8. Eight
Eight
Bull
Ripped from a wet dream about Betsy, I stumble toward the curtain as I try to stand. I’m having trouble separating dreams from reality. Either way, no one should see her. I thrust the curtain closed so hard it pulls from the rod, leaving the fabric dangling uselessly.
Fuck! I rush to Betsy, yank the dildo from her hands, and fling it across the room. The thud of its landing is promptly followed by a grumble from Rocky.
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I’m breathless at the sight of Betsy’s spread-eagle position exposing her pretty pink pussy. I drop to my knees, unable to stop myself from staring, desiring, and lowering my face… forcing my lips to her belly to stop myself from tasting her pussy.
But it’s not sleep clouding my judgment, it’s years of pent-up desires and the aphrodisiac of her scent creating a primal need. For her. To protect her. To claim her.
Struggling to control myself, I say, “Not like this, Betsy. Not in front of a crowd.” The intent of my words hits my ears. I have to stop myself. I can’t.
My strong grip holding her thighs open contradicts them.
“They’ll be our witnesses,” she whispers.
Rage and possession surge through me. The thought of those leering eyes on Betsy, watching us in such an intimate moment, ignites a feral urge that threatens to drown out all reason. Every muscle in my body tenses as I war with myself. She’s mine to safeguard, not theirs to ogle. The very idea of their lustful thoughts sends a wave of fury crashing through me, obliterating restraint.
“What’s going on?” Rocky sits up, rubbing his head where the dildo must have hit him.
Another inhale of Betsy’s femininity paralyzes me. My balls load up, begging to give her what she wants.
No. She can’t want this. Ready to give her what the contract obliges me to give her.
“She was fucking herself,” I growl.
Something is different about her—a boldness. She’s taken control. It’s so fucking hot. So irresistible.
“It’s not a big deal.” The innocence of her tone is betrayed by the circumstance and the gleam in her eye. “I’m just a girl trying to have an orgasm.”
“Not a big deal?” I can’t breathe.
“Neither of you will help me.”
“This isn’t right.”
“I have needs. I read books. I know what people do.”
My control snaps. My mouth is on her sex, lapping at her sweet juices, my tongue diving into her tight, warm pussy before I register a coherent thought. Too late.
Her moans ring out. “Please, Daddy. Make me come.”
Daddy sure as hell is going to make that happen. I kiss and lick and suck on her clit, gripping her hips so she can’t get away. I’ve given her everything… and I’ll give her more. I’ve crossed the line. There’s no turning back.
Betsy’s cries hit a fever pitch and then she comes, drenching me in her release. I lap up every drop, committing myself to being everything my stepdaughter will ever need.
This is wrong on so many levels… But there’s also something right about it, something that feels destined.
I rise on my knees, my body prowling over her, the fur of her dress tickling my face as I drag my wet mouth and chin through it, up more until my lips hover over hers. I want her to taste herself.
As tendrils of sanity demand that I stop, all I can think is that I’m surely damned.
My lips slant over hers and she welcomes my tongue, kissing me with an abandon I only allowed myself to dream about. One of my hands goes to my pants and I pause kissing only briefly enough to stand and shuck them.
Towering over her, I recognize my chance to walk away.
She bats her eyelashes. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Fuck! I’m trapped in so many ways. By that name. By my underwear. By the contract.
But this isn’t about the contract anymore. The devil inside of me won’t let it be.
But my promise to my angel, her mother, that I would protect Betsy fills me with shame.
So why am I lowering myself over my innocent little stepdaughter?
I press my strained underwear against her pussy. Using every bit of willpower I can muster, I shift my tip to the side. Off of her entrance.
Yet, she’s shoving my underwear down. My bare tip is in her curls. I grind into her while cursing myself. “We can’t do this.”
“We have to, Daddy.”
Dammit. She’s in complete control. I snake my arms behind her back, then flip us so that I’m on the bottom and she’s tight against my chest.
I thrust and pump, hating myself for using her like this. The fact that I haven’t entered her is my only saving grace.
Rocky looms over us.
I forgot he was there. I can’t focus on him long enough to tell if he’s glad that I’m honoring the contract so we can end our argument or if he’s pissed. He admitted that he would fuck her. It wrecked my brain. There was no way I could let him have her first or ever. And even though it gave me an ounce of permission, it’s still wrong.
I work a hand between Betsy’s body and mine, finding her clit, desperate to watch her come again.
Knowing that Rocky’s watching, that everyone is watching, that if I let go, I could put a baby in her, throws me over the edge. I buck hard, driving my cock against her body, wishing like hell I could send a shot of cum straight into her womb.
I’m the biggest jackass there ever was, and I can’t stop.
Her body twitches as she comes undone. She slips to the side, plunging my tip into the warmth of her lips as it sprays.
Fuck! I angle my hips to stop myself but lose control. My shaft slides between her ass cheeks releasing cum over us.
Maybe some hit Rocky. Maybe he yells. Maybe nothing else matters but my precious stepdaughter as she falls apart on my hand, coming in sync with me. We’re one—as only I can be with her.