into me. "This pussy was made for my cock. Feel how perfectly you take me." I did. God, I felt everything. The thick drag of him against my walls, the way my body clenched around him, desperate to keep him inside. His balls slapped against my clit with each thrust, sending sparks through my core. "Harder," I gasped. "Please, harder." He obliged. His hips snapped forward with bruising force, fucking me into the tile. Water made everything slippery, our bodies sliding together with obscene sounds. His grip on my throat tightened just enough to make my head spin. "You're going to come on my cock." His voice was a command. "Right here in my shower, where anyone could hear you. Come for me, Ashley." My fingers circled my clit frantically, chasing the orgasm building in my core. In my mind, Arthur's cock drove into me relentlessly, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. "Mr. Ford, I'm going to..." "Do it. Come all over my cock." The orgasm crashed through me like a tidal wave. I bit down on my hand to muffle the cry, my body convulsing as pleasure ripped through every nerve. My fingers worked through the waves, drawing it out until I was gasping and shaking against the sink. Reality slammed back. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks. My jeans and panties pooled around my ankles. I'd just masturbated in Chelsea's bathroom. Thinking about her father. While he showered down the hall. Guilt crashed over me so hard I nearly threw up. What the fuck was wrong with me? This wasn't some harmless fantasy anymore. I'd actually done it. Actually touched myself in their house, imagining Arthur Ford fucking me against a shower wall. I cleaned up quickly, hands still trembling as I pulled my jeans back on. Splashed cold water on my face. Tried to make myself look less like I'd just had the most intense orgasm of my life. Chelsea's voice drifted from her room as I emerged. "There you are! I was about to send a search party." "Sorry." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I think I'm getting a migraine. The flight earlier this week must have messed with me more than I realized." "Oh no." She sat up, genuine concern crossing her face. "Do you need Advil or something?" "I have some at home. I should probably just go lie down." "You sure? You can crash here if you want." Absolutely fucking not. "I'm good. Really. I'll text you later." I fled before she could protest further, practically running down the stairs and out to my car. I didn't look back at the house. Didn't let myself think about what I'd done. I just drove. Nearly a week passed before I could face going back. I threw myself into studying, burying myself in textbooks and notes until my eyes burned. Convinced myself distance would fix this. That if I just stayed away long enough, the fantasies would fade. They didn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Arthur dripping wet from the pool. Felt the phantom heat of his chest under my palms. Heard that deep voice saying my name. I fucked myself with my fingers three more times that week, thinking about him, wishing they were his cock instead. Hated myself a little more each time. But I needed the money. Student loans didn't care about my moral crisis. So Thursday afternoon, I drove back to the Ford estate, gripping the steering wheel and repeating a mantra: professional, distant, completely normal tutoring session. The driveway was chaos. A catering truck blocked half the circular drive. Two guys hauled cases of beer toward the backyard. Speakers the size of refrigerators sat stacked near the garage. String lights were being draped across trees by someone on a ladder. What the fuck? I parked behind a van with "PARTY RENTALS" emblazoned across the side and made my way inside. The front door stood wide open. More people streamed through carrying ice chests, folding tables, and what looked like an entire bar setup. The study was empty. No Tyler. No textbooks. Just the faint scent of lemon polish and silence. "Ashley!" I turned to find Chelsea jogging down the stairs in cutoff denim shorts that barely covered her ass and a white tank top. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, makeup already done, even though it was only four in the afternoon. "What's going on?" "Oh shit." She smacked her forehead. "I forgot to text you. Tyler's session is canceled today." "What? Why?" "Because I'm throwing a party tonight." She grinned like this explained everything. "One of my legendary ragers. Everyone's coming. Like, everyone, everyone." "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?" "I know, I know. I'm the worst." Chelsea grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the kitchen where more people were unloading bottles. "But since you're here anyway, you should totally stay. It'll be fun." "I have studying to do." "Bullshit. You study constantly. Live a little." She snagged two water bottles from the counter and tossed me one. "Come on."