Seducing My Best Friend's Stepfather

Outside the bathroom door:

A stunning woman stood there, wearing only a white shirt that skimmed the curve of her hips and clung damply to her skin.

Fresh from her shower, droplets slid from her hairline, trailing over the hollow of her throat and disappearing beneath the thin fabric.

The damp shirt outlined every soft, perilous curve — a whisper of modesty masking unmistakable intent.

She walked barefoot with a slow, feline grace, each step a deliberate caress against the floor.

Her mission tonight was simple: to bring the man slouched on the sofa to his knees without ever sinking to hers.

The drunkard’s unfocused gaze fixed on the woman approaching him — a vision half-innocent, half-ruin.

Her shirt buttons were half-fastened, offering just enough to spark imagination and wreck judgment.

The man sucked in a sharp breath, his shoulders tightening, his posture snapping into sharpened alertness.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in a hard, audible swallow that betrayed the effect she had on him.

Step by step, the woman approached him.

As she moved, her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough to hint at bare skin beneath.

His eyes lit up when he saw the faintest suggestion of lace at her hips — a whisper of underthings, nothing more.

The sides rested delicately against her skin, decorative as breath, sinful as invitation.

She relished the look in his eyes, darkening with unguarded hunger.

Without pausing, she slipped her fingers along the delicate tie at her hip, playing with it as though testing his restraint.

A single pull, and the lace would fall — the possibility hung between them, molten and dangerous.

The man’s breathing deepened, turning ragged.

She licked her lips with a slow drag of her tongue, smiling as though she were tasting his reaction.

Gripping the bow, she drew it open just enough for the lace to loosen and slip down the elegant line of her hip.

The lace surrendered to gravity, drifting to the floor like a fallen petal.

She stepped directly in front of the man.

Her hands glided beneath his shirt, working each button open with unhurried precision, as though unwrapping a gift she intended to refuse at the last second.

The man gazed at the woman before him, his gaze dragging over her — the swell beneath her shirt, the taut lines of her waist, the long, impossible length of her legs — until it halted at the lace at her feet.

He abruptly ripped off his own shirt with a frustrated growl, throwing it aside.

Then, he grabbed the woman in his arms.

“Wait!”

Her slow breath halted his next move.

She gently pushed him away, lifted one thigh, resting it atop his knee in a poised, commanding gesture that made submission his only option.

“Lick my leg!”

Impatient, he seized her calf, leaned in, pressing his lips to her knee, then following the path upward with reverence edged in desperation.

His breath grazed higher, dangerously close to where propriety would shatter—

Bang!

Jennifer Yablonski burst into the room.

Clothes were strewn everywhere, and several foil packets had clattered to the floor, abandoned in the chaos they’d created.

A sharp slap echoed through the room.

Jennifer’s chest heaved with rage as she delivered a savage, ringing blow to the man’s face.

“Sarah is my best friend! How could you do this to her?!”

The blow sobered the man halfway.

He opened his mouth to explain, but his disheveled state betrayed him before a word left his mouth.

“Jennifer, I was drunk earlier. I was completely out of it. I… I don’t even know how it happened. I woke up to find her half-naked on top of me…”

Jennifer glared at Sarah Rabinovich.

Several buttons on her shirt were undone, and one shoulder strap had slipped off, revealing a bare shoulder glowing like she’d been caught mid-tryst.

She awkwardly climbed off James Novak’s lap and adjusted her strap.

“I didn’t initiate it. He was the one who came on to me. You know I’ve never been able to resist a handsome guy.”

“Get out of here!”

Jennifer finished tearfully, wiping the corner of her eye.

But in the blink of an eye, her heartbroken expression vanished.

She clutched her phone tightly, a glint of triumph sparking behind the tears.

…

One hour later:

A red Porsche sped toward the suburbs.

Sarah drove while grumbling,

“Damn, I’m really making a big sacrifice for you this time. That James? Let me tell you, he’s absolutely useless.”

Jennifer smiled. “You didn’t even get that far. How do you know he’s no good?”

“No. Artists have no stamina! I don’t like that!”

“If he’s not your type, then forget him.”

The two girls laughed as if nothing had happened.

It was a play they had staged from the very beginning.

Sarah said,

“Hey, we have a deal. I got rid of James for you, so you have to help me take care of my stepfather.”

Sarah felt a twinge of guilt when she said the word “stepfather.”

She knew the deal was unfair.

After all, she was only scheming against a pretentious, artsy guy.

