My Best Friend's Navy SEAL Dad: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari (feel good fiction books .TXT) 📗

I stroll over to the car, unable to stop the smirk from rising to my lips as my eyes drink in the sight of her.

She steps out wearing a military-green tank top and denim shorts, her calves shaped in walking boots.

She must have some idea of how crazy this is going to make me, her big milky tits barely contained within the thin tank top, her thick thighs tempting me as she leans into the car and brings out her camera bag.

I wish I had a camera as she does this, pushing her hips out to show me the fine shape of her ass, round and mouth-watering.

She turns and hooks the camera strap over her shoulder. It cuts into her breasts, squashing them, causing my cock to harden and pulse with the need to do the same with my hands.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she says, with that mixture of shyness and sassiness I noticed yesterday.

“I’m a man of my word.”

“I guess you are, Mr. Tanner. It’s not too late to turn back.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Trent?” I growl, stepping forward.

I keep walking until I’m almost pressed up against her, far too close for my daughter’s best friend.

This is wrong. It’s the last thing I should be doing.

But the scent of her – her just-Tessa allure – pulls me in. Her eyes widen and naive shock makes her features tremble. She’s wearing her hair in a tight ponytail, as though she knows how badly I want to grab it and guide her mouth to me.

“Okay, Trent,” she says, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

I force myself to step back, masking the pounding need with a gruff laugh. “I don’t. It’s just strange, Tess. You’ve known me for years.”

“Yeah, and I’ve always called you Mr. Tanner.”

She’s got me there.

“But you’re not a kid anymore,” I say.

She is so not a fucking kid anymore. She’s so much not a kid it’s hard to focus on the conversation, past the ache at the base of my manhood, past the hammering in my chest that turns into a war song, telling me to claim her, right this second.

She stares at me for a long moment, as though she can sense the hunger moving through me.

“Shall we get going?” she says, averting her gaze. “I’ve been looking forward to this walk for ages.”

I nod and lead her toward the entrance.

It’s a quiet day and there’s nobody else on the first stretch of the trail. We walk in silence except for the sounds of nature and the snap of Tessa’s camera.

She bites her lips as she takes photos, her forehead furrowed in concentration. She’s so damn adorable. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to leap forward and grab her, and kiss her, and keep kissing her until it becomes something else, primal and possessive.

If I don’t explode my seed between those fleshy thighs soon, I’ll die.

“So what have you been doing since high school?” I ask. “You didn’t get a chance to answer before.”

I remember how her expression changed, darkness passing across her face.

I want to know everything about her, all the little pieces of her that make her who she is.

It’s only fitting that a man should know everything about the mother of his children.

A voice laughs bitterly within.

I never felt this way about Angela’s mother.

But I’ve also never felt this before, this all-consuming desire.

She glances at me over the top of her camera.

“Nothing exciting,” she says. “You heard about Mom’s issues, I guess?”

“I want to hear it from you, Tess,” I tell her. “ I want to hear everything from you.”

I silently curse, wishing I could yank the statement back. It’s far too forward considering this is supposed to be a casual walk with a family friend, nothing more.

But she doesn’t flinch or react like I’ve said anything strange.

It’s the opposite. A smile touches her kissable lips, and she nods like she understands.

Does she feel the same?

“Mom is schizophrenic,” she goes on, as we walk down the gravelly path, the pine trees casting hazy shadows. “She had a rare case. It struck when she was thirty-eight. That hardly ever happens. So I’ve spent the last few years supporting her as best as I can. And working on my photography blog.”

I sense the pain in her voice, in her every gesture.

My fingers twitch, trying to reach across and squeeze onto her shoulder, to offer her any support I can.

“How is she doing now?”

“Great. Much better.”

“That’s good,” I say. “So what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“With your life. What are you going to do with your life?”

She giggles, a sound sweeter than the chirping of the birds and the light wind disturbing the pine trees.

Her breasts shift around with the laughter, making my already-heavy balls somehow weightier.

“That’s a big question, Trent.”

I chuckle. “That’s not much of an answer, Tess.”

I imitate her cadence, tilting my head her way.

She giggles and mock-glares at me, her eyes lighting up captivatingly.

I stare hard at her, moving close.

We’ve come to a stop next to a bench carved from a tree stump, a tourist map sitting next to it.

“It’s so quiet out here,” she murmurs.

“Wait until the season really starts. It’ll be madness then.”

“I know.” She nods. “It’s just… It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?”

“Even with an old man tagging along, cramping your style?”

She reaches over with her free hand, slapping my chest playfully. Her touch lingers, her fingernails clawing at my skin through my shirt. She holds her hand there as if she has no choice like I’m metal and she’s a magnet.

Then she realizes what she’s doing and yanks it away.

“Sorry.” She stares at the map, at the trees, at the ground, anywhere but at me. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I told you a fact and you got all feisty.”

I chuckle, the noise coming out strangled, lust shivering in my voice. Her