Page 2 of His Dangerous Secret

If she’d been any other girl, she would have gotten dicked down right then and there. But she isn’t any other girl; she’s my father’s wife.

“What’s wrong, baby?” the blond stripper asks me as she teases pulling off her panties. “Three girls aren’t too many for you to handle, is it?”

Grumbling, I shrug away from them and move over to the window.

“This isn’t happening tonight,” I tell them, handing them each a robe. “Take the side door there. It will lead you to my private elevator. You can take it down to the lobby and go.”

“Seriously?” the redhead asks. “You’re turning this down?”

I get their surprise. It does seem pretty insane.

“Go on,” I tell them. “Get lost. If my f

ather asks, tell him we had a great time.”

Flustered, the girls funnel out the side door. As they do, I hear one of them mutter under her breath, “What a pussy.”

Yeah, whatever. I’ve had my share of empty, vacant “relationships.” I don’t need any more of them. The woman I need is sitting in the other room, crushing my heart with every second that ticks by.

I need her. I have to have her. But that’s impossible.

I lie on the bed until I finally hear the party winding down, then wait another half hour before heading downstairs to grab a snack. But as I step into the kitchen, I realize I’m not alone.

Ava is standing by the fridge wearing nothing but a pair of panties.

And that’s it.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath as my eyes drink in her incredible physique. She’s a goddess. Nothing less. I turn around in a desperate attempt to escape the situation, but it’s too late. She’s seen me.

“Oh hey there, birthday boy. Need something to eat after that workout of yours?”

She thinks I fucked the strippers. I can’t have that.

“What workout?” I ask without turning. Maybe if I keep my eyes off her perfect breasts I’ll be able to resist. “I sent the girls home.”

“Aw, you did?” I can’t tell if her tone is mocking or sincere, so I assume the former to be safe. “Stage fright?”

Her scent wafts over me, and I feel her presence at my back – the warmth of her body against mine is intoxicating. I feel my cock pulse and rise to half-mast and continue growing. Fuck. This is bad.

Really, really bad.

“I don’t get stage fright,” I respond flatly. “I just…didn’t want them.”

“No? Strapping young man like you? Why’s that?”

When I feel her finger on my shoulder, I almost lose control. She gently urges me to turn around, and as though I’ve had a spell cast on me, I obey.

This is the closest we’ve ever been besides the hug my father made her give me when she first moved in. That time she was wearing clothes. Now she’s standing before me in nothing but a tiny triangle of sheer cloth that barely covers her secret that I’ve been dreaming of.

I force my eyes to remain on hers.

“No answer?”

“I—that’s not what I’m looking for,” I respond. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

I try not to think about her plump, perfect c-cups or the smooth, tanned skin of her stomach, or the way her thighs have an inviting gap between them just begging for my two fingers or the tip of my cock. Even with my eyes on her, I can see all of that in my periphery.

Why is she doing this? Just to torture me? She does seem to be enjoying it.

---