Epilogue
Lucas
Three months later
Whispers follow us through town. I feel them like cobwebs on my skin—the stares, the hushed conversations that halt when we get too close, the judgment in the eyes of people who think they understand what happened between us.
Kate and I moved past caring weeks ago. Three months since Mrs. Peterson walked in on us, three months since I stopped running from what we have together, and we've settled into a rhythm that feels more right than anything I've ever known.
Kate hooks her arm through mine as we walk through the farmer's market, proudly displaying the simple platinum band I put on her finger last week.
Not an engagement—not yet—but a promise.
A declaration. Mine. Hers. Ours. The gossips can choke on it.
"Mrs. Mebane is giving us the evil eye again," Kate murmurs, pressing closer to my side as she selects a basket of strawberries. "Think she's still mad about catching us making out in your car last week?"
I chuckle, remembering the old woman's scandalized expression when she spotted us in the hardware store parking lot, Kate straddling my lap in the front seat, my hand up her shirt. "Probably. Or maybe she's just jealous."
Kate laughs, the sound bright and carefree, drawing more stares. She doesn't shrink from them. Instead, she rises on her tiptoes and presses a deliberate kiss to my jaw. "Let's get these home, Daddy," she says, just loud enough for nearby browsers to hear. "I'm in the mood for something sweet."
The word—that fucking word—still hits me like a freight train every time she says it.
My cock stirs instantly, pressing against my zipper as heat floods my system.
Kate knows exactly what she's doing. Her eyes dance with mischief as she watches my reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Brat," I murmur, squeezing her ass discreetly as we head toward the checkout. "You'll pay for that when we get home."
"Promise?" she whispers, batting those innocent lashes at me while her hand brushes deliberately against my growing erection.
Three months, and she still drives me absolutely wild. Three months, and I still can't get enough of her. The intensity hasn't faded one bit. If anything, it's grown stronger as we've settled into our life together.
We faced the hard conversations early on.
What about college? Her future? The plans her father had for her?
I was prepared to send her anywhere she wanted to go, to support her dreams no matter what they were—even if it meant I had to move across country to be with her. We’re never being apart again.
But Kate was adamant. "I'm not going across the country just because that's what people think I should do," she insisted. "I can get my degree online. Right here. With you."
We compromised. Online classes from a respected university, with the promise that if she ever changes her mind about the traditional college experience, I'll support her decision.
But so far, she's thriving in her virtual courses, maintaining a nearly perfect GPA while still having time for us, for this life we're building together.
The academic reward system was her idea. A joke at first that quickly became something more when she saw my reaction.
"What do I get if I ace my psychology midterm?" she asked one night, lying naked and flushed in our bed after a particularly intense session.
"What do you want?" I countered, tracing patterns on her sweat-dampened skin.
Her smile turned wicked. "How about you eat me until I scream if I get an A?"
My cock, which should have been spent after fucking her twice already, twitched against her thigh at the suggestion. "And if you get a B?" I asked, voice dropping to that register that always makes her shiver.
"Then I've been a naughty girl," she whispered, eyes darkening with arousal. "And naughty girls get punished."
The system evolved naturally from there.
A's earn her my tongue between her thighs, licking and sucking until she's a trembling, sobbing mess, coming so hard she sees stars.
B's earn her a "punishment" that we both know she craves just as much—bent over my knee for a spanking that leaves her ass pink and stinging, followed by edging that has her begging for release, pleading with me to let her come.
Last week, she deliberately turned in a paper late, knowing it would drop her grade. When I asked why, she looked up at me through those long lashes and whispered, "Sometimes I just need to be your naughty girl."
I spanked her until her ass was cherry red, then made her kneel between my legs and suck my cock while I told her what a good girl she was for taking her punishment.
She came untouched, just from the praise and the vibrator I'd pressed inside her beforehand, moaning around my length as I flooded her eager mouth.
Now, as we drive home from the market, her hand rests on my thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that inch higher with each passing minute. By the time we pull into the driveway, I'm hard as steel, ready to take her right there in the car.
"Strawberries first," she teases, knowing exactly what she's doing to me. "Then you can have your dessert."
Inside, she bends over unnecessarily to put the groceries away, that perfect ass on display in the tiny shorts she knows drive me wild.
When she "accidentally" drops something and has to bend further to retrieve it, I snap.
In one fluid motion, I'm behind her, pinning her against the counter, grinding my cock against her ass.
"You're playing with fire, little girl," I growl in her ear, one hand sliding down to cup her through her shorts, finding her already wet for me. "Keep teasing Daddy and see what happens."
She pushes back against me, rubbing herself shamelessly against my hand. "Maybe that's what I want."
We never make it upstairs. I take her right there in the kitchen, bent over the counter, her shorts around her ankles, my cock driving into her with hard, deep strokes that have her crying out my name—my title—over and over.
When she comes, clenching tight around me, I follow immediately, filling her with hot pulses of my release.
Afterward, as we're catching our breath, she turns in my arms, eyes soft with post-orgasmic bliss and something deeper, more profound. "I love you," she whispers, pressing her forehead to mine. "So much."
"I love you too, angel," I murmur back, holding her close. "More than anything."
The world can judge. The neighbors can whisper.
Former friends can cut us off. None of it matters.
Kate is mine—body, heart, soul. And I'll spend my life proving how sweet being Daddy's forever feels: worshipping her, breeding her eventually when she's ready, loving her filthy and tender every damn day.
Some nights, I still wake up in a cold sweat, convinced this is all a dream—that I'll open my eyes and find myself back in that lonely existence before Kate, back when I was just her father's friend, back when I was fighting what I felt for her.
But then she stirs beside me, curls into my chest, murmurs "Daddy" in her sleep, and I know this is real. This is ours.
I was her guardian. Now I'm her lover, her protector, her Daddy, her everything.
I pull her closer, burying my face in her honey-blonde hair, breathing in the scent that's become home to me. "Mine," I whisper against her temple. "Forever."
"Forever," she agrees, pressing herself against me as if she can't bear even the smallest distance between us.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Sex and Candy.