Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

It wasn't just the kiss.

It was what came after.

The silence in the room, still pulsing with the ghost of his lips. The firelight flickering across his features, turning every sharp angle of his face into something softer… more dangerous. He looked at her like she was already his, but still, Damon hadn't moved since their kiss had broken.

As if the moment had frightened even him.

Serena's breath came unsteadily, her fingers still tingling from clutching the front of his shirt, from the way his chest had risen sharply beneath her touch.

"I didn't imagine that," she said quietly.

He blinked slowly, exhaling.

"No," he said, voice low. "You didn't."

She stepped back slightly, not to retreat—but to see him better. His eyes held that stormy depth she'd only glimpsed before, dark and unreadable, except for the quiet ache that lived behind them. He wasn't pushing her away. But he wasn't pulling her closer either.

It made her want to scream.

Or kiss him again until all the indecision shattered between them.

Instead, she asked the one question she'd been afraid of from the start.

"Are you going to pretend it didn't happen?"

His gaze flicked away, just for a second. That was all it took.

Serena stepped around him, arms folding protectively across her stomach. She wasn't crying—but there was that familiar sting behind her eyes. That echo of every time someone had told her she was too much, too young, too dangerous to love.

"I shouldn't have said anything," she said. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Damon said, turning toward her now. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

He hesitated.

Serena watched him, this man of steel and control, struggling to find the right words—as if the truth itself had claws.

"I'm not a man who loves easily," he finally said.

Her voice cracked, gentle and raw. "I didn't ask you to love me. Just to… not lie."

"I'm not lying." He stepped closer, and this time, she didn't move away. "I've tried to keep my distance from you, Serena. God knows I've tried. But every time I look at you… I forget every line I've drawn."

His hand hovered near her waist but didn't touch.

"I remember you when you were just a little girl," he said, his voice quiet, haunted. "And now… I see a woman in front of me. A woman who looks at me like I'm not broken. Like I'm not too old to be seen."

"You're not," she said fiercely. "You never were."

The space between them vanished.

His fingers grazed her bare arm, and it felt like a question and an answer in one.

"I can't promise you what you deserve," he said, "but I can promise you this—if I touch you again, I won't be able to stop."

Serena's pulse raced.

"Then don't stop."

The air thickened.

His hand slid around her waist, and the breath that escaped his lips was half-desire, half-surrender. When he kissed her again, it was no longer a question.

It was a claim.

His mouth was hotter now, needier. Less controlled. Her fingers threaded through his hair as his lips slanted over hers with something deeper—something edged with desperation.

The robe she wore slipped from one shoulder, and his hand found the skin there, thumb stroking slowly as if memorizing the feel of her.

"You taste like sin," he murmured against her neck.

"And you smell like my undoing," she replied, breathless.

Damon pressed her gently against the wall beside the fireplace, his thigh brushing hers. Her nightdress clung to every curve, and he stared—hungry and quiet.

"You're killing me," he said.

Serena smiled softly, lips swollen from their kiss. "Good."

He chuckled, but it died quickly—because her hands were sliding under his shirt now, exploring the heat of his skin, the scars etched across his ribs. He froze under her touch.

"What happened?" she whispered, fingers pausing.

"War," he said, his voice distant.

"Business?"

"No. The kind inside a man's heart."

Serena's touch gentled, but she didn't pull away. "You don't have to hide that from me."

"I don't want you to see me like this," he confessed. "Not yet."

Her lips brushed his collarbone. "Then I'll wait. But not far."

He inhaled sharply.

"Serena…"

"I'm not afraid of your shadows."

He tilted her chin upward. "I know. That's what terrifies me."

Then he kissed her again.

And it was slower this time.

Less fire, more depth.

More ache.

Like a man who had spent years starving and was now learning to savor every moment he thought he'd never be allowed to taste again.

---

Later, they sat in front of the fire, the tension still thick but softened by the vulnerability that had passed between them.

Neither had said the word love.

Not yet.

But it hung in the air, heavy and fragrant, like a perfume that wouldn't fade.

"You know this isn't going to get easier," he said.

"I don't want easy," she replied. "I want real."

Damon turned to her, his gaze steady. "Then stay."

She smiled, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I was never planning to leave."