Fever-Drenched for Daddy's Best Friend

At a three-day yacht party, my suppressants went missing.

Without them, my heat—that humiliating, consuming need my body couldn't control—hit me like a sledgehammer.

Worse—as I stumbled out of the bathroom, I collided with him.

Victor Sterling. My father's best friend. My boss. The one man I had no business fantasizing about every night when I touched myself.

This man, infamous for never touching women and his ice-cold control, never came to parties like this. Yet here he was.

And the worst part? Thanks to the storm, I'm trapped in a room with him tonight.

Chloe's POV

"You alright?"

Victor's low voice came from above.

His hands locked around my waist, those dark eyes scanning my flushed face. In the dim hallway, the roar of the party behind us dissolved into white noise.

What the FUCK—he said he had urgent business. He wasn't supposed to be HERE.

"I'm—" I pressed my palms against his chest, trying to push him away—

A current exploded from my fingertips and ripped through my entire body.

"Mmh..." I bit down hard on my lower lip. "I'm fine. Let go."

"Chloe." He frowned slightly, leaning closer. "You're shaking. Christ, you're burning up."

His scent—cedar and something darker—hit me like a wall of heat, and my body ignited.

I had a condition. Rare, humiliating, and completely unspeakable—hypersexual arousal syndrome.

The first time I saw Victor, I was seventeen. He was leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window in our living room, talking on the phone, his jaw carved like stone. That night, I dreamed he pinned me against that window and stripped away every last thing I was hiding.

That was the night this disease tore itself wide open inside me.

After that, without my suppressants, any trace of male presence—a scent, a touch, even a graze—was enough to make my body betray me completely. And this cold, ruthless man had become the one face I had absolutely no business obsessing over in the dark.

And now he was RIGHT HERE, his large hand sliding slowly along my waist.

My panties were soaked through. The aching emptiness deep in my core was screaming.

"Just—seasick. That's all."

"Seasick." Victor's eyes narrowed. His fingers closed around my wrist. "Burning up like this? From SEASICKNESS?"

His scorching palm pressed against the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist—

Another current shot straight from my wrist to the base of my spine.

"Stop—let me go—" My voice cracked.

I can't stay here. If I lose it completely, I'll be on my knees begging him like some pathetic, desperate slut.

The moment he hesitated, I wrenched free and bolted for the deck.

The sea wind hit me like a slap—cold, salt-sharp, brutal. I gripped the railing and gasped.

The bass from the party still pounded behind me. We were already in international waters. Three more days of this. I need to find the captain. I need a speedboat. I need to get the hell off this ship.

But my body was deteriorating fast—my vision blurred, and with every step, electric pulses radiated up the inside of my thighs. The hem of my dress dragged against my oversensitized skin. Slick warmth slid down my inner thigh.

Every breath felt like swallowing fire.

Then my heel caught.

The stiletto jammed into a gap in the deck—

I lost my balance and pitched forward into open darkness—

"SHIT—"

An iron arm slammed around my waist.

The momentum threw us both down hard. I crashed into him, chest flush against his, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

The world went silent.

Just his heartbeat slamming through his shirt. And that cedar scent. Wrapping around me, swallowing me whole.

"Are you TRYING to die?!"

Victor's hand clamped around my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes were burning. His hair had fallen across his forehead from the impact, and his breath came sharp and ragged against my face.

His hand slid from my waist and locked onto my ass.

We were pressed together, every inch of contact electric—and then I felt it. I felt him—thick, hard—pressing against my stomach through his slacks.

White-hot pleasure tore through me from tailbone to skull.

My pussy clenched and spasmed around nothing, and a rush of slick gushed out, soaking through my panties and onto his fucking hand as I came—right there, in his arms, shaking apart against him for the first time tonight.

"Ngh—ah—"

I couldn't stop the sounds that tore from my throat. I bit through my lower lip. Copper flooded my mouth. My hips jerked against his hand, completely out of my control.

No. No, no, no—not in front of him—

Victor went completely still.

Those dark eyes narrowed, moving over me slowly—taking in every tremor, every tear tracking down my face.

His hand was still cupped around my ass. He could feel everything.

"Chloe..." His voice dropped to something rough and unrecognizable. "Did you just—"

"Mr. Sterling!"

The yacht manager came running, breathless. "Are you alright? That was incredibly dangerous, sir!"

Victor pushed himself upright, but one arm stayed locked around my waist, holding me against him.

I could barely stand. The orgasm had gutted me. My legs were still shaking.

The manager mopped sweat from his forehead. "Sir—bad news. The weather service just issued a storm warning. No helicopters, no speedboats. And I'm afraid..." He winced. "Every cabin was fully occupied. The only option is to put you and Miss Smith together in the presidential suite on the top deck."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT." I twisted against Victor's hold.

No. No way in hell. I cannot be alone in a room with him.

Victor looked down at me. Those eyes cut straight through me like a spotlight.

His arm tightened, pulling me harder against his chest. His lips brushed my ear.

"What are you so afraid of?"

The words were barely a whisper—just for me. His voice was low, and dangerous, and unbearably calm.

"I'm your father's friend, Chloe. What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you?"

His breath grazed my ear. Cedar and darkness poured over me like something I couldn't escape.

I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood again.

I'm not afraid of what you'll do to me.

I'm afraid I'll be the one crawling to you—begging you to fuck me like the desperate little slut I am.