CHAPTER 9 – PENTHOUSE SHENANIGANS #2
At some point, my hands stop shaking.
Maybe that’s all the confession I’ll ever need.
I watch Daisy from the shadow of the doorway, body angled for the best view: she sits cross-legged at my dining table, naked as the day she was born, eating cold noodles out of a bone-china bowl with one hand and scrolling her new phone with the other.
I’m not sure which makes me harder—the way her hair falls down her back like a stream of gold, or the way her tits sway when she leans forward, totally unselfconscious. Probably both.
The table is set for two, silver and glass sparkling under the hanging lamp. I didn’t set it; the housekeeper, a ghost who enters and leaves without a sound, must have. Daisy caught the smell of sesame and ginger right away, and now she’s slurping away, lost in her own world.
“You know, there’s a fork,” I say, just to hear her voice.
She glances up, blue eyes dancing. “But it’s more fun with chopsticks.”
“If you don’t mind looking like an idiot.”
She flashes a grin and dangles a noodle over her mouth, letting it slap against her chin before she swallows. “I’m an expert,” she claims, then chokes and coughs, spraying a tiny bit of sauce on the table. She’s a mess, and I can’t stop but love it as her big breasts bounce with the effort.
I pour her a glass of white wine and push it across the marble. “To new beginnings,” I say.
She clinks my glass, eyes locked on mine. “To expensive adventures,” she answers, and for a second, she looks older than she is. Maybe it’s the light, or maybe she’s finally catching up to herself.
She finishes the noodles in record time and stretches, arms overhead, chest out, like a cat in the sun. Those big breasts sway, and my cock jerks heavily in my pants. Then she catches me looking, and her face gets serious.
“Do you always stare at people like that?” she asks.
I shrug. “Just the ones I can’t figure out.”
She laughs, a bright ring. “I’m not that complicated, Hunter.”
She says my name like she owns it.
I set my wine down. “Why’d you change into nothing for our midnight snack?”
She tilts her head, considering. “Because you like it. And because I like that you like it.” Then, softer: “Is that okay?”
A normal man would lie. I don’t bother. “Yes,” I say.
“It’s perfect. I love having nude women wander around my house, and if you want to stay this way the entire month, I’m more than happy to accommodate, sweetheart.
Of course, I have a housekeeper and a cleaner, but I’ll let you know when they’re scheduled to come. ”
She giggles and then glances around the kitchen, at the expensive appliances and the waterfall island, then back at me. “We wouldn’t want to give them an unexpected surprise, that’s for sure. But was your childhood this fancy?”
I almost laugh. “No. My mom cleaned houses for a living. If we had a little extra fun money, it was a good month.”
She looks at me, open and curious. “What about your dad?”
I tense. “Not in the picture. But I do have a stepfather.”
The pause is loaded because of course, my stepfather is her biological dad. But Daisy has no idea. “I think mine was around most of the time,” she says, voice so small I barely hear her. “But it’s all fuzzy. Like someone else’s memories.”
She stares into her wine for a long moment. I want to reach across the table, take her hand, tell her that I know everything. I know all about her past life. But I don’t.
Instead, I ask, “What do you remember?”
She looks up, surprised at the question. “I dunno. Not much. Sometimes I get flashes. Like, smells, or sounds. Once I remembered a birthday cake—white, with pink frosting. But then it was gone.” She shrugs. “What about you?”
I don’t know what she means. “What about me?”
“Do you ever forget?” Her eyes are weirdly sharp. “Do you ever wake up and not know where you are?”
I shake my head. “Not since college.”
She giggles, and the tension snaps. “Did you party a lot?”
“I worked and played lacrosse,” I say. “I was pretty busy with that, and girls.”
She makes a mock-horrified face. “You? Girls?”
I grin. “Yeah, and I worked as a barback at The Pourhouse too. I probably served a hundred girls like you every weekend, so I got laid a lot.”
She leans forward, elbows on the table, tits pressed together. “And did you bring them all home? Introduce them to your parents?”
