Loving Dad’s Best Friend

Note: Title changed from Billionaire's Forbidden Temptation to Loving Dad's Best Friend. as suggested by the Dreame editorial team. It will still follow the original plot line. Updating beginning October 01, 2022. Thank you. CHAPTER 1 I couldn’t remember when my fascination with older men started. I just noticed that more and more I was inclined to know about them than the younger generation. Initially, I was impressed by the way they conduct themselves in socials– the way they converse and their body language. Most of them were so refined and their movements with a touch of elegance. Then their grooming, they found a perfect style that defined who they were. Not to mention the decisions they made in life. They appeared so much in control of their lives and in command to make possible what they aspired and desired. Strange though it may seem for an 18-year-old lady, turning 19 in four months to like the maturity, vigor, style, and strength older men exude. They say with age comes great wisdom and I have been a witness of numerous conversations which held my interest...so, for me it was true. I was not generalizing but almost all of the ones I knew could hold conversations, they were witty and interesting and so damned sexy when they take charge. In addition to that, it was in their company that I was feeling so alive, safe, and entertained. I knew one day, I wouldn't settle into a relationship with men, same as my age. I seek for the content of the brain and heart more than anything, The loudness and boastfulness of younger men set me off, their interest bore me to death, and overall, their ways were just not what I was looking for in a man. Those that could hold my attention for more than fifteen minutes were a gem, which means they didn't boast, talk about s*x, and were more sensitive to my feelings. And yet--no attraction. The boyish charm never dazzled me; even the heartthrobs in school couldn't make my head turn as they walked self-assured along the alley. Most of the time, their confidence was out of place. Young men's interest was in themselves… Okay--I might be a little unfair, surely, there were rare real gems out there, unfortunately, our paths never crossed to this time. So far the young men, I met-- put so much importance on appearance, games, wheels, vices, and parties they attended and the next ones they would attend. Not to mention their angst in life as a whole; some even hated their parents. That was a big, fat NO for me...a total turn-off. Speaking of turn-offs, young men's inflated egos disappointed me a lot. Each time I heard them talk about the ladies they were dating or had dated and banged? My hackles rise. If I was one of those ladies they were talking about, my palm would surely hit their thick faces. I wouldn’t give them the chance to talk about me that way. I didn't fancy waking up one morning as the talk of the town and being spoken of like a piece of meat they ravaged. This brought me back to older men…their usual conversation was about life itself—their experiences, and even their failures and regrets and learnings, which I find interesting. I learned more as I listened while they relayed real-life challenges and triumphs. I might be an old soul resting in a young body to enjoy listening to topics beyond my age. And when I say older men, they were more of my dad Liam’s age, those men in their thirties and beyond. Fortunately, my dad has a lot of friends, most of them accomplished, had explored the world, were financially stable and made their names heard. In relationships, they had passed through the various stages of romance, and most of them were taken, had fiancées or girlfriends, or happily married living with their families, and yet…I still find them interesting and sexy. Did older men pique my interest because they wouldn't be interested in someone like me? Was my disappointment with the younger generation stressing me out that I refocused on the generation that was a bit unattainable but served as my shield? Maybe yes…maybe no. I also tried going out with men my age and attending parties, but none of them was fortunate enough to get my attention. Some simply contented themselves to be my friends in the end. I was almost 19, yet I never had a boyfriend. I might be the only one in school yet to enter into a boy-girl relationship or girl-girl relationship. I often wondered if there was something wrong with me. Was I unattractive? Absolutely not. I was not plain. I grew up in a community liking the cute little girl that turned into a lady. Dad said I have striking and stunning features. On barefoot, I stand at 5 feet 8 inches, taller than most ladies my age. In dad's words, "You are beautiful, Gracie and your moss green eyes can spellbind anyone." I got the eye color from mom and her Germanic ancestry. Those greens sat below a thick set of light brown eyebrows and eyelashes. They were formed as if painted by an artist…so they were so perfectly curved, some friends of mine even asked if I regularly had them groomed, but NO—they were as natural as the rest of me. When I turned sixteen, my body started to take form— boobies rightly endowed, tiny waist, lovely hips and buttocks, and long legs. I heard dad once say, my body and face could stop speeding wheelers on the highway. I didn’t know what he meant, but I noticed he became more vigilant. Not suffocatingly strict but he was always on guard. He started asking about my weekly party invitations, and he limits approval to the necessary, and he also started asking about the groups I go out with both from school and the community. I was not bothered that he was watching me