My hips swayed to the low beat playing from my phone as I stood in the spacious kitchen, wearing nothing but a tiny white crop top that barely contained my full, heavy breasts and a pair of sinful black shorts that rode up my ass with every movement. The thin fabric clung to my curves like a second skin, and I knew exactly why I’d chosen this outfit. For him. Mike. My best friend’s dad. The man I’d been secretly craving for years.

I stirred the sticky marshmallow mixture on the stove, eyes glued to the tutorial playing on my phone. Sweet, fluffy perfection—that’s what I was aiming for. But...