I’ve always been drawn to older men, but I never expected to act on it. That is, until I spent a summer hanging out at my best friend’s house. Her dad was this strong, confident man—tall, gray hair, and a deep voice that made me shiver every time he spoke. He was always polite and a little distant, but I couldn’t ignore how his gaze would linger on me when I wore my shorter skirts. It was thrilling, almost dangerous.

One evening, after my friend went out with her mom, I stayed back to “help” around the house. We ended up alone in the kitchen, and the tension was so thick, I swear I could feel it in the air. I leaned over the counter, pretending to look for something in a drawer, letting my skirt ride up just enough for him to notice. That’s when I felt his presence behind me, his breath hot on my neck as he murmured, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

My heart was racing, but I didn’t move. Instead, I pushed my hips back ever so slightly, giving him permission without saying a word. Before I knew it, his hands were on my waist, fingers digging into my skin. He pressed against me, letting me feel how hard he was through his jeans. It was intoxicating—the way he took control, unzipping himself right there in the kitchen and pushing my panties aside like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

I never thought I’d end up moaning his name as he took me right there on the counter. But once wasn’t enough. Now I’m obsessed with how dirty it feels to be used by him, to sneak around behind my friend’s back. I can’t stop thinking about when he’ll have me again… and I know I’ll let him.