Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

The rain had begun to fall again—soft and persistent, like a secret trying to confess itself slowly over time. Serena stood on the balcony of the villa, her arms crossed under the silken robe she had carelessly thrown over her slip. The air smelled of lavender and wet stone, and every drop that kissed her bare skin seemed to whisper his name.

Damon.

It was always there now—in the silence, in the tension behind closed doors, in the way her breath faltered when his eyes lingered just a second too long.

She wasn't supposed to feel this.

He was the forbidden edge of every fairytale she had sworn off. Older. Wiser. Beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. A man who commanded a room without speaking, whose quiet strength had become the gravity pulling her heart away from safer shores.

And yet… here they were. Sharing the same roof. Bound by a delicate, dangerous thread neither dared cut nor acknowledge.

Inside, she could hear the soft shuffle of his steps, the sound of ice clinking into a glass. Damon rarely made noise, but when he did, it was deliberate—like everything else about him.

She closed her eyes.

She could still feel the ghost of his fingers from earlier that afternoon, brushing a strand of hair from her face as he passed by her in the hallway. Nothing more. But enough to set fire to her thoughts. Enough to rewrite her silence with a trembling question.

Why does it feel like he sees me… more than anyone ever has?

---

Inside the living room, Damon watched her through the glass.

The way the rain kissed her shoulders. The curve of her back arched slightly as she leaned on the balcony's edge. She was a vision in stillness. And yet the storm inside him mirrored the one outside.

He should've walked away days ago.

But every time he tried to put distance between them, the universe found ways to pull them back into the same breath. The same glance. The same hallway, where time seemed to slow and words dried in their throats.

She was too young.

Too radiant.

Too full of questions he no longer believed in.

But God, the way she looked at him sometimes—like he was the answer to every ache she'd ever hidden behind those confident, teasing smiles.

And the worst part?

He wanted to be.

---

The thunder cracked softly as Serena finally turned from the balcony.

Their eyes met through the glass.

She hesitated… then opened the sliding door and stepped inside, barefoot on the marble floor. Damp hair clinging to her collarbone. She didn't speak at first. Neither did he.

The silence stretched between them like a silk rope—fragile and dangerous.

She moved toward the fireplace, rubbing her arms for warmth. Damon set down the drink he hadn't touched.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said softly.

"You didn't," he replied, voice deeper than usual. Rougher. "Just… watching the rain."

"You always say that." She turned halfway toward him. "Is that what you do? Watch things from a distance?"

A beat passed.

He met her gaze fully now.

"Sometimes distance is the only way to keep something beautiful from burning."

Her breath hitched.

"Then what happens when the beautiful thing wants to burn anyway?"

His expression shifted just slightly. Like a wall that cracked but didn't yet fall.

"You don't know what you're asking for, Serena."

"I know what I feel," she whispered.

He stood now, walking toward her slowly.

Carefully.

Like she was both a dream and a danger.

When he stopped, he was just close enough for her to smell the spice of his cologne—amber and cedar and something darker beneath.

"Then tell me," he murmured, voice low. "What do you feel?"

She swallowed, her voice trembling even as her chin lifted.

"I feel like every time you leave a room, I forget how to breathe right. Like I've been pretending I'm not in love with the way your silence holds more truth than most people's confessions."

He didn't move.

Not even to breathe.

"I feel like I've been chasing a man who already lives in my bones," she finished, a single tear breaking loose. "And I don't know how to stop."

For a moment, the storm outside went silent. Or maybe it was just her world—suspended in the space between his answer and her surrender.

Damon's hand came up, gently brushing her cheek. The touch was reverent. Careful.

"Serena…"

Her name on his lips sounded like both apology and desire.

"You deserve someone who can give you forever," he said, pained. "Not someone who forgot how to believe in it."

"Then teach me how to believe in something else," she whispered.

His thumb traced her lower lip, and he inhaled like he was breathing her in for the first time.

"I can't promise you safety," he said.

"I'm not looking for safe," she breathed, "I'm looking for real."

---

And then—finally—his lips found hers.

Not rushed.

Not violent.

But slow.

Searching.

His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her closer with a possessive tenderness that made her knees weaken. Her fingers dug into his shirt, clutching him like he might disappear. And in that kiss, she felt a thousand nights of unspoken longing collapse into a single, breathless truth.

She was already his.

And he—despite every line he had drawn between them—was hers.

---

When they broke apart, it was with their foreheads still touching.

Neither ready to speak.

Neither able to undo what had just been written in the language of mouths and trembling hearts.

Serena's voice came out as barely a whisper.

"Promise me something?"

Damon opened his eyes.

"Anything."

"When this ends… tell me it wasn't pretend."

His jaw tightened.

He cupped her face with both hands, fierce and gentle all at once.

"I'll never lie to you, Serena."

And in his eyes, she saw it:

The war he fought with himself.

The line he would soon cross again.