Daddy’s Filthy Obsession

Chapter One

ANTHONY

I counted the days.

Eight hundred and fourteen since the last time she slept under my roof. I knew the number the way some men know the weight of their own sins.

I had marked it once on the calendar in the garage, then scratched the marks out when the shame got loud enough to make my hands shake.

The shame never lasted because the need always outlasted it.

Mallory was twenty-two. She was grown, legal, and my daughter.

Her mother walked out and never looked back, and I’d stepped up because not being a man and father would have made me a piece of shit.

I packed her lunches. Taught her to drive in the empty church parking lot on Sunday mornings. Sat through every fever and every school play.

I did everything right until the day I realized the way she walked had started making my cock hard.

She’d been nineteen and in college.

That was the day I started locking my bedroom door at night.

She walked into the house at four in the afternoon carrying one suitcase and the same soft smile that had ruined me years ago.

She was an accelerated college graduate, and looking prettier than anything or anyone I’d ever seen.

Dark hair that was longer than I remembered, body softer in the hips, and fuller in the chest. Mallory looked like every filthy thought I had tried to kill, dressed in a white tank top that showed me she wasn’t wearing a bra, and jeans that hugged the exact curve of her ass I had jerked off to in the shower more times than I could stand to admit.

“Hey, Dad.”

The word hit me like a fist and a kiss at the same time. I kept my face blank. I had practiced that look in the mirror for longer than I’d admit.

“You made it.” My voice came out steady. I had practiced that too. “Room’s ready. Same as always.”

I had washed the sheets that morning. Then pressed my face into the pillow and breathed until my lungs burned.

Her old shampoo still lived in the bathroom cabinet. I had bought three more bottles over the years just in case. The same brand she’d gotten on her eighteenth birthday from her friend. The same scent that used to cling to her hair when she hugged me.

I never threw it away. I never would.

She moved through the house like she had never left. Like she still belonged to me. I watched the sway of her hips from the kitchen doorway and felt the familiar sick heat crawl up the back of my neck. My cock was already half hard.

I stayed behind the counter so she wouldn’t see.

Dinner was quiet. I cooked the way I used to when she still lived here. Mallory talked about the job that had fallen through, the apartment that had fallen through… the way everything had fallen through until the only door left open was mine.

I listened and nodded and catalogued every shift of her body in the chair. “This is your home, Mallory. Always will be. If you need to live here forever… do it, sweetheart.”

We made our way to the back porch and I couldn’t stop staring at the way she tucked one foot under her thigh, or how her tank top slipped lower on one shoulder, showing the soft flash of lace from her bra underneath.

I wanted to put my mouth there, to bite until she bruised and then apologize while I did it again. The wrongness of it sat heavy in my chest and only made my cock harder.

After she went upstairs I stood in the dark living room and listened to the water running in the shower.

I imagined the soap sliding down her stomach, between her legs, and over the cunt I had never seen but had pictured a thousand different ways.

I would picture all of that while I came into my fist with her name locked behind my clenched jaw.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my cock through my jeans and breathed through my teeth until the water shut off.

I didn’t go upstairs. Instead, I went to the garage, locked the door, and jerked off until I came into my fist with her name in my mouth like a prayer I had no right to say.

When it was over I cleaned up, washed my hands twice, and told myself I could keep control.

I already knew I was lying.