Daddy's Heavy Sleeper (TUCKED IN HARD #1)

Chapter 1

Elijah

Somewhere between bedtime stories and a point I don’t exactly remember, watching my sister sleep changed.

Or is she my daughter? The guardianship papers said so. This is not how I pictured my life turning out, but once she arrived on the scene, anything I’d hoped for before her changed.

She calls me Daddy. I’m the closest thing to a father she’s ever known.

The fact that we’re not blood-related doesn’t make it feel any different to me. Sister. Step-sister. Daughter…Ward?

The hard-ons throbbing out her name in Morse Code came after she turned eighteen. Seems even in my lust-addled mind, I have a moral compass.

Barely.

Her bow-shaped lips are parted and damp. Freckles spread over the bridge of her nose and across both cheeks, which are always tinged pink, even in sleep.

The wicker chair in the corner of her daisy-yellow walled bedroom, where I sit night after night, groans as I shift my two hundred and eighty pounds of bulk, lifting the mug of Irish coffee she always leaves for me as I lower my zipper with my other hand.

And then I spot it. A note shoved between my coffee mug and the coaster, unfolding as the weight is lifted from it.

Daddy Elijah

It’s her curly, flowery handwriting. The same writing I’ve seen on her schoolwork, then on the farm’s accounts and records she keeps, which her brain handles much better than mine.

The pounding of my heart blocks out any other sounds.

As I hold the paper shaking in my hand, the horrifying thought occurs to me that she’s leaving. That she’s had enough of this town, and my constant need to know where she is at all times. My possessiveness keeps her a prisoner.

Fuck, I can’t lose her. I can’t.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I’ll chain her in the fucking basement before I let her get away from me.

The thoughts do nothing to dampen my lust or my hard-on. I stop myself before I can start jerking off, taking the note in both hands and letting the stream of moonlight cut across the white paper.

My thick cock bobs as I start to read.

You don’t have to just watch me, Daddy. It’s okay. I’ll never know, but I like it. I’m saying yes…

Daisy xxx

And a smiley face.

The heart-stopping beauty of her young face is turned my way as I shift in the old chair, trying and failing to keep the demands of my erection from clouding my judgment.

The sliver of moonlight cuts through a gap in the curtains, casting a glow across her ripe, young, firm body. The pink glow from her nightlight makes the darkness seeping into my brain seem surreal in its innocence.

She’s flat on her back, sprawled across the bed, taking up as much space as possible on the queen-sized mattress.

And she is a queen.

My queen.

Coppery red curls run wild across the white cotton of the pillowcase. Behind those closed lids, her eyes are green like the Emerald City.

And when they look at me, I turn into a monster. The things I imagine doing to her will send me to hell, this is certain.

But I can’t stop. She doesn’t understand what she does to me.

She came into my life when she was just a child, our parents making us family. I’m thirty-five now. I should know better. I am old enough to be her father, that’s why the court awarded her to me after I ran our parents off into the night.

Now I’m taking all that legal trust and burning it in the inferno of lust I can no longer control.

When she smiles, when she bakes her cookies, when she flits around our home in a barely-there t-shirt and shorts, I have to choke back the groan as my balls churn and dump into my boxers.

I can’t stop it.

I take a deep inhale of the scent of flowers. Vases of them decorate her bedroom.

She’s been under my guardianship since she was twelve years old. A long story about parents who prioritized themselves over their God-given obligations. But thankfully, Daisy had me.

I let my eyes drift to the shelf above her bed, filled with a line of pewter unicorns and dragons.

As my dripping erection pops free, they look down in silent judgment. I work the thickness up and down with my work-rough palm. Sweat trickles down my spine, the ceiling fan overhead doing little to cool the oppressive heat radiating from my core.

I should get up and leave, but the twitching of my traitorous cock against my palm forces me to stay.

I’ve tried to stay away. Prayed for strength. I hiss into the dark air as my manhood throbs. I think about her every second of every day. Even in my room, taking a cold shower after working the fields, the depraved thoughts won’t stop.

They pound at me, drawing me down the hall where I know she’s lost in her dreams. Sweet ones, while I sink into the darkness, wanting things from my sister…my daughter in so many ways...that make the devil laugh as I spurt and think of my child growing inside her.

I’d sell my very soul to fuck my sister. The girl I raised. The girl who calls me Daddy and thinks of me as the same. Trusts me to keep her safe from all the horrors of the world I’ve warned her about. Not knowing the worst of them is right here.

In her room at night, in the dark, beating off like a pervert as she breathes softly, ignorant of my immorality.

I’ll never know, but I like it. I’m saying yes.