with eyes like a hawk. I was used to his protection, it just became more obvious…more noticeable. Dad was also particular with my suitors. If the guy didn’t interest me, he asked me to tell the guy point-blank to stop courting me. I guess it was fair for the guy, anyway, guys my age? They didn’t interest me at all. My dad Liam was perhaps a bit paranoid due to his past. He probably didn’t want history to repeat itself. He raised me alone; I was a love child—the result of unprotected exploration of the human body even at a very young age. Mom and dad weren't even legal when they had me, but for sure dad loved mom so much. Of course, their situation had been hard to understand, even by their families. My parents betrayed their parent's trust...they were both disowned by their respective families. Knowing dad, he might have been prideful even at that age. He might have chosen to stand firm for my mom--the youth have that 'all or nothing stand,' then and now, it was the same. At seventeen, my parents had to live independently, struggled to continue their education, and had me. I couldn’t imagine the extent of their difficulty at that time. But--Dad was resourceful. He had friends who helped him for a fee, and he earned more than sufficient to raise a family and finished college without his parents' help. It was unfortunate, however, that he had not fixed his relationship with his family up to this time. So, instead of living in Sydney, as his relatives did, we settled here in the southwest part of Australia, where we enjoyed Mediterranean weather most times of the year. We were happy here even with no relatives around us. The saddest part was when we lost mom two years after my birth due to an accident. She was taken away so early from us. Mom was a victim of a hit and run: she didn't even make it to the hospital, alive. I couldn't remember the time dad drank and cried so much for her, I was still young to understand what was happening around me, but I heard him talk about his days of mourning and how he missed her, even years after mom died. Taking care of a two-year-old child was left solely in my dad’s hands. He poured his love on me. He never married, or at least not yet… well, who would know what could happen in the future? I noticed that he had begun dating, but not a single one of them he was brave enough to introduce to me as his girlfriend. I told him once that if he found someone— it was alright with me, but he simply laughed at it. I guess he was just dating for his manly needs. If he were serious, he would surely introduce the lady to me. Dad Liam had been single for a long time, and he was a handsome man, it was easy for him to find a woman that would fall for him. School break would be over in three weeks, and I would be off for college in Sydney. Dad would be left alone. I couldn't imagine how sad he would be, so I was praying that he would soon find the woman that could make his heart throb again. He deserved a second chance at love. I frequently wondered if my high regard for older men was due to my love and high appreciation for dad. I could sincerely say that I was proud to be his daughter, and he was my real-life hero. ‘Oh–please, don’t get the wrong notion, I adore my father, but I am not infatuated with him. I have no daddy issue." As far as infatuation was concerned, I have one man in particular that I have the hots for. I liked the way he act, laugh, and behave. And…when he smiles, my world lit up spectacularly. I was so comfortable with him since he became friends with my Dad five years ago, and the feelings intensified when I turned sixteen. He became my dark secret, and no one knew I would do everything to share a bed with the man. It was not a simple teenage crush…he made my insides burn whenever our eyes met, and my center dripped with sticky liquid whenever he touched me, even fleetingly. I always fantasize about him beside me at night, in my bed, doing the indecent. His name—Blake Black, an American guy. He settled here in Denmark, Australia for five years now. He was like a family, but I didn’t consider him like that, we have no blood relationship. Blake was Dad's Best Friend. Blake’s hot and rugged appeal–a typical surfer look, racked m world. He has a bearded square jawline, dark-brown slightly long hair, dark chocolate irises over almond-shaped rims, and thick eyelashes surrounding them. His angular eyebrows which had to be groomed with his beard regularly supposed he wanted a cleaner aesthetic. And my favorite, his tipped proud nose that I always pinch whenever I could. With that facial appeal, my crazy brain wondered most of the time, who could resist the temptation of sharing his bed? I have not met a woman capable of resisting his charm. He has fans—young ladies, middle-aged women, and including gays, who drooled over him. Obviously not only for his exquisite facial features because of his body which was the work of the gods or the devil himself to cause devastation to the women population. I couldn’t blame the women who drooled over his sinner v-shaped frame. The ending line of that v-frame, particularly the bulge in the middle, made me lose breath a hundred times over the past two years. With his bronze firm upper chest--muscled but not bulky, broad shoulders, v-shaped lower torso, firm and shapely surfer butt, and legs. Blake was absolutely a walking sin— dangerous, destined to shred the hearts of women to pieces…including mine. And he was still single, so available and always ready to mingle. Who would blame me when I say…he was my dark secret. At first, I thought he was the same as all the older men I admired. But—my freaking dark desire