Lustful Desires [ Collection of Short Steamy stories ]

THE WRONG SEND

LENA.

I stood in front of my full-length mirror, heart racing with nervous excitement as I took the photos.

Completely naked, I squeezed my heavy breasts together, pinching my n*ppl*s until they stood hard and aching. I turned slightly, arching my back to capture the curve of my *ss. Then I spread my legs, sliding two fingers through my already soaked folds and spreading them for the camera, showing just how wet and needy I was.

The last shot was filthy — me biting my lip, fingers glistening with my arousal.

I typed the message quickly, pulse thundering:

“I’ve been so wet thinking about you all day… Come over tonight and f*ck me hard. I need it rough ”

I hit send, a thrill shooting through me. Finally, I was going to get what I craved. Ryan had been too gentle for too long.

Ten minutes passed, no reply.

I frowned and checked the chat. My stomach dropped like I’d fallen off a cliff.

I hadn’t sent it to Ryan.

I had sent it to Victor.

Victor Reyes. My father’s best friend for twenty-eight years. The man I’d called “Uncle Victor” growing up. The tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome 47-year-old who had been fixing things around our house since I was a teenager. The man whose deep voice and quiet intensity had secretly turned me on for years.

Lena: Oh my God, Victor. I’m so sorry. That was meant for someone else. Please delete those photos and forget you ever saw them!!

No reply.

I spent the rest of the night in a panic, checking my phone every few minutes. Nothing. The silence was torture. Shame burned through me

The next afternoon, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door wearing a simple yellow sundress, no bra, and my heart nearly stopped.

Victor stood there in a white button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing strong forearms, and dark jeans. He carried a toolbox in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. He looked calm, composed… but his deep brown eyes burned when they met mine.

“Hey, princess,” he said, voice low and smooth like always. “Your dad mentioned the kitchen sink was leaking again while he’s at that conference. Figured I’d swing by and fix it for you.”

Of course. Dad was gone for two weeks. Victor had the perfect excuse.

“Come in,” I whispered, my voice shaky. I quickly locked the door behind him, the click echoing loudly in the quiet apartment.

We made small talk in the kitchen while he worked. My hands trembled as I handed him tools. Every time he glanced at me, the memory of those photos I’d sent him flashed through my mind — my naked body, my spread p*ssy, the desperate message.

After about twenty minutes, he finished, wiped his hands, and turned to face me fully. The tension in the room was suffocating.

“About those photos, Lena…” he started, voice rough.

I covered my face. “Victor, I’m so embarrassed. I never meant for you to see them. It was an accident. Please just delete them and pretend it never happened.”

He stepped closer. The scent of his cologne — woodsy, masculine, expensive. Wrapped around me.

“I deleted nothing,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t. You looked… f*ck*ng incredible. Beautiful. S*xy as hell.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve tried so hard not to see you that way. You’re my best friend’s daughter. But these past few years… it’s been getting harder and harder to ignore how much I want you.”

My breath caught. Heat flooded between my thighs.

“You… you’ve wanted me?” I whispered.

“More than I should,” he confessed, eyes dark with years of restraint. “Watching you grow into this stunning, confident woman. Wanting to touch you. To taste you. Knowing it was wrong. Until that message last night… I couldn’t hold back anymore.”

The dam broke.

I stepped forward and kissed him. Victor groaned into my mouth, pulling me hard against his solid body. His kiss was hungry, deep, and passionate — nothing like the boys I’d been with. His big hands roamed over my back, down to my *ss, squeezing possessively as our tongues tangled.

“We can’t get caught,” he murmured against my lips, even as he backed me toward the couch.

“Door’s locked?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “Locked. No one can know. Ever.”

He pushed me gently onto the couch and knelt between my legs, sliding my dress up my thighs.

“F*ck, Lena… you’re not wearing anything underneath.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” I moaned as he spread my legs wide.

Victor leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up my soaked p*ssy. I gasped, gripping his hair. He licked me like a man starved — broad, filthy strokes over my cl*t, then pushing his tongue inside me, tasting every inch. He groaned against my flesh.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he growled, sucking my cl*t into his mouth while sliding two thick fingers deep inside me.

“Oh god, Victor…” I whimpered, hips rocking against his face.

He f*ck*d me with his fingers and tongue relentlessly, curling them against that perfect spot until my thighs started shaking. The wet, obscene sounds filled the living room. I had to bite my lip hard to stay quiet.

“We have to be quiet, baby,” he reminded me, voice husky as he looked up at me, lips glistening with my arousal. “Can’t let the neighbors hear how good I’m making you feel.”

I nodded frantically, then came hard — crying out softly as waves of pleasure crashed through me. Victor didn’t stop. He kept licking and fingering me through it, drawing out every last tremor.

When I finally came down, he rose and kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His c*ck was rock hard and pressing against me through his jeans.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, even as he pulled me into his lap, kissing my neck tenderly. “Your father would never forgive me.”

“I know,” I said, grinding slowly against his bulge. “But I don’t want to stop. I’ve wanted you for so long too.”

He held me close, stroking my hair with surprising gentleness. “Then we’ll be careful. Very careful. This stays between us.”

Victor kissed my forehead. “I should go before I lose all control. But tomorrow night… if you want me again…”

“I want you,” I whispered. “Come back tomorrow.”

He smiled against my lips — a real, warm, romantic smile that made my stomach flutter.

“Door stays locked. Always.”

As he left, I stayed on the couch, dress bunched around my waist, p*ssy still throbbing from his mouth, and realized one thing with absolute clarity:

I was already falling for my father’s best friend.

I was a nervous wreck waiting for Victor.

I had spent the entire day replaying what happened on my couch yesterday— his mouth between my legs, the way he made me come so hard I saw stars, the tender way he held me afterwards. My body ached for more. My heart was already in dangerous territory.

At exactly 8 PM, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and there he was -- Victor, looking devastating in a black button-down and jeans. The moment he stepped inside, I locked the door behind him with a loud, deliberate click. We both paused, listening to the silence of the apartment.

“We can’t get caught,” he said immediately, voice low and rough as he pulled me into his arms.

“Not ever. Your father… this would destroy him.”

“I know,” I whispered against his chest, breathing in his scent. “Door’s locked. No one’s coming over. Just us.”

That was all