How can she say yes when she has no idea of the depravity inside me when I think of loving and defiling her in the same breath?

I half convince myself that she must mean something else. Yes, she’ll help me on the farm. Yes, she would like another dragon. Yes, anything, but what I want to do to her.

I work myself on the farm to the point of exhaustion every day, hoping the feelings will die. Right now, I could go. There’s more to be done. The tornado that came through two days ago tore up the east barn. I could turn my pickup lights toward the damage and work, even in darkness.

But of course, I don’t leave. I turn and cross to her bed, just to look at my baby.

The blankets are tangled around her body right now, the She-Ra nightdress she begged me to get for her riding up one thigh, but not high enough to get a glimpse of her panties, no matter how I might try.

The first time I broke was the day after she turned nineteen. I stopped just sitting and watching her sleep and took the next dark step, jerking over my little girl for the first time.

That night, when I came in from the field work, I took my shower and then took my seat next to her bed. Her nightdress was up around her waist.

Her tiny cotton panties were dewy, and I fought my urges for an hour, just watching her as I always did, but the sight of her little pussy lips indenting the dark patch of wet fabric was too much.

And I knew. I knew she wouldn’t wake up.

She never does. Once Daisy is asleep, she’s out cold, and a marching band could come through her room playing Yankee fucking Doodle without disturbing her.

So I let the guilt go packing, took out my cock, spat on my hand, and did what I needed to do.

Just as I’m doing now.

Long, slow strokes, watching the head of my dick disappear into my fist, then pop back out again, redder and redder as I listen to Daisy’s soft breathing and occasional sigh in her sleep.

She is sunshine in human form, and I’m darkening her world with the manic beating of my fist on my length. The nightdress is caught on one nipple, making my mouth water, the outline of her breast catching in the low light.

She draws in an unsteady, deep breath, and I squeeze the iron rod in my hand.

She releases a small moan into the warm air of the room and then, “Daddy…” Her soft little voice calls to me, even in sleep.

Fuck. Fuck. That name on her lips is more than I can take. More than any man could take. I’m a human being, not some fucking machine. I don’t have the willpower to resist, not when she’s offering herself to me.

The first time I pleasured myself over her sleeping form, I swore I would never do it again.

Liar.

I released my thick, guilty load onto her pillow that night, rubbing it in with the head right next to her face, imagining the scent invading her dreams. Hoping it would dance on her cheeks in the morning when she came down for her orange juice and the fried eggs she loves.

The next time, when her nightdress rode high, and she was sprawled on her back with her legs spread like an invitation, I came on her panties.

Surely, she would know after that, right? My balls were heavy with what they held for her, and the sticky cream dripped down that cotton slip between her legs onto the white sheet in thick tendrils.

She never said a thing about it. But maybe…

Maybe she did know, and she wants it. Maybe she’s been figuring out how to ask, and her note means she’s ready.

Or maybe I’m just a sick fuck looking for any excuse to play out my fantasies on this innocent girl in my care.

Her trust in me is implicit. She tells me everything. Even about her first period, trusting me to know how to help her as her body turned her from a child into a woman.

My eyes rake over her supple, petite form, the way her hips curve upward, the way her neck looks in the moonlight, tempting me to bend down and bite. To leave my mark there for her to see when she wakes.

Her bare legs shift under the thin sheet. The little birthmark that looks like a summer flower on her upper thigh, the reason for her name.

“Fuck,” I rasp, her scent hitting me as I stand over her.

My hand works faster, furious against the taut skin, the tension in my core twisting as I beat off, my grip punishing.

“Good girl.” I pound my fist up and down, my fantasy taking hold, low whispers in the darkness that will cause my dark eruption. I’m close, so close. “Daddy’s here. Just be a good girl and keep your eyes closed tight, and Daddy will be finished soon. I’ll always keep you safe.”

She has given you permission, you lucky, sick fucker.

Months of watching her. Months of beating myself raw, praying for forgiveness, thinking she had no idea. And then she writes me that note? Whatever happens now, it’s her fucking fault.

Her chest is rising and falling with every little breath, her one-armed Barbie doll where it always is, beside her pillow. I’ve bought her more since I became her guardian, but that one is still her favorite.

So trusting. Such a good girl.

I lick my dry lips, lowering my massive frame to the edge of the mattress, brushing her hair back from her forehead. She frowns and murmurs, but doesn’t wake.

“Daddy’s heavy sleeper.” I consider what’s about to happen, feeling the warmth of her soft skin on my calloused fingers, and let all the pent-up need flow free. “Keep your eyes closed, baby. Daddy’s just going to tuck you in.”

Liar.