Meanwhile, Jennifer was about to seduce her stepmother’s soon-to-be husband, Michael Kowalski, the richest man in City A.

He was fourteen years older, thirty-four, and notoriously ruthless.

Rumor had it that any woman who tried to sleep with him would wake up the next day with scandals splashed online — and those who pushed their luck too far tended to meet with “accidents.”

If Sarah hadn’t been desperate, she would never have asked Jennifer to take such a risk.

Finally, the car pulled up in front of a villa in the suburbs.

Sarah’s voice trembled.

“Jennifer, if anything happens, you must call me. Safety comes first. It doesn’t matter if you don’t succeed in seducing him.”

Sarah — who had just thrown herself over a man

without a trace of shyness — now shrank at the mere mention of Michael.

Jennifer, however, appeared utterly composed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let your stepmother marry him.”

With that, she turned and walked toward the villa without looking back.

Dressed in a pure white dress, she moved through the night like a night-blooming cereus, leaving a faint, elusive fragrance in her wake.

Sarah watched her retreating figure and thought,

With her beauty, Michael would surely show mercy.

“Oh, and Michael likes quiet, well-behaved girls. You’re the goddess of our school. Just be yourself, and he’ll definitely like you!”

“Mhm,” Jennifer murmured softly.

But well-behaved?

Under the moonlight, she pulled out a mirror and gazed at her reflection.

Her eyes were still red-rimmed from tears but bright, sharp, and anything but gentle.

A creamy white silk scarf was tied around her slender neck.

But beneath that scarf…

Jennifer let out a soft chuckle and revealed half a fang.

She had never been meek or obedient.

…

“Michael, my classmate is here.”

Sarah’s father had done business with Michael since she was young.

Sarah was too frightened to act alongside Jennifer.

She could only call out: “My classmate is a rare genius at our school. She’s top of the class in every subject and wins every competition year after year. She’s well-behaved. She’ll just borrow the book and leave. She won’t cause any trouble…”

No sooner had she finished than Jennifer opened the front door of the villa.

This was Jennifer’s first time meeting Michael in person.

He stood with his back to her.

From behind, his physique was robust and upright.

Though he was over thirty, he maintained exceptional muscle definition, clearly prioritizing exercise and diet.

He wore a high-quality blue dress shirt; the cuff of his left sleeve revealed an expensive stainless-steel watch.

Even the smallest shift of his posture radiated the quiet authority of a mature man — a thousand times more compelling than James.

Of course, attraction was directly proportional to danger.

Jennifer’s voice was soft and obedient.

“Hello, Mr. Kowalski. May I ask which floor the study is on?”

Michael didn’t turn around.

Jennifer watched him flip a page in his financial report before he instructed the maid,

“Take her there.”

His voice was incredibly pleasant — intoxicating just to listen to.

Jennifer murmured a soft thank you.

In an unobserved corner, she flashed a seductive smile.

She adored men like this — cultured yet aloof.

She intended to unmake him — pull him down from his cold pedestal, drag him into her gravity, and ruin the immaculate lines of that blue shirt with her hands.

…

Michael’s study was spacious.

After entering, Jennifer remained upstairs for two full hours, flipping through books.

Truthfully, she had already obtained what she needed.

With it, the trouble awaiting her at school next week would be easily resolved.

Since no one was rushing her, she didn’t mind lingering a little longer.

Until her phone buzzed.

Sarah texted:

Jennifer, it’s been two hours. Are you still alive?

Jennifer: Yeah.

Sarah:

So, did you have sex with my uncle?

Jennifer glanced toward the door.

She texted: Not yet.

Then added, after a pause: But soon.

Crash!

Michael, who was sitting in the living room, suddenly heard the sound of shattering glass coming from the study.

The maid immediately moved to go upstairs, but before she could take a step, Jennifer descended on her own — her expression faintly urgent, her eyes pleading.

“Mr. Kowalski, I knocked over a glass of water and got my clothes wet. Could I take a shower at your place and stay the night?”

She stood directly in front of Michael, addressing him face-to-face for the first time.

It was also the first time Michael saw Jennifer’s face clearly tonight.

She was barefoot, and a large patch of her pure white dress was soaked, clinging to her body and tracing the shape of her long, impossibly straight legs.

She appeared sweet and clever.

Sarah had said she was the same age, so she must be in college.

However, because of her demeanor, she looked younger — almost deceptively so.

But Michael saw through her instantly.

This girl was not innocent. Not even close.