[M4F] Daughter’s best friend

The scent of salt and sunscreen clung to the evening air as Daniel poured himself a bourbon on the terrace, watching the last streaks of sunlight fade into the Caribbean horizon. The villa, nestled along the cliffs of St. Martin, was a place of escape—at least, that’s what he had told himself when he agreed to host his daughter, Olivia, and her best friend for the week. He hadn’t anticipated her.

Zoe. Twenty-one, effortlessly beautiful, with the kind of social media presence that made men twice her age stop scrolling. She lived in those impossibly tiny LA Boutine bikinis, the kind that barely covered anything, sun-kissed skin glistening as she lounged by the infinity pool, posting coy little videos that made him question if she knew exactly how much attention she commanded.

And it had been so long for him. Too long.

It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous—though she was, with that perfectly symmetrical face, those teasing, full lips, those big brown eyes that looked at him like she knew. It was her body, lean and toned from Pilates, that tight, tiny ass she showed off in those barely-there bikini bottoms. She was effortlessly sexual, comfortable in her skin in a way that made it impossible not to look.

He tried to ignore it, tried to remind himself that she was just a kid—his daughter’s best friend. But Zoe wasn’t a kid. She was a woman. And she had no problem reminding him of it, every time she stretched out on a lounger, arching her back just enough to make the small triangle of fabric between her hips seem even smaller. Every time she teased him at dinner, her fingers grazing his wrist when she reached for the wine. Every time she wandered the villa late at night in a camisole that barely skimmed the curve of her thighs.

And then there were the whispers. He had overheard them once, giggling in Olivia’s room about the boys they fooled around with in college. How easily Zoe made them finish. The way Olivia had laughed—God, I don’t know how you do it—and the way Zoe had just smirked in that knowing, wicked way of hers.

Daniel had clenched his jaw, taken another long sip of bourbon, and told himself to forget he ever heard it.

Because there were lines he could not cross.

But God help him, he wanted to.