awakened, the least I expected it. It happened before I turned sixteen. I was used to entering Blake's room, either in his home or in a space reserved for him in our home. I even spent some nights with him when dad was on business trips, with dad's permission, so it wasn't an icky scenario. Unfortunately, that day when I was about to knock on his door, I found the door open, so innocently I entered the room. I called his name twice, but the sound of dripping water from the shower perhaps prevented him from hearing my voice. So, I entered the en-suite. The smile on my face faded when I saw the two figures under the shower, and they were engaged in a sensual activity that blew away the innocence from my brain. I figured he had left the door unlocked because he was so busy fvcking a big t**s brunette. And my, oh my, that thing between his legs made me choke from my saliva. His pride was thick and long, and when he sank it deep into the brunette's pu-ssy, up to the balls, I saw the brunette hold her breath, and her eyes stared at the ceiling blankly until Blake released his deadly c0ck. I thought the brunette would collapse on the floor--and die on the spot. I was so stunned and shocked that I could not move an inch, even if I wanted to. I endured every minute as I witnessed how a man and a woman unite, intimately and not a simple unity...it was one hell of rough s*x. I saw Blake, as he pumped in and out vigorously, his c0ck was like a snake in the cave, in and out he went. His face contorted as he tried to climb near the edge while pinning the woman in the space beside the big bathtub. Even up to now, I could still picture the face of the woman when she cliimaxed and the delight on her face when she swallowed his hard shaft and drank his milk. The brunette's screams and moans in ecstasy reverberated in my ears even hours after the intimacy ended. "Oh Blake, harder…oh ahh—“ "I loved it, Blake--ahhhh--harder, I am so fvcking near." "Ahhhhhh." Those screams and moans were like the sound of an out-of-tune gong, and I was not fond of it. Since then, my nights have been haunted by the naked him. I wanted to experience the same. I wanted to be the one in his bed, under him, mercilessly pounded by him. But—it seemed impossible for him to be mine. Blake was like a star in the night that I could see but couldn't hold. If my father knew the content of my brain, he would be mad and perhaps forbid me to get near him until I cleared my head. He was something forbidden. Blake Black was like an uncle to me. He helped my dad raise me for five years. I remembered the times my dad left me in his care while he was on a business trip. Blake would cook for me, teach me how to surf, cuddled me to sleep, and slept with him in his bed. He cared for me like a delicate figurine under his care like the way dad cared for me. I refused to call him uncle, even if my dad requested so many times. I refused to have any kind of family bond with him even if dad pressed me, even if he explained that I was like a niece Blake never had on this side of the world, but I was not his niece by blood. So I vehemently refused, saying he was a family friend, therefore I should only call him just...Blake. The two men were almost of the same age, Blake was 33, dad Liam was 35 and Blake was almost 15 years older than me. Blake’s family in California owned one of the most extensive plantations of grapes used for wine production in Napa Valley. I never thought Blake was part of an affluent family. I never smelled that he was old money while he was living a modest life. Although he had a lovely house and changed cars almost every year, he never worked in an office or its equivalent. He was always by the beach, with dad or me, but I always knew he had money, just not too much. He lived in his home with all the conveniences of modern living, but he was always modest. He never splurges on unnecessary things, I never attended a party that he hosted, and even on his food, he didn't spend much. He often ate with us. When I learned how to cook, I always got compliments from him. He ate a lot when he knew I was in charge of the kitchen. I liked that feeling a lot… Serving him food that he liked was my way of taking care of him. Then one night, I overheard dad and Blake talking about his family in California. He had been sent several correspondences, asking him to go back there, according to Blake. He was needed for their business, urgently but he refused. I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard him say that he refused. It was short-lived, though. Despite Blake’s refusal, the people in California pressed him and Blake was contemplating giving in. Two weeks ago, their reason had become harder for Blake to refuse. My jaw dropped when I heard him tell it to dad. What would happen to me and my suppressed feelings for him? I didn’t want him to leave Australia, but it was not my decision to make. His reason why he was here was still unclear to me. I didn’t know if he had shared it with my father. That night, I cried so hard. I was sure when Blake left, he would never come back. His life here was so different from what was destined for him. He wouldn’t be my Blake anymore. So that night…an idea went off in my head. Blake would soon be gone from our lives for good, but I would make sure he would be imprinted in my head and my heart for the rest of my life. And— If I was lucky, I would be imprinted in his mind too. As the wind blew that night, I seemed to hear words… Unacceptable…forbidden. That feeling must be suppressed. But--it was too late. I had made up my mind. By the way, my name is Graciella Smith and this is my journey.