My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 18 Mine

Nova POV

The heat of Grant’s palm lingered long after he walked out, branding me and leaving me trembling and unsatisfied on the cold marble.

My body was a riot of need, every nerve begging, furious and humming for more of him. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always knew.

The worst part of all this is that dream-Grant didn’t leave me stranded. In that blurred fever of sleep, I’d come apart twice, maybe three times, writhing shamelessly under the phantom weight of him.

Real Grant, though... real Grant was a bastard. He built the fire and then starved me with it, like he was testing how long it would take for me to break.

I told myself to forget it. To shake him out of me. To claw him out of my veins. But when I slipped my hand between my thighs, the truth slicked over my fingers, I was drenched.

My body didn’t care about logic, or pride, or the gnawing suspicion that he was only playing me.

"Fuck,"

I whispered, arching into my own touch, hating myself for wanting more, hating him for planting this fever in me.

The thin pajamas were only in the way, so I peeled them down slowly, deliberately, pretending it was a striptease for him.

Pretending he was watching with that cruel smirk, arms crossed, eyes burning holes into me. The air prickled against my bare skin, goosebumps racing down my arms as if his gaze had burned me there.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror, flushed cheeks, parted lips, pupils blown wide like a girl drowning in desire.

I didn’t look like me. I looked like some unhinged, unraveling version of myself, too caught up in the idea of being owned, even though I swore I hated him for it.

The shower hissed alive, its steam curling around me. The spray kissed my skin, hot and heavy, like a hundred tiny mouths. I closed my eyes and imagined his hands instead, sliding the washcloth over my stomach, tracing slow circles around my breasts, pinching my nipples until I gasped.

I leaned into the tiles, back arched, thighs parting, giving myself over to the fantasy. The water wasn’t water anymore. It was him. His mouth at my neck. His voice rasping against my ear. His hands forcing me open, keeping me there.

The ache built until it was unbearable. I tossed the cloth aside and grabbed the toothbrush, the hum vibrating like a wicked secret in my palm.

The first press against my clit made me cry out, the sound swallowed by the roar of the shower. My hips bucked forward, greedy, shameless, desperate.

"Grant..." His name ripped out of me, raw and needy, like a prayer, like a curse.

I pressed harder, faster, the fantasy devouring me. His mouth at my throat. His fingers curling inside me. His command echoing: Beg me.

"Yes—please—don’t stop, please—" My own voice startled me, high-pitched, broken, frantic.

The orgasm ripped through me violently, my thighs quivering, my body bucking against nothing. Pleasure tore me open, left me boneless, clinging to slick tile as the water rushed over me.

But even in the afterglow, panting, heart racing, a sharp thought sliced through the haze:

What if that was exactly what he wanted?

To leave me undone. Needy enough to confess anything. To test how easily I’d bend.

And God help me, because if it was a test, I was already failing.

By the time I dressed for work, the usual bubbly version of me had died for the day. My reflection looked pale and distracted. I told myself it was exhaustion, but I knew better. It was him. Always him draining the life out of me.

I padded down the staircase carefully, silently praying I wouldn’t bump into my nemesis. The last thing I needed was another embarrassing incident.

Unfortunately, fate didn’t give a damn about my prayers. Grant was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, broad-shouldered and smug, with his ever-present shadow, Ivan, looming nearby. His bodyguard’s eyes were fixed somewhere detached and distant, as if none of this concerned him. But I knew better. If I misstepped even slightly, he wouldn’t hesitate to take me down.

"Good morning, Mr. Calloway,"

I muttered stiffly, clinging to the formalities in public. Grant was "Mr. Calloway" to the world. Grant was for the shadows where he undid me.

"Ohhh..." His smirk spread lazily. "My morning is good already, Nova."

The audacity of this man. The arrogance.

"From today, we’ll go to work together whenever I’m around," he continued, striding toward the waiting Rolls Royce, its engine purring like a beast.

"When I’m not, the drivers will pick you up."

