Chapter 4
four
. . .
Lucas
I'm a dead man walking. The moment Kate sashayed down the stairs in those goddamn shorts that barely covered her ass, I should have locked myself in my office for the night.
Instead, I tortured myself for hours—watching her bend and stretch, feeling her warm thigh pressed against mine, enduring the sweet torture of her head near my crotch.
The whole time, my cock was a steel rod trapped behind my zipper, aching so badly I thought I might lose my mind.
Now I'm alone in my bedroom, hand wrapped around that same throbbing length, shame and need wrestling inside me as I give in to what I've been fighting for weeks.
The pillow didn't hide shit. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.
Those innocent eyes looking up at me from my lap, her soft lips just inches from my cock.
The way she "accidentally" brushed her breast against my knee.
The delicate arch of her back when she stretched, pushing those perfect tits against the thin white fabric of her top, her nipples hard and clearly visible. No fucking bra. Jesus Christ.
I tried. I really fucking tried to be good.
To look away. To think about contracts and clients and anything but the sweet curve of her ass in those tiny shorts.
To forget how she smelled—like vanilla and something uniquely Kate that makes my mouth water.
To ignore how her honey-blonde hair spread across my thigh, so close to where I wanted her mouth.
I'm stroking myself faster now, grip tight, remembering how she kissed my cheek before going upstairs. The soft press of her lips, lingering just a second too long. The slight catch in her breath. The way her eyes darkened when they met mine.
She wants this too. I'm not imagining it.
The thought sends a jolt of heat straight to my groin. My hips buck up into my fist. I should stop. I should take another cold shower, lock myself in the gym, do fucking anything but lie here jerking off to images of my best friend's nineteen-year-old daughter.
But I can't stop. Not tonight. Not after hours of her subtle torture.
In my mind, she's not walking away after that kiss. In my mind, she's straddling my lap right there on the couch, those tiny shorts riding up to expose the soft flesh of her ass as she settles over my aching cock.
"Lucas," fantasy-Kate whispers, rolling her hips against mine. "I've wanted you for so long."
I groan out loud in the darkness of my bedroom, my free hand fisting in the sheets. My cock throbs in my grip, pre-come slicking the way as I pump harder, faster.
In my fantasy, I grip her hips, guiding her movements against me. She's wet—so fucking wet I can feel it through our clothes. Her crop top rides up, exposing the undersides of her breasts. I push it higher, revealing her completely.
"So beautiful," I growl, cupping one perfect breast, rolling the nipple between my fingers. Fantasy-Kate arches into my touch, moaning softly.
"Please," she begs. "I need you inside me."
I'm panting now, sweat beading on my forehead as my hand works my shaft. In my mind, I'm yanking those tiny shorts aside, finding her bare and soaking wet. No panties. She's been naked under those shorts all night. The thought nearly makes me come right then.
Fantasy-Kate rises up on her knees, positions herself over my cock. She's a virgin—tight, untouched, perfect. Made for me. Only me.
"Is this what you want, angel?" I ask her, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance.
"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, please…Daddy."
Fuck.
That word. That fucking word. It shouldn't turn me on the way it does. Shouldn't make me harder than steel, shouldn't make my balls draw up tight with impending release. But it does. God help me, it does.
In my fantasy, I thrust up into her tight heat, feeling her stretch around me, watching her face as she takes me inside. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp, those big hazel eyes wide with pleasure and pain and wonder.
"That's it," I growl. "Take all of Daddy's cock. Such a good girl."
My hand is a blur now, my hips lifting off the bed as I fuck into my fist. I'm close. So fucking close.
Fantasy-Kate rides me with abandon, her sweet tits bouncing with each movement. "Daddy," she moans. "You feel so good inside me. So big. So deep."
I grip her hips, slamming her down onto my cock, hitting that spot deep inside that makes her cry out. "You're mine now," I tell her. "No one else gets to touch this tight little pussy. Only me. Only Daddy."
"Yes," she sobs. "Only you. I've always been yours."
I feel her tightening around me, her inner walls clenching as she approaches her climax. "Come for me," I command. "Come all over Daddy's cock like a good girl."
The fantasy is too much. I come with a strangled groan, my body convulsing as pleasure tears through me.
Hot spurts of come shoot across my stomach and chest, some landing on the sheets beside me.
My back arches off the bed, tendons in my neck straining as I bite back a shout.
I don't want to wake her. Don't want her to know what I'm doing, what I'm thinking about.
The orgasm seems endless, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me. It's more intense than anything I've felt in years—maybe ever. Because it's her. Because it's Kate.
As the pleasure fades, shame crashes in like a tidal wave. I lie there, covered in my own come, breathing hard, disgust crawling up my throat. What kind of man fantasizes about his ward? About his best friend's daughter calling him "Daddy" while he fucks her?
Me. I do. Because I'm a goddamn monster.
I clean myself up with tissues from the nightstand, movements rough and angry. I should be protecting her. Guiding her. Instead, I'm lying in bed jerking off to the thought of taking her virginity.
What kind of sick fuck am I?
I swear to myself it's the last time. The last time I'll give in to these twisted fantasies. The last time I'll let my guard down around her. I'll be better. Stronger. I'll remember my promise to James.
But even as I make these vows, I know I'm lying to myself.
Because tomorrow she'll come downstairs in those sleep shorts that barely cover her ass, or bend over to get something from the fridge, or brush against me in the hallway, and I'll be right back here—hard and aching and hating myself for wanting what I can't have.
What I shouldn't have.
I throw an arm over my eyes, trying to block out the images that keep flooding my brain. Kate on her knees. Kate spread out on my bed. Kate calling me "Daddy" as she comes around my cock.
It's not the last time. I know it isn't. And that terrifies me almost as much as how badly I want her.