Cum on Me; Daddies pet : collections

I never thought I’d be the kind of man who betrayed his best friend. But then again, I never expected to meet her.

The private estate on the Amalfi Coast was nothing short of obscene. Marcus had spared no expense for his wedding week — sprawling villas overlooking the turquoise sea, private infinity pools, marble terraces draped in white roses and fairy lights. Everything smelled like money, salt air, and impending disaster. As his best man, I was supposed to be here to support him. Instead, I was already drowning in guilt and something far more dangerous.

Her name was Isabella Vale.

Marcus’s bride-to-be.

I first saw her properly on the second day of preparations. I had just finished a long workout in the estate’s private gym when I walked out onto the main terrace. She was standing alone near the balustrade, wearing a thin white sundress that clung to her body in the warm breeze. The fabric was almost sheer in the golden afternoon light, revealing the soft curve of her hips, the swell of her full breasts, and the faint outline of her nipples.

She turned when she heard my footsteps. Our eyes met.

Isabella was stunning in a way that felt almost cruel. Long dark hair cascading down her back, full lips painted a soft rose, and hazel eyes that held secrets she clearly wasn’t sharing with my best friend. At twenty-six, she looked like sin wrapped in elegance.

“Alex,” she said softly, her voice carrying a slight huskiness that went straight to my cock. “Marcus told me you’d arrived. I’m glad you’re here.”

I forced a casual smile, even as my gaze lingered on the way the breeze pressed the dress against her body. “Wouldn’t miss it. Best man duties and all that.”

She stepped closer. Too close. The scent of her perfume — jasmine and something darker, warmer — wrapped around me. “He speaks so highly of you. Says you’re the most loyal person he knows.”

The words hit like a knife. Loyal. Right.

I had known Marcus since college. We’d been through everything together — late-night parties, failed relationships, building our careers. He was the brother I never had. And here I was, already imagining what Isabella would sound like moaning my name.

“You nervous about the wedding?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safe.

Isabella leaned against the stone railing, looking out at the sea. The movement caused her dress to ride slightly higher on her thighs. “Nervous isn’t the right word.” She glanced at me sideways. “I’m… wondering if I’m making the right choice.”

The admission hung heavy between us. I should have shut it down immediately. Told her Marcus was a great guy. That she was lucky. Instead, I stayed silent, studying the way her fingers gripped the railing, knuckles slightly white.

“He loves you,” I finally said. My voice came out lower than intended.

“I know he does.” She turned fully toward me now. “But sometimes love isn’t enough, is it? Sometimes you need to feel… wanted. Craved. Like you can’t breathe without the other person.”

Her eyes dropped deliberately down my body, lingering on my chest, my arms, then lower. When they returned to my face, there was no mistaking the heat in them.

My cock twitched in my shorts. Fuck.

“Isabella…” I warned, though my voice lacked any real conviction.

She smiled — slow, knowing, dangerous. “Relax, Alex. We’re just talking. Unless you want it to be more.”

The flirtation had officially begun.

Over the next few days, the tension between us became a living thing. During group activities — yacht outings, wine tastings, rehearsal dinners — she found ways to be near me. A brush of her fingers against my hand when passing a glass. Her foot sliding against my calf under the dinner table. Once, during a sunset cocktail hour, she “accidentally” spilled champagne on my shirt, then spent far too long dabbing at my chest with a napkin, her breath warm against my neck.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I muttered to her one evening as we stood alone in the shadowed hallway leading to the bridal suite.

Isabella looked up at me, lips parted. “Am I? Or are you just afraid to admit you want this as badly as I do?”

I grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer. Her body pressed against mine for one electric second. I could feel the softness of her breasts, the rapid beat of her heart. My cock hardened instantly.

“Marcus is my best friend,” I growled, even as my free hand settled on her waist.

“And I’m supposed to marry him in six days,” she whispered back. Her fingers traced the waistband of my pants. “Doesn’t stop me from touching myself at night thinking about you instead of him.”

The confession nearly broke me.

That night, I lay in my villa bed, cock in hand, stroking myself slowly to the memory of her words. I imagined bending her over the terrace railing, flipping that sundress up and fucking her raw while the ocean crashed below us. The guilt only made me harder.

The flirtation escalated on the fourth day.

We were supposed to be helping with flower arrangements in the main courtyard. Most of the wedding party had wandered off for lunch, leaving just Isabella and me among the white roses and lavender. She was wearing another sundress — this one pale blue, shorter than the others.

“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up from the flowers she was arranging.

“Can’t help it,” I admitted, my voice rough. “You look like you were made to be ruined.”

Isabella’s hands stilled. She turned toward me slowly. The air between us crackled.

“Come here,” she said softly.

I moved before my brain could stop me. When I reached her, she took my hand and guided it under the hem of her dress, pressing my palm against her bare thigh. Higher. Until my fingers brushed against the lace of her panties.

“Feel what you do to me,” she whispered.

She was soaked. The heat radiating from her pussy made my mouth water. I rubbed two fingers slowly along her covered slit, feeling her tremble.

“Fuck, Isabella,” I breathed. “You’re dripping for me.”

Her breathing grew shallow as I continued stroking her through the lace. Not rushing. Just slow, deliberate pressure against her swollen clit. Her hips rolled subtly against my hand.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, even as I pressed harder.

“But you are,” she moaned softly. “And you like it. You like knowing your best friend’s fiancée is this wet for you.”

The humiliation and power play in her words sent a dark thrill through me. I slipped my fingers beneath her panties, finding her slick, bare folds. She was smooth and incredibly warm. I circled her clit slowly, savoring every gasp and shiver.

“Alex…” she whimpered, gripping my shoulders.

I wanted to drop to my knees right there among the flowers and devour her. Instead, I kept the pace torturously slow, sliding one thick finger inside her while my thumb continued working her clit.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I murmured against her ear. “I wonder how you’d feel stretched around my cock.”

Her walls clenched around my finger at my words. I added a second finger, curling them gently, stroking that sensitive spot inside her with deliberate care. Her breathing became ragged. Her thighs trembled.

Just as she was getting close, voices approached from the garden path.

I pulled my hand away immediately, stepping back. Isabella’s eyes were glazed with lust and frustration as she quickly smoothed down her dress.

Marcus appeared around the corner a moment later, smiling brightly. “There you two are! Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Isabella said smoothly, though her cheeks were flushed. “Alex was just helping me with the arrangements.”

Marcus clapped me on the shoulder, completely oblivious. “Good man. Couldn’t ask for a better best friend.”

The guilt hit me like a wave. But as Marcus turned away to inspect the flowers, Isabella caught my eye. She brought the fingers I’d just had inside her to her lips and sucked them discreetly, tasting herself while staring straight at me.

My cock throbbed painfully.

This week was going to destroy all of us.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop it.