Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
PHIA
I couldn’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes as I smeared the grease on my thigh.
I knew I'd pushed him today. I knew it. And if I were smart, I’d convince myself wanting a sexual relationship with my daddy was the worst of the worst and wrong on every single level.
But I wasn’t smart. Not when it came to him.
The house was quiet when I came downstairs later that night, the wooden floors cool beneath my bare feet. My father had gone to bed hours ago. I didn't miss how he was quieter than normal at dinner or how he barely looked at me.
After today, after I opened Pandora's box with my dad, I couldn’t rest. When I entered the kitchen, I froze, seeing him at the table with a glass of his favorite whiskey front of him.
He was fresh from the shower and shirtless, only wearing a pair of gray sweats. His back was to me, but I saw the way he stiffened, knowing I was there. I entered the kitchen and took the seat across from him.
Daddy lifted his gaze. The lights were off, so all I could see were shadows and the silvery glow coming through the kitchen window.
I swallowed. “Can’t sleep?” My voice was soft.
His fingers curled around the glass. “No,” he said in a gruff voice, and I realized that wasn’t his first drink of the night. He’d been down here drinking for a while.
The silence between us stretched, thick with something unspoken, my pulse loud in my ears.
He sighed, bringing his drink to his lips and finishing what was in it before setting it back down. And then he was staring at me. “What are you doing, Phia?”
My name sounded different when he said it. Like something dangerous, tempting.
I hesitated before saying, “What do you mean?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You know what I mean.”
I didn't know what to say or how to respond. I felt shy suddenly, not at all brave like I’d been in the garage just earlier.
He exhaled roughly. “We can’t do… this.”
“What’s this?” I asked softly, maybe too quiet for him to hear.
He gripped the table and said in a low, whiskey-laced voice, “I shouldn’t want you.”
My breath hitched.
There it was. The confession I’d been waiting for.
“But you do.”
His eyes darkened, the shadows seeming to wrap around him. I saw something raw and dangerous flickering across his face. He stayed silent but didn’t deny it. He didn’t stop me when I stood and walked over to him, stopping right beside his chair.
And then, with shaky fingers, I reached up, tracing my fingertips along the edge of his jaw. His skin was rough with stubble, warm beneath my touch.
He sucked in a breath, his hands clenched into fists. “Phia. I’m your father.”
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered.
He didn’t.
Instead, he let out a sound—a deep, guttural growl—and before I could process what was happening, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist, yanking me against him until I was sitting on his lap.
I gasped, my hands flattening against his chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. He was so big, so overwhelming. I felt his body heat and strength, and most of all… the danger and taboo that made him everything I wanted.
His other hand came up, gripping my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
I licked my lips, shivering as his thumb traced the line of my jaw.
“I do,” I whispered.
He exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping against mine. His breath was warm, ragged, and laced with alcohol. It made me drunk with want.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
I barely had time to react before Daddy’s lips crashed against mine.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.
It was forbidden possession.
And I wanted more.