Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Kate
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, lips swollen from biting them, cheeks flushed with frustration.
I was so close. In the gym, pressed against Lucas, feeling how hard he was against my ass, I thought he was finally going to break.
When I called him "Daddy" in that breathy voice, his entire body went rigid with need.
His hands tightened on me, pulling me closer for one glorious second before he shoved me away.
I'm tired of the back and forth. Tired of him looking at me like he wants to devour me whole one minute, then acting like I'm made of glass the next.
It's time to end this game once and for all.
If he wants me—and I know he does—he's going to have to admit it.
I strip off the sweaty sports bra and shorts, step into the shower, and let the hot water cascade over me.
As I soap my body, I imagine Lucas's large hands replacing mine—rough palms sliding over my breasts, down my stomach, between my thighs.
My nipples harden at the thought, and heat pools low in my belly.
I've wanted him for so long, dreamed of him for years.
Since I was sixteen and he came to my birthday dinner—the only one who remembered, who bothered to show up when my father was "too busy" with work and women.
Lucas had looked at me that night—really looked at me—and for the first time, I felt seen. Not as James's daughter. Not as a responsibility. But as me. Kate.
I've been in love with him ever since.
I finish my shower quickly, wrap myself in a towel, and pad back to my bedroom.
What I'm about to do requires courage, and the right outfit.
I choose a simple sundress—white, flowy, innocent on the surface but sheer enough that my silhouette is visible when backlit.
No bra. No panties. Nothing between us anymore.
I find Lucas in the living room, nursing a whiskey, staring at the wall like it holds the answers to the universe.
He's showered too, hair still damp, wearing worn jeans and a black t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I don't hesitate.
I walk straight to him, taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside.
"Kate—" he starts, but I shake my head, cutting him off.
"No more running," I say firmly. "No more pretending."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. Doesn't flee. Progress.
"I need to tell you something," I continue, standing before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "And I need you to actually listen."
He swallows hard but nods once, those blue-gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
"I've wanted you forever," I say, the words rushing out like I've been holding them back for years—because I have.
"Since I was sixteen and you were the only one who remembered my birthday.
Since you taught me to drive when Dad was too busy.
Since you called me at school just to check if I was okay.
" I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
"I know you think this is wrong. That I'm too young, that I'm confused, that it's just proximity or grief or whatever excuses you've been telling yourself. "
His throat works as he swallows, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"But I'm not confused. I don't want anyone else. I never have." I step closer, closing the distance between us. "I'm nineteen. I'm an adult. And I know exactly what I want."
"Kate," he says, voice strained. "You don't understand what you're asking for."
"Then explain it to me," I challenge. "Tell me why this is so wrong. Why you keep fighting it when we both know you want me too."
"Because I'm—fuck, Kate, I'm forty-two years old. I've done things, seen things..." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Your father trusted me to protect you."
"And you are," I insist, reaching up to cup his face between my palms. His stubble is rough against my skin. "You make me feel safe. You always have."
He doesn't pull away from my touch, which I count as another small victory.
"But I don't want to be just safe with you, Lucas." I stroke my thumb across his cheekbone, feeling him tremble beneath my touch. "I want everything. I want you to look at me the way you do when you think I don't notice. I want your hands on me. I want—"
I rise on my tiptoes, bringing my face closer to his. "I want you, Daddy," I whisper, deliberate and clear.
Something breaks in his expression—a dam crumbling under too much pressure. His pupils dilate, nearly eclipsing the blue-gray of his irises. His breathing turns ragged.
"Kate," he warns, one last attempt at resistance.
But I'm done waiting. Done playing games. I press my lips to his, soft and tentative at first—a question, an invitation.
For a heartbeat, he's perfectly still, and fear flashes through me that I've misread everything, that I’m making a tremendous fool of myself.
Then his hands are in my hair, big and warm, tilting my head back as he takes control of the kiss.
His mouth slants over mine, no longer gentle, no longer hesitant.
He kisses me like a starving man at a feast, like he's been holding back for years and can't contain himself anymore.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and I open for him willingly, eagerly.
The taste of him—whiskey and mint and pure male need—makes me whimper against his mouth. His hands tighten in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wants it, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy with want.
"Lucas," I gasp when he finally lets me breathe, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
"Say it again," he growls, voice lower than I've ever heard it, vibrating through my entire body. "Say what you called me before."
My heart races, understanding exactly what he needs. "Daddy," I whisper, watching his eyes darken further. "Please."
With a sound like a wounded animal, Lucas lifts me as if I weigh nothing, spinning us around and pressing me against the nearest wall. His body pins me there, hard and unyielding, his erection a thick ridge against my stomach through our clothes.
"Do you have any idea," he rasps, mouth moving to my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, "what that word does to me when you say it?"
"Yes," I breathe, tilting my head to give him better access. "That's why I say it."
He chuckles against my skin, the sound sending shivers down my spine. His hands move to my thighs, pushing up the hem of my dress, pausing when he discovers my lack of underwear.
"Jesus Christ, Kate," he groans, fingers digging into the bare flesh of my ass. "You're going to kill me."
I wrap my legs around his waist, aligning our bodies perfectly so his cock presses against my core. Even through the denim of his jeans, I can feel how big he is, how hard. The thought of having him inside me—stretching me, filling me—makes me clench with need.
"I need you," I tell him, rocking against his hardness. "I've needed you for so long."
“Can’t fight it anymore,” he murmurs against my lips. “Don’t want to, baby.”
His mouth captures mine again, hot and demanding. One hand slides between us, up my inner thigh, until his fingers brush against my center.
When he finds me soaking wet, he groans into my mouth, “So wet for Daddy.”
The word sends another rush of heat between my thighs. "Only for you," I promise. "Always for you."
I can feel him trembling against me, his massive body coiled with tension. His control is fraying—I can see it in the tightness around his eyes, feel it in the way his fingers dig into my flesh. He wants me as desperately as I want him, but he's still fighting it, still holding back.
"Please," I whisper, framing his face with my hands, making him look at me. "I've wanted you forever. I know what I'm asking for. I'm choosing this. Choosing you."
His eyes search mine, looking for doubt, for hesitation. He finds none.
"If we do this," he says, voice rough with need, "there's no going back. No going off to college and deciding you want a college boy. I won’t be able to help myself, baby. Daddy is going to be very jealous, very possessive of this sweet little cunt.” He cups me between the legs, and I gasp.
“You understand that? You'll be mine. Completely. Belong only to Daddy.”
The possessiveness in his tone makes me shiver with anticipation. "I've always been yours," I tell him. "You just wouldn't claim me."
Something wild and primal flashes in his eyes at my words. His hand moves from my thigh to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of his size, his strength, how easily he could overpower me if he wanted to.
"Say it again," he demands, thumb stroking over my pulse point.
I know what he needs—what we both need. "I'm yours, Daddy," I whisper, watching his pupils expand until his eyes are nearly black with desire. "Only yours."
“Fuck it, I’m going to hell,” he says with a growl that vibrates through his chest, and then he kisses me again, all restraint gone.
His tongue claims my mouth, his hands roam my body possessively, and I know I've finally broken through his walls.
Finally made him see that this is right, this is real, this is what we both want.
I've won. And as his hands caress my bare skin beneath my dress, as his mouth devours mine like he's been starving for the taste of me, I surrender completely to the victory.