The day before Valentine's Day hit me like a freight train. My girlfriend of two years just up and left, no real explanation, just a cold text saying it was over. I didn't get it—we'd been solid, and in bed? I fucked her good, made her scream every time. At 20, I knew I had it all: tall frame packed with muscle from soccer drills, dark skin glowing under the sun, a sharp, well-trimmed beard framing my jaw, and tattoos snaking up my arms like badges of my edge. Handsome as hell, or so everyone said. But none of that mattered when she bailed. I was gutted, staring at the chocolate fondue set I'd bought for our big night, the one with the fancy dipping fruits and all.
February 14th rolled around, and fuck celebrating with anyone else. Mom was out of town for work, so the house was mine. I stripped off my shirt, letting my ripped abs and inked chest breathe in the warm air, fired up the fondue pot on the coffee table, and sank into the couch. The TV blared a soccer match—my team's highlights—to drown out the ache, while my favorite rap playlist thumped through the speakers, bass vibrating my skin. I dipped a strawberry into the melted chocolate, savoring the rich, gooey warmth alone, trying to numb the sting.
The front door clicked open, and Dad walked in, still in his work boots, flannel shirt dusted with sawdust from the job site. He was built solid, mid-40s with that easy strength, salt-and-pepper hair, and eyes that always saw right through bullshit. He froze in the doorway, taking in the scene: me half-naked, chocolate pot steaming, the breakup vibe hanging thick.
"Son? What's all this? Where's your girl?" His voice was gruff, concerned.
I tried to play it cool, but the words caught in my throat. Tears welled up—me, the macho guy who never showed weakness, breaking down like a kid. "She... she left me, Dad. Yesterday. After everything." Sobs hit me hard, shoulders shaking as I buried my face in my hands.
Dad's face softened. He kicked off his boots, crossed the room in two strides, and pulled me into his arms. His body was warm, solid against mine, flannel rough on my bare skin. "Hey, easy now," he murmured, rubbing my back. "Whatever happened, you're better off. Come here." We shifted on the couch, him holding me close, my head on his shoulder as the tears slowed.
The fondue pot bubbled between us, and Mom's absence made it feel even more intimate. "Want some?" I mumbled, wiping my eyes. "Bought it for tomorrow... well, today. Might as well not waste it."
Dad nodded, grabbing a skewer and dipping a piece of banana. "Yeah, why not? Your mom's gone till next week anyway." We ate in silence at first, the chocolate's sweetness cutting the salt of my tears. But then, as the rap beats pulsed, something shifted. Dad scooped a dollop on his finger and smeared it playfully on my cheek. "Look at you, all mopey. Sweeten up."
I laughed weakly, but when he leaned in and licked it off—his tongue hot and firm against my skin—a jolt shot through me. Rough stubble grazed my jaw, and I froze, heat pooling low in my gut. Straight as an arrow, virile to the core, but damn, it stirred something.
Emboldened, I dipped my finger and swiped chocolate across his cheek, then licked it clean, tasting the mix of cocoa and his skin. His breath hitched, eyes darkening. "That's my boy," he said, voice dropping low.
He wasn't done. With a smirk, he trailed chocolate over one of my nipples, the cool drip hardening it instantly against my muscled pec. Then his mouth followed, tongue swirling around the peak, sucking gently. I moaned—deep, involuntary—my cock twitching in my shorts. Loneliness clawed at me, and the need for release burned hot. "Dad... fuck," I gasped, hand threading into his hair.
We kept going, the game turning feral. He smeared chocolate down my abs, tracing the ridges of muscle and tattoos, then lapped it up slow, tongue dipping into every groove. I shivered, spreading some on his thick forearms and sucking it off his knuckles, then his palms. We moved to feet—me dipping his toes, him licking the arch of mine—chocolate sticky between us, breaths ragged. My straight-macho walls crumbled; this felt right, needed.
Finally, he dabbed chocolate on my lips. Our eyes locked, and he closed the gap. His mouth crashed into mine, tongues tangling in a messy, incestuous kiss—chocolate smearing, flavors exploding as we devoured each other. I groaned into it, hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, piggish and hungry, all teeth and suction.
I broke away, panting. "Dad, I can't take it. I need you to do me good—fuck me right, make me forget her. Please."
His eyes blazed with the same fire. He cupped my face, thumb smearing more chocolate. "Anything for you, son. Gonna make you feel so damn good."
The doorbell rang, sharp and intrusive. We both froze. I stood, adjusting my raging hard-on, and opened the door. There she was—my ex, eyes wide and pleading. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I was stupid. Let me make it up to you. Valentine's isn't over yet."
Hurt surged back, fresh and raw. "Too late," I snapped. "You broke me. Get out."
She stepped forward, desperate. "Please, we can—"
Dad pushed past me, towering in the doorway. "You heard him, bitch. You think you can just waltz back after dumping my boy like trash? Fuck off. He's done with your sorry ass." His words were venom, face twisted in protective rage.
She gaped, but Dad wasn't finished. He grabbed me, yanking me against his chest, and kissed me deep—mouth full of lingering chocolate, tongue thrusting possessively. It was languid, filthy, our lips slick and grinding right in her face. As we broke apart, strings of chocolate connecting us, he flipped her the middle finger. "That's for hurting him. Now scram."
I slammed the door on her stunned face, the lock clicking like a final nail. We turned to each other and burst out laughing—wild, relieved, the tension snapping into pure adrenaline.
"Your turn to forget," Dad growled, shoving me back onto the couch. He stripped fast, his cock springing free—thick, veined, already leaking. I kicked off my shorts, my own shaft hard and curving up, balls heavy with need.
He pushed me down, spreading my legs wide. Chocolate still smeared our bodies as he grabbed the pot, drizzling warm streams over my cock and hole. The heat made me buck, moaning loud. His tongue followed, licking the chocolate from my balls, sucking one into his mouth while stroking my length. "Taste so fucking good, son," he murmured, then rimmed me—tongue pushing in, wet and probing, cleaning every drop.
I writhed, hands fisting the cushions. "More—fuck, Dad, take me."
He slicked his cock with more chocolate, the makeshift lube shiny and messy. Positioning at my entrance, he thrust in—slow at first, stretching my tight ass around his girth. I hissed, the burn mixing with pleasure, my macho pride yielding to this depraved bliss. "So big... yes," I panted, legs wrapping his waist.
Once buried, he pounded hard—hips slamming, the couch creaking under us. His hands pinned my wrists, chocolate-smeared chest sliding against mine as he fucked deep, hitting that spot that made stars burst. I jerked my cock in rhythm, pre-cum mixing with the mess.
"Gonna fill you up, make you mine," he grunted, sweat dripping, balls slapping my ass with every brutal drive.
We flipped—me on all fours now, him behind, gripping my hips as he railed me. Chocolate smeared everywhere, sticky sounds filling the room over the forgotten rap beats. I pushed back, taking him deeper, moans turning to cries. "Harder—wreck me!"
He reached around, stroking me fast, thumbing the head. The build was insane; I came first, shooting ropes across the cushions, ass clenching around him. Dad roared, thrusting erratic, then pulled out—flipping me again to paint my abs and chest with his load, thick spurts mixing with the chocolate.
We collapsed, bodies tangled and filthy, laughing breathlessly. The breakup? Forgotten. This—us—was the real Valentine's fire.