I laugh. “Naw, because I went to college far from my hometown. So they were only introduced to my futon at the dorm.”
She giggles, then goes quiet.
I can tell she’s thinking hard, so I wait.
After a while, Daisy says, “I like being in water. Pools. Baths. I feel safer there.” She bites her lip. “Is that weird? It’s like a long-lost memory somehow.”
“No,” I say. “Most people like water.”
She frowns, unconvinced. “Not like that. It’s more… I dunno. Sometimes I think I lived in a pool.”
That’s not possible, I want to say. But instead: “We could swim tonight, if you want.”
Her face brightens. “Really?”
I nod. “Whenever you want.”
She downs the rest of her wine in one go, then stands, stretching again. “Will you come with me?”
I push my own chair back. “You want to swim now?”
“Why not?” She steps around the table, so close our hips almost brush. “You can’t say no,” she adds, with a wink. “Remember? You bought me so I know you must have a month’s free time.”
It’s a joke, but it lands like a punch. I clench my jaw, then relax. “Let’s go.”
We make our way back to the dunk pool, which is a slab of blue light in a dark room. The glass walls catch every reflection: the city, the sky, Daisy’s ivory skin. She stands at the edge, arms folded over her chest, but not from modesty. It’s slightly cold, and her nipples are hard as glass.
I strip down to my boxers, not giving her a show, but not hiding anything either. She watches, openly admiring, then steps to the lip and dives in, barely making a splash.
She surfaces with a gasp, hair slicked back, mouth open. “Oh my god!” she breathes. “That feels so good!”
I grin and jump in after her. The water hits like a slap, but then it’s bracing, clean. I surface next to her curvy form, both of us panting and blinking from the shock.
Daisy floats on her back, hair swirling like kelp, eyes on the ceiling. “I love this,” she says, voice dreamy. “It’s like flying underwater.”
I tread water, watching her. “You look like a mermaid.”
She smiles, kicks her legs, and spins in a slow circle. “Do you swim a lot?” she asks.
“I train,” I say. “Keeps my head clear.”
She closes her eyes, drifting closer. “Can you teach me?”
I nod, and she flips over, facing me. For a second, we’re just two bodies in the blue, limbs entangled by accident. Her hand brushes my thigh, and she doesn’t move away.
I grab her waist, light, and guide her through the first strokes. She moves easy in the water, body relaxed, trusting me to hold her up. The pool is too small for laps, so we paddle in circles, sometimes crashing into each other, sometimes just floating and breathing.
After a few minutes, she stops. “I feel weird,” she says. “Like I’ve done this before. With you.”
I freeze.
“Maybe you dreamed it,” I say, careful.
She looks at me, hair dripping into her eyes. “Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe we knew each other in a past life.”
“Maybe,” I echo.
The moment stretches, and the only sound is our breathing and the soft lapping of water.
Then she laughs, and the spell breaks. “You’re staring again,” she says.
“You make it hard not to.”
She kicks water at me, splashing my face. “That’s what you get, big guy.”
I splash her back, and soon we’re both laughing and giggling, slapping water at each other like idiots.
Somewhere in the mayhem, I grab her, pull her in, and for a second, we’re pressed together, her arms around my neck, her legs winding around my waist.
She’s warm and slippery and so alive I want to drown in her.
She looks up at me, eyes wide. “What now?”
I kiss her.
It’s slow at first, then hungry, then out of control. Her mouth opens for me, tongue slick and insistent, and I taste her, really taste her, for the first time. She whimpers, just a little, and presses closer, her pussy grinding against my thigh.
I back her to the wall, pinning her there, hands on her waist, her ass, her thighs. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails sharp. She bites my lip, and I feel it all the way to my toes.
“Oh,” she gasps, when we break.
“Yeah,” I agree.
We cling together, shivering, but not from the cold. It’s from arousal, and I feel it, my cock rock hard against her soft flesh.