My stomach twisted. "No need for additional inconvenience, Mr. Calloway. I’ve imposed on you enough."

The thought of being trapped in a car with him, confined and cornered, felt like torture. I wasn’t sure I’d survive it without either combusting or stabbing him with a pen.

"It’s no inconvenience," he said smoothly, "especially since you’re a walking target for an attack on me."

I froze. My blood turned to ice. How did he know about Sandy? That psychotic, obsessed woman...

"I’m capable of defending myself. Sir." I forced steel into my tone. I wouldn’t let him paint me as helpless.

"So far you’ve done a poor job," he replied flatly. "Get in, Nova. We’re running late."

I wanted to snap something sarcastic, something cutting, but Ivan shifted beside him, a not so subtle reminder that disobedience had consequences. I swallowed my pride and slid into the back seat.

The gossip this would stir alone was enough to make me want to bury myself alive. Sandy had already nearly broken me. If she found out I was being chauffeured around with Grant? She’d go rabid.

Grant slipped in beside me, filling the car with his presence. Ivan sat up front, silent as ever. The air thickened, heavy, suffocating.

"Why do you dress like a grandma?" His voice broke the silence, sharp and amused.

I turned to him, incredulous. "I dress to be comfortable. That doesn’t make me a grandma."

"Same thing."

I scoffed. "Picking comfort over fashion isn’t a crime. Not everyone can afford custom made Armani and Tom Ford."

"Hm." His eyes glinted. "But you could fuck your way up if you wanted. Have your own custom designers."

My jaw dropped. What the actual hell was wrong with him?

"No. Thank you."

"Whenever you change your mind..." His smirk deepened. "Let me know."

I hissed internally, turning to the window, refusing to feed his ego further.

His phone rang, cutting the tension. I listened to his clipped responses of "Yes." "No." "Let’s see." Every word was curt and controlled in a lethal way.

As the office loomed closer, I tapped on the divider. "Please... can you drop me outside the gate? I’d rather go in separately."

Ivan ignored me.

My gaze slid to Grant, the only one who could overrule him. "Please."

"There’s no need," he said coolly. "The sooner people know you’re mine, the better."

My chest tightened. Rage flared hot and shaky.

"But I’m not yours. I don’t belong to you."

I was trembling now, voice sharp, breaking. He played me hot and cold, intoxicating one second, cruel the next. I couldn’t take it anymore. He was confusing me, pulling me apart, and I hated how much I wanted him even while I despised his games.

He didn’t flinch. "With time, you’ll realize you’ve always belonged to me, nymph."

"My name is Nova." My voice was ice. I shoved the door open, slamming it behind me before rushing toward the elevators.

But of course, the lift betrayed me, taking its sweet time. And of course, he and Ivan towered behind me within seconds.

"Don’t you dare walk out on me again," he said, voice low, dangerous.

"There won’t be a next time," I snapped, fire and foolish pride colliding.

"Don’t talk when I’m talking," he warned, his voice calm but edged with something lethal.

Silence stretched, suffocating. I bit my tongue, my pulse loud in my ears. I’d read enough books to know: push a man like him too far, and you won’t like the consequences.

The elevator doors finally opened. I stormed out first and straight into Mr. Aaron Smith.

"Why did you leave your office laptop unlocked overnight?" he barked, spitting accusations like bullets.

"What? No, I didn’t—" My voice faltered. I knew I’d shut it down. I rechecked twice.

"Well, your laptop has been spamming company folders with sensitive information," he snapped. "You’ve always been a disappointment."

My chest cracked. The words pierced deeper than I expected, leaving me cold, small.

Before I could recover, Grant’s voice cut like a whip behind me.

"You’re not in a position to call her—or anyone—a disappointment. Seeing as it’s your middle name."

Aaron stammered, paling. "Yes, sir. Apologies, boss. I didn’t—"

"Call an emergency meeting," Grant ordered, his tone final, dangerous. "We have a mole in our midst."

And just like that, my world tilted again.