Unholy Cravings and Desires

The next morning, I woke up with my body still buzzing from the night before, that slow stroke of his hand, the click of the bathroom door behind me.

But when I opened my eyes, I was alone in the guest bed and no sign he’d ever been there.

Maybe I’d dreamed it.

Either way, the ache between my legs hadn’t gone away, If anything, it was worse.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered fast, and picked my outfit carefully.

A thin white tank top, almost transparent when the light hit it right, clinging to every curve, nipples already hard just from thinking about him seeing me in it, paired with the shortest denim cut-offs I owned, the ones that barely covered half my ass.

I made breakfast, fried eggs and toasted bread, enough for two, I loaded it onto a tray with fresh coffee, exactly how he liked it—black with no sugar.

He was working from home today and door to his office cracked open, low murmur of a conference call drifting out.

Perfect.

I knocked lightly, pushed the door open with my hip, and stepped inside.

He was at his desk, laptop open, AirPods in, shirtless again in those damn gray sweatpants.

He glanced up mid-sentence “Yeah, I’ll have the numbers by end of day” and he froze.

His eyes dropped straight to my chest.

The tank was doing exactly what I wanted, thin enough that the dark circles of my areolas showed through, nipples peaked and obvious against the fabric.

I shifted my weight, pretending to balance the tray, and the movement made my breasts sway just enough.

He stared for a beat too long.

He flicked his gaze back to the screen, jaw tightening as he cleared his throat. “Appreciate it, team. Talk soon.”

He ended the call quickly and pulled out his AirPods, exhaling under his breath.

“Brought you breakfast,” I said softly, setting the tray on the corner of his desk.

He didn’t look up right away. “Thanks, Amira.”

I lingered for a second, letting him feel my presence and when he finally glanced up again, his eyes flicked down once more but quick, involuntary before he forced them back to my face.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” I smiled, small and sweet, then turned to go.

As I walked out, I felt his stare on my back, on the way the shorts barely covered me, the bottom curve of my ass peeking out with every step.

He didn’t say anything but I heard him exhale, low and rough, the second the door clicked shut behind me.

Mission accomplished.

I spent the rest of the morning restless, eventually curling up on the big television in the living room with a movie I didn’t even care about, I needed something loud and mindless to drown out the throb between my legs.

I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I knew, sunlight had shifted across the room and my phone was buzzing like crazy on the table.

I was half-asleep, face smushed into a pillow, legs tucked under me, shorts riding even higher than before.

Footsteps approaching.

Mr. Jeffrey came down to the living room, paused in the doorway, I didn’t hear him at first.

My phone kept ringing.

He stepped closer, picked it up, glanced at the screen, it was Emma calling and he answered before I could move.

A beat of silence.

Then Emma’s voice exploded through the speaker, loud enough that even half-asleep I heard every word.

“AMIRA! Oh my GOD, so you didn’t tell me you went to your dad’s best friend’s house?! The very one you’ve been in love with since we were teenagers? The only one you use his picture to masturbate to every single night? I thought we were best friends and you couldn’t even tell me you’re literally living with your walking wet dream right now”

I shot upright, eyes wide, heart slamming into my throat.

Mr. Jeffrey stood frozen in the middle of the room, phone to his ear, staring at me.

His expression didn’t change much, just a slight tightening around his eyes, a slow blink.

But he heard it, every filthy word.

Emma kept going, oblivious. “I mean, girl, are you finally gonna climb that man like a tree or what? Tell me you’re—”

He ended the call immediately.

Silence crashed in.

The phone lowered slowly to his side.

I couldn’t breathe and my face burned so hot I thought I’d combust.

He didn’t speak at first, he just looked at me—really looked, taking in my flushed cheeks, the way I was clutching the pillow to my chest like a shield, the shorts that had ridden up even higher while I slept.

Then, quietly, voice low and even:

“Every single night, huh?”

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.

But the way he said it… wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t really shocked either.

It was something darker.

Something that made my thighs clench together all over again.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Just turned and walked back toward the stairs quietly.

Leaving me breathless, exposed, and knowing without a doubt that pretending was over.

I couldn’t sit still after that.

So I waited until the house was quiet again, then I padded barefoot upstairs, heart thudding so hard I felt it in my throat.

His bedroom door was cracked open, I pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them and a till in those gray sweatpants, still shirtless.

He looked up when I came in, eyes dark and unreadable.

I stopped a few feet away, hugging my arms around myself like that could hide how hard I was trembling.

“Mr. Jeffrey” My voice came out small. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t answer right away, he just ust watched me, steady and quiet, like he was giving me one last chance to turn around and leave.

But I didn’t.

I took a shaky breath. “What Emma said on the phone… it’s true. All of it.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for years now.

Since I was way too young to even understand what it meant and I tried to stop, I really did but I can’t and now I’m here, and I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

The silence stretched so long I thought he might send me away.

Finally, he spoke, voice low and rough. “Amira you’re my best friend’s daughter.”

The words hit like a slap, but I didn’t back down.

“And so?” I stepped closer, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened together. “I’m not a kid anymore, I’m twenty years old and I’m an adult, I know what I want and I know who I want.” My voice cracked on the last part, but I kept going. “And I want you, I always have.”

He looked away, staring at the floor like it might give him an answer.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said quietly.

“I do.” I moved even closer, until I was standing between his knees. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. “I’ve thought about it every single day for years and I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

His eyes lifted to mine again. Dark, Searching my face like he was looking for any sign I didn’t mean it.

I didn’t flinch.

“I’m not asking you to love me back immediately,” I whispered. “I’m just telling you the truth finally.”

He exhaled slowly, hands flexing open and closed.