"Inside," Tobias breathes against my mouth, pulling back just enough to speak. "Not here."
He takes my hand and I follow him through the dark house, both of us moving quietly past closed doors.
My heart pounds so hard I'm sure it'll wake someone. We reach his bedroom and he closes the door behind us, turning the lock with a soft click that sounds like a decision being made.
Soft lamplight casts golden shadows across the room. He turns to face me, and for a moment we just stand there, breathing hard, the weight of what we're about to do settling over us.
He crosses to me slowly, deliberately, then frames my face with both hands. "Look at me. Tell me you're sure."
"If you don't touch me right now, I might actually die."
"Such a dramatic little thing," he murmurs, but his control is already fraying. His thumb traces my bottom lip and I catch it between my teeth, watching his pupils dilate. "You have no idea what you've been doing to me, do you?"
"Show me."
Something snaps in his expression. The composed, respectable Tobias Murphy I've known for years disappears, replaced by someone raw and hungry.
His hands move to the zipper of my still-damp dress, drawing it down with agonizing slowness. His knuckles brush each vertebra and I shiver.
"Five years of watching you grow into this incredible woman," he says roughly. "Of telling myself you were too young, too innocent, too connected to my family."
The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in just underwear. His eyes rake over me and his hands visibly shake. "Fuck, Ava."
The curse on his lips makes heat flood through me. This is Tobias unleashed, without his perfect control.
"Do you know how many cold showers I've taken?"
His hands slide up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. "How many meetings I've sat through, trying not to think about you in those little skirts? That black one you wore last week—Christ, I had to excuse myself twice."
"I wore it for you," I confess, gasping as his mouth finds my neck. "I always dress for you."
He groans against my skin. "You're going to kill me."
Then he's everywhere at once—mouth on my throat, hands unclasping my bra with practiced ease. When his palms finally cover my breasts, skin to skin, we both moan.
He backs me toward the bed, laying me down like something precious before standing back to look at me.
"So fucking beautiful," he breathes, pulling his shirt over his head.
I've imagined this moment countless times, but the reality is overwhelming. His chest is broad, defined, with a scattering of dark hair. There's a scar along his ribs I want to ask about, want to trace with my tongue.
He joins me on the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress as he kisses me again, deeper this time. His hand slides down my stomach, fingers slipping under the edge of my panties. When he touches me properly for the first time, I arch off the bed.
He works my body with shocking expertise, like he's studied exactly how to unravel me. His mouth follows the path of his hands, neck, breasts, stomach, until he's pulling my underwear down and settling between my thighs.
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out, hands fisting in his hair.
"Quiet, baby," he says, but doesn't stop what he's doing. "Don't want to wake anyone."
I bite my lip hard, trying to muffle the sounds as he takes me apart with methodical precision. The pressure builds impossibly fast, and when I shatter, he has to cover my mouth with his hand to muffle my scream.
He watches my face with dark satisfaction as I come down, trembling.
"That's one," he says, crawling back up my body. "I'm going to make you come apart so many times you forget every reason this is wrong."
"Please," I breathe, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue.
He stands to remove his pants, and I see all of him for the first time. He's perfect—all controlled power and masculine beauty. When he settles back between my thighs, the weight of him against me makes us both pause.
"Ava." His voice is strained. "This might hurt, baby. Tell me if you need me to stop."
"Don't you dare."
He pushes inside slowly, so slowly, watching my face for any sign of pain. There's a sharp stretch, a burning that makes me tense, and he immediately stops.
"Breathe," he coaches, pressing kisses to my face. "Just breathe. We have all night."
He distracts me with deep kisses, whispered praise, gentle touches, until my body relaxes enough for him to move deeper. When he's finally fully inside me, we both go still, overwhelmed by the connection.
"You okay?" he asks, voice wrecked.
"Perfect," I breathe. "You can move."
He starts with slow, careful strokes, letting me adjust. But as the discomfort fades into pleasure, I need more. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans.
"Ava, fuck…"
"More," I demand. "I need more."
His control snaps completely. The rhythm builds from careful to desperate, five years of suppressed desire unleashed. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, and I see stars.
"Look at me," he commands when my eyes flutter closed. "I want to see you when you come again."
His hand finds that sensitive spot between us, circling in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation is overwhelming. The pressure builds impossibly higher until I shatter again, harder this time, my whole body convulsing.
He follows immediately, my name on his lips as he comes.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. He pulls me against his chest, pressing kisses to my hair.
"Sleep," he murmurs. "We'll deal with everything tomorrow."
I drift off in his arms, feeling complete for the first time in my life.
***
Dawn is just breaking when I wake, disoriented. Tobias's arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my neck. For a moment, I let myself pretend this is normal, that I can wake up like this every morning.
I shift slightly to look at him. In sleep, all the careful control is gone from his face. He looks younger, peaceful. The early morning light catches the silver at his temples, and I can't resist reaching out to brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead.
His eyes flutter open, hazel and warm, crinkling at the corners as he focuses on me.
"Good morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. His hand comes up to cup my cheek. "How are you feeling? Are you sore? Did I hurt you last night?" His thumb strokes my cheekbone. "I tried to be gentle, but…"
"You were perfect," I whisper, feeling my face heat. "I'm a little sore, but it's a good kind of—"
A sharp knock makes us both jolt awake.
"Dad? Are you awake?"
Chloe. Oh God, Chloe.
Pure panic shoots through my veins. We both freeze for a split second before Tobias launches out of bed, grabbing pajama pants from the floor. He gestures frantically at me to hide, and I scramble off the bed, still naked, clutching the sheet.
"Just a second, sweetheart," he calls, voice strained as he pulls on the pants.
I press myself against the wall beside the door, heart hammering so hard I'm sure Chloe will hear it.
The sheet slips slightly and I gasp, about to whisper that I need my clothes, when Tobias crosses to me in two quick strides. His hand clamps over my mouth, his eyes intense with warning before opening the door.
"Morning," he says, opening it just enough to block any view into the room. His palm is still firm against my lips. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just... Have you seen Ava? She's not in my room and her car's still here."
This is it, I think wildly. This is how she finds out I fucked her father. Naked in his bedroom, his hand over my mouth, looking thoroughly debauched.
We're so screwed.