I Seduced My Father-In-Law Novel by Astra Marlowe _ Novel




I Seduced My Father-In-Law Chapter 01

My name is Caroline Maynard, and my husband is Phillip Howell.
Two months ago, Phillip was transferred to the Africa branch. Ever since, I’ve been drowning in loneliness, my body screaming with unmet need.
Tonight the ache hit harder than ever. I grabbed his pillow, buried my face in it, and pictured him behind me—his rough hands kneading my breasts, then that thick, rock-hard cock slamming deep inside me with every brutal thrust.
I arched off the mattress, hips rolling up to meet the phantom rhythm, chasing the strokes in my mind. It had been so long since anything touched me there that the empty throb between my legs was unbearable. Soft, desperate moans slipped out no matter how hard I tried to bite them back.
The hunger took over fast. I slid my hand between my thighs and started rubbing myself—hard, fast, relentless—fingers slipping through slick heat.
A sharp knock shattered the silence.
Then another—louder, more insistent—echoing through the empty house.
“Who is it?” My whole body locked up. I scrambled off the bed and caught my reflection in the full-length mirror: naked, skin flushed pink, eyes glassy with lust. This wasn’t the poised, respectable Caroline anyone knew. If someone saw me like this… God, I couldn’t even finish the thought.
I snatched a towel and wrapped it around myself just as the knocking stopped. In the sudden quiet, I heard the unmistakable scrape of a key sliding into the lock.
Seconds later, my bedroom door swung open.
“Who—?” The word died in my throat. My face drained of blood as I lunged for my phone, fingers already dialing emergency.
Then I looked up.
It was Callum Howell—my father-in-law—framed in the doorway.
His gaze raked over me, slow and heavy. It lingered on where the towel barely skimmed the tops of my thighs, then dropped to the shadowed cleft between my legs, teasingly half-concealed.
He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and forced a tight smile. “Stomach’s flaring up again,” he said. “Drove into town for the doctor. Ellen asked me to drop off some of your favorite treats while I was here.”
My cheeks burned. I jerked my eyes away, mortified.
But I couldn’t unsee him—those wide shoulders, thick arms corded from years working the fields, every line of him hard and powerfully male. And lower… the thick, unmistakable ridge straining the front of his jeans.
Heat surged through me, pooling hot and wet between my thighs. I clenched my legs together and spun away—only to slam into the nightstand. Our wedding photo crashed to the floor, glass shattering across the hardwood.
We both stared at the broken shards for a second, reality crashing back in.
I reminded myself: I’m married. And the man behind me is my father-in-law.
I forced a shaky smile and hurried into the kitchen. “Sit down, Callum. Let me fix you something.”
Out of politeness, I didn’t leave him alone in the living room while he ate. I hovered nearby, making awkward small talk about him and Ellen.
Halfway through the meal, his fork slipped and clattered to the floor.
He chuckled low and bent to retrieve it.
And stayed bent. Way too long.
That’s when it hit me—I wasn’t wearing panties.
I’d always heard that women with thick, dark curls down there tend to have the strongest sex drives. I was definitely one of them. Phillip used to tease that my bush drove his primal side wild. The second I’d spread out on the bed, he’d pounce and fuck me like an animal.
And right now… oh God, Callum’s eyes were locked between my legs.
I clamped my thighs tight, heart hammering, and managed a shaky whisper. “…Did you find the fork?”
“Found it.” Callum jerked his head up—only to smack it hard against the underside of the table.
I jumped at the thud. He rubbed his forehead, straightened slowly, and forced a tight, awkward smile.
“Carol… stomach’s killing me again. Think I’ll head back to my room and lie down.”
He stood fast. As he turned to leave, my eyes dropped—unwillingly—to the front of his jeans. The thick outline was even more obvious now, straining upward, harder and higher than before.
The heat I’d barely managed to smother roared back to life, fiercer than ever. My mind kept replaying that bulge, imagining every inch hidden beneath the denim. My core clenched; fresh wetness seeped out, soaking straight through my bare folds and onto the chair beneath me.
I bolted back to my bedroom. Even after shrugging off the towel, my skin felt feverish, slickness coating my inner thighs.
I wiped myself with a tissue, threw on pajamas, and decided a cold shower might snap me out of it.
It was past ten. I told myself Callum must have crashed after the long drive.
But when I reached the bathroom, the light was on. The door stood slightly ajar, and from inside came harsh, ragged male breathing—uncontrolled, urgent.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Something deep inside me tugged, pulling me closer despite every screaming instinct to run. I leaned in, peering through the crack.
Callum stood there, naked from the waist down. My black lace panties were wrapped tight around his fist, twisted around the thick, heavy length of his cock. It was bigger than Phillip’s—longer, girthier—veins standing out in sharp relief as he stroked himself with slow, deliberate pulls.
A sharp, electric throb shot through my clit. I knew he was my father-in-law. I knew this was wrong. But I was a woman who hadn’t been properly fucked in months, and my body didn’t care about morality right now.
Reason lost. I braced one hand against the wall and crept closer—close enough to see the phone in his other hand. On the screen: the photo he’d taken under the table earlier. My bare pussy, thighs parted just enough, dark curls framing slick pink folds.
He stared at it like a starving man, hand pumping faster, hips jerking forward as if he were already buried inside me.
I sagged against the wall, knees weak. My own fingers slid down, found my swollen clit, and started circling—matching his rhythm.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from the bathroom. I looked up just in time to watch thick ropes of cum erupt from him—spilling over his knuckles, soaking into the lace of my stolen panties, dripping down his shaft in heavy streaks.
He panted hard, chest heaving, clearly seconds from stepping out.
Panic hit me like ice water. I froze, rooted in place. I’d always been the good girl—straight-A student, perfect wife, never a toe out of line. And here I was, fingering myself in the hallway while secretly watching my father-in-law jerk off with my underwear and a secret upskirt photo of me.
The shame burned. The arousal burned hotter.
If he caught me… God. Part of me wanted him to. Wanted him to drag me inside, bend me over the sink, and fuck me raw until neither of us could think straight.
I glanced down. My fingers were drenched; my thighs glistened.
But pride—or whatever was left of it—won. I couldn’t cross that line. Not yet.
His footsteps approached the doorway.
I spun and fled back to my room, dove under the covers, and spent the rest of the night replaying every filthy second in my head. Sleep never came.

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