After a while, she says, “Can we get warm?”
I nod, lift her out of the water, and carry her—still wet, still naked—back to the master bedroom.
Daisy wraps her arms around my neck, hair dripping down my chest, and buries her face against my skin.
“I feel safe with you, Hunter,” she whispers. “I don’t know why, but I do.”
My heart stutters. I want to say, You shouldn’t. You have no idea what deceptions I’m harboring.
But instead, I hold her tight and merely savor the taboo moment.
She’s my stepsister. She’s mine.
And I don’t care what happens next, as long as she stays right here.
I lay the beautiful blonde down on the king-sized bed, my arms never leaving her body. The sheets are white, high-thread-count, the kind that cost an arm and a leg, and Daisy’s skin looks even paler against them, like the world’s most beautiful ivory.
She shivers, still damp, so I slide in next to her and pull the comforter over both of us. She turns, tucking her head under my jaw, her hair wet against my chest. I feel the heat from her everywhere—on my thigh, my stomach, my dick, which is hard enough to punch through steel.
For a while, we just lie there, listening to each other breathe.
I don’t move. I don’t trust myself to.
But Daisy does. Her hand finds my chest, traces the line of my sternum, the edge of the tattoo I never got removed. She rubs her thumb over it, curious, then looks up.
“What’s it mean?” she asks.
“It’s Latin,” I say, staring at the ceiling. “It means ‘the end justifies the means.’”
She grins. “That’s dark.”
“I was a dumb kid.”
“I like it,” she says, and then kisses me, slow and sweet. Her tongue is shy at first, but then she grows bolder, and soon she’s on top of me, straddling me, hair dripping onto my chest.
She looks down at me, a goddess, then bites her lower lip.
“Is this okay?” she whispers.
I could lie. I could say no, that we should wait, that I have some moral compass left. But instead, I grab her hips, hard, and pull her down on top of me.
Our bodies fit, perfectly. Her tits are full and heavy, her nipples diamond-hard and wet, and when she grinds her cunt against my cock, the friction is so good it’s almost pain.
I roll us over, pinning her to the mattress. She squeals, but in a way that makes me want to ruin her forever.
I kiss down her neck, her chest, sucking each nipple into my mouth, biting just enough to leave a mark. She arches her back, moaning, her hands in my hair.
“Yes, Hunter,” she gasps. “Mmm.”
I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her so hard she can’t remember her own name.
But I don’t. I stop, hovering above her, just breathing.
She looks up, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not going to claim you tonight,” I say. My voice is low, rough. “I want to wait. I want you to trust me first.”
She blinks, surprised. “You already own me,” she says.
I shake my head. “Not like that. Not yet.”
She considers this, then nods, a smile curling her lips.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I move down her body, kissing every inch of her skin. When I reach her ass, I flip her over, face-down, and spread her cheeks. Her pussy is dripping, the pink lips parted, glistening with need.
But it’s not her pussy I’m after at the moment. Instead, Daisy gasps when my tongue touches her asshole, a tiny pink star, and I lick it slow, savoring her taste. She whimpers, burying her face in the pillow, her hands clawing at the sheets.
“Hunter!” she gasps. “Oh my god!”
“Yes, sweetheart,” I rasp in return. “If I want to touch you here, then I will. If I want you to come with my tongue in your butt, then you will, got it?”
She’s still moaning up a storm as I caress her anus, and with a smile, I slide a finger in, then two, working her open. She takes it like she was born for it, her hips bucking, her legs spread wide.
Then I flip her over, my fingers stuck in her ass the whole time, and suck on her clit, scissoring my fingers her ass, stretching her anal hole out as she moans with delirium.
“Please,” she begs. “Please don’t stop.”
I don’t. I finger-fuck her ass until she’s shaking, then bite her thigh, leaving a mark she’ll see in the mirror tomorrow.
“Oooh,” she cries out, cupping her big breasts and then tweaking the nipples. “Yes, yes, yes, Hunter oohhhh!”