Bound to My Godfather

Arielle

His hand wraps around my throat—not tight, but firm. Possessive.

He’s so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin, the scrape of his stubble as he kisses my neck, lower, slower, teasing me like he has all the time in the world. Shivers run down my spine as my fingers knot in his hair, a quiet moan escaping my lips.

His hand slides beneath the hem of my dress and lingers on my thigh. I shiver, not from fear but from how much I want him to touch me where is flooded between my clenched thighs.

“Tell me,” he whispers against my neck in that voice that has my pussy pulsing with need. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“I want this,” I breathe, wasting no time. “I want you.”

His groan is feral as he presses me back against the wall. His hips grind into mine, shamelessly, and I feel how hard he is for me. It makes me even wetter.

His mouth crashes over mine, and it’s wild. Desperate and needy.

He bites my lower lip and I open for him with a loud gasp. He tastes like heat and sin and something darker I don’t quite understand. But I want more.

Zane’s hand slides down my waist, past my hip, gripping my thigh and dragging it up around his waist.

“Zane, please” I breathe, not sure what I'm begging for but certain of what I want.

His lips move to my throat, teeth grazing my sweet spot as his fingers hook into my panties and pull—

BANG

My eyes snap open.

The room is dark. Still. My heart is pounding.

Another thud—outside. A box fell in the hallway. Or the wind knocking the flowerpots around again.

My breathing’s ragged. My body is burning. I sit up slowly, blinking at the shadows on my ceiling, still dizzy from the dream I didn’t want to wake up from.

Everything feels too real. My lips are swollen. My thighs are clenched and wet.

I throw the covers off, swing my legs over the bed, and plant my feet on the floor like that’ll somehow ground me in reality again.

It doesn’t.

“Not again,” I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair.

It’s the fifth time this week.

The fifth time I’ve dreamed about Zane like that—touching me, commanding me, kissing me like he’d burn the world to have me.

My godfather.

My father’s best friend.

The man who’s supposed to protect me, not pin me against a wall and growl my name like it belongs to him.

I can still feel his touch like it wasn't just a dream.

And the worst part?

I don’t want it to just be a dream.

I want him to do dirty things to me.

I manage to get up and by the time I force myself into the shower, I’ve told myself several different lies,

It was just a dream.

I’m not really into my godfather.

I can totally handle seeing him again if he shows up.

Which he won't.

My mind seems to have other plans as it revisits my dream and the urge to touch myself slams into me.

I fight it.

Downstairs, breakfast is chaos—my brother, Jack yelling over the news, Mom shouting for the extra tablecloths, and the smell of pancakes and omelettes thick in the air.

I slide into my seat quietly and grab some toast, hoping no one notices the complete meltdown happening inside my head.

Jack eyes me.

“You look like you wrestled a demon in your sleep and lost,” he says through a mouthful of eggs.

I flip him off.

Mom doesn't look up from her planner. “Ari, did you decide on the cake yet?”

“Chocolate with vanilla filling.” I answer absentmindedly.

“You sure? You changed your mind six times already.”

“I'm sure.”

“Okay,” she says, scribbling a note. “Your father’s inviting the Monroes and the DeLucas. Anyone else you want?”

My heart flips as my father, standing by the kitchen island with his coffee mug, finally speaks.

“Zane said he’ll be attending.”

Silence.

I freeze.

My fork drops onto the plate with a clink.

“I—what?” I ask, trying to sound casual. I fail. Badly.

Dad lifts his brow. “You asked if he could come, didn’t you?”

“I mean... yeah, but I didn’t think he’d actually—”

“He’s flying in late tonight. Said he wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

"Oh that's so sweet of him..." Mom is saying but my mind is already going far off.

Holy. Shit.

Zane is coming.

Zane will be here. Tomorrow.

“Oh,” I say, like I’m not spiraling. “Cool. That’s…cool.”

Jack eyes me. “Are you blushing....”

“Shut up, Jack.”

I shove a piece of toast into my mouth to hide the way my face is definitely on fire.

Zane. Here. After three years.

What am I supposed to do? Shake his hand? Say hi like I don’t wake up breathless from dreaming about him literally fucking my brains out.

I make it through breakfast on autopilot, then I bolt upstairs like I'm being chased by my many bad decisions.

The second my door is shut, I grab my phone and call the only person who could possibly understand my bewilderment. Meredith.

“YOU DREAMT ABOUT HIM AGAIN?!”

Her voice bursts through the speaker like a grenade.

“Yes,” I groan, flopping onto my messy bed. “It was bad. Like, really bad. And I know I promised myself I no longer would, but I can't help it.”

“I’m coming over,” she says immediately. “We need to exorcise you.”

I laugh weakly. “Don’t forget holy water.”

“Sweetie, priests and all.”

Fifteen minutes later, Meredith kicks my bedroom door open like she owns the place. Typical.

She’s in denim shorts, big sunglasses, and a shirt that says I Know I’m a Handful, But That’s Why You Have Two Hands. Also typical.

“My favorite problem child!” she shouts, tossing her bag on my chair and flopping beside me on the bed. “Tell Aunt Meredith about your inappropriate wet dream!”

I slam my palm against her mouth hoping no one heard her.

She pulls it away. “No one's gonna hear us from up here. " Looking me dead in the eye, she says. "Tell me every detail."

"It was him,” I mumble. "Like, it felt so damn real. I think I really need exorcism.”

Meredith lets out a laugh at that.

I cover my face. "It's not funny, Mer. He’s my godfather!”

“Exactly! You’re going straight to hell!”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Uh, hormones? The man is six-foot-hot, with that voice and those hands and those veins. Honestly, if you weren’t obsessed with him, I’d have to check if you're straight.”

I sigh. “He’s coming tomorrow.”

“Zane?!”

I nod.

Meredith’s jaw drops like I just told her Beyoncé was coming over to dinner.

She blinks. Once. Twice. Then,

“We're going shopping.”

“Wha

t?”

“You are not showing up to your sweet sixteen in your horrible dresses. You’re gonna look hot, confident, and slightly dangerous.”

I blink. “Slightly?”

She grins. “Okay, a lot.”