Chapter 2 #3
“I do. Humberto does. Nova gives me some to take home for my grandchildren too, and we appreciate it so much. She also bakes for school events, and even brings some to the community refrigerator outside the Our Lady of Margarethe Church on the corner. You know them, right? Your daughter is such a nice girl,” Sofia adds.
“So kind and loving, without a mean bone in her body.”
I merely stared at the scones some more, their crusty golden edges taunting me.
My stepdaughter was making loads of baked goods for charity ?
Hell, the last time I lifted a finger for charity was maybe never.
Sure, I give a shit ton of money each year, but that’s different.
Money is impersonal; baking shit for poor people to eat was the very definition of personal.
It was small incidents like this that made me realize I had a gem beneath my roof.
I found out that Nova helps with the dishes sometimes, and also does her own laundry.
She likes to jog in the early mornings, and sometimes lifts light weights in her room.
Plus, she’s active at school and gets great grades.
A letter came in the mail from La Salle announcing her nomination to the Honor Roll, and I was impressed.
But Nova’s subtly sexy too, without realizing it, and it’s these small things that have me raging like a beast. I went down to the laundry room one day to look for a spare tennis ball, and came upon some delicately folded lingerie on the dryer.
Nova must have been in the middle of finishing laundry, and then gotten called to another task.
Piles of fripperies were stacked on the white machine, and to my shame, I couldn’t resist. I lifted a pair of her pink panties to my nose, inhaling deeply of the sweet lace.
They smelled innocent. The scent was heady, virginal, and flowery all at once, mixed with the musk of a developing woman. My hard-on was immediate.
Then, I began watching her. We shared meals on occasion, and I would find myself watching her pink lips as she spoke, entranced with that lovely pout.
I’m a fucking douche for thinking like this.
I’m a beast for lusting after the innocent brat in my house, who has no idea how subtly sexy she is.
I’m fucked … as I slowly losing my mind.
* * *
Now, we’re sitting down to dinner together on Christmas Eve. It’s just the two of us in the formal dining room, with a delicious meal laid out before us.
“Daddy Hunter?” Nova laughed, interrupting my reverie. “Are you even listening?”
I startled back to consciousness, watching from the corner of my eye as her big breasts shook in her figure-hugging sweater dress.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” was my growl. “It’s been a long day and I was just thinking of the surgery I have later this week.”
Nova’s pretty features immediately went empathetic. She reached a small hand across the table, seizing my big one in her own.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she murmured. “It’s the woman from the Bronx, isn’t it? Who has such serious fibroids that she’s getting a hysterectomy.”
I nodded.
“Yes, it’s her,” I said in a low voice. “Thank you for remembering. But the operation should work out fine, so there’s no reason to be nervous. Plus, the patient’s already decided that she doesn’t want more children, so it’s okay.”
Nova squeezes my hand, her expression gentle.
“But it was tough getting to that point,” the teen girl murmurs. “She isn’t that old, right? Only twenty-eight? I remember you sent her to a counselor to talk it over with.”
“That’s right,” I growl. “But the patient has two children already, and she decided her family’s complete. The counselor says she’s secure in her decision. It’s all good.”
Nova shoots me another encouraging smile, her grace breathtaking.
“I’m glad,” she murmurs, before giving my hand another squeeze. “You’re such an amazing doctor, Hunter. But what about you?” she asks in the cutest way. “Do you want children? Of your own, I mean,” she says quickly, blushing. “Bio children.”
I try to look normal although to be honest, I’m starting to get aroused. Here I am, having a conversation about future children with a beautiful young woman. In a story book, the conversation would be held over a romantic, candlelit dinner as we discuss starting a family together.
Even crazier, the fact is that this dinner is intimate and candlelit.
It’s Christmas Even, so Sofia set out candles, and we’re eating her finest pork roast on delicate bone china.
Nova looks gorgeous too. My stepdaughter’s in a fuzzy cream wrap dress which highlights her big bust, slim waist, and long legs.
Her blonde hair is beautifully draped over one shoulder, and I desperately want to wrap it around a big fist before pulling her close for a deep kiss.
But I can’t do it because she’s my daughter. Maybe Nova and I aren’t related by blood, but I used to be married to her mom.
Stop this shit , my conscience warns. You are super fucked-up for going there.
Yet, I can’t resist the romance of the moment.
Is it because it’s the holidays? The glow of the candlelight turning Nova’s skin luminous?
There’s something intimate and personal about the moment, and I feel my attraction towards the alluring young woman build.
I literally lean forward to capture Nova’s lips with my own, before catching myself. Then, I stop and jerk upright.
“Yes, I think I want kids,” I say in a wooden voice. “I can definitely see a family in my future.”
What the fuck!?!? the voice in my head howls. Where the fuck did this come from? You haven’t ever wanted rugrats. Soiled diapers, foul odors, and burps that smell like sour milk? Fuck no!
But that sentiment’s not quite right either.
When I married Betsy, in our early years, we wanted to get pregnant.
Unfortunately, those dreams were dashed within months of inception because Betsy got sick almost immediately.
But many eons ago, I did contemplate becoming a father, even if the idea only lasted for a few short months.
Yet now, it seems those dreams have come roaring back to life. Even worse, they seem to have come roaring back as I enjoy a meal with my beautiful stepdaughter, our hands clasped as she smiles at me innocently.
“That’s so wonderful,” Nova murmurs. “I’d love to be a mother too. It’s definitely something I look forward to.”
My cock goes rigid as every cell hums alive in my body. Holy fuck, is this conversation going where I think it’s going? Is Nova going to ask me to be a daddy to her future children?
Unbidden, my cock stiffens under the table as my balls grow heavy, filling with seed.
Goddamn, I’d love that. I’d love to enjoy this young woman’s curves, making her scream with pleasure as I plunder her soft white body.
I’d love to see Nova’s back arch as she comes so hard that she sits up in bed, her legs shaking as she takes my shaft deep within her sopping folds.
I’ll spray her fertile fields with my male seed.
I’ll make sure she’s pregnant within our first few acts of intimacy.
Then, I have a vision of Nova, beautiful and radiant, her belly heavy with my child inside.
I see her in a warm bath as I wash her hair, her eyes closed with pleasure as my fingers massage her scalp.
Then, Nova stands once the bath is done, that lush, pregnant figure slick and gleaming with my baby inside.
I press a reverent kiss to her distended belly, gently saying hello to the life within.
Have you fucking lost your mind? the voice in my head barks harshly. What, you think this is a Hallmark romance? You really think you could be a good father? A good husband?
The word “husband” snaps me out of my reverie because I haven’t thought about getting re-married since Betsy died.
It’s been more than ten years since my wife passed, but the prospect of tying the knot again never entered my mind.
It’s not that the idea repulsed me. It’s that I never even thought of it because Betsy occupied a sacred space, and no other woman could possibly live up to her ideal.
But now, my brain’s gone haywire because I’m dreaming of Nova at my side, pregnant with my child.
Hell, I’m envisioning the gorgeous blonde pregnant again and again, filling this townhouse full of our kids.
I see her in a white dress at the altar, smiling at me beneath a veil, with her tummy already large with our first baby. Hell, I can see us exchanging rings ...
But then reality jolts me back to Earth because the young woman smiles sweetly before removing her hand.
“I guess this is as good of a time as any, Daddy, since we’re on the topic. Do you think I could get a prescription for birth control from you? You are an ob-gyn, after all. It’d be easy.”
The question plummets me back to Earth where I land with a spectacular crash. My stepdaughter, whom I’d just envisioned in a white wedding gown, is asking me to prescribe birth control for her ... because she wants to sleep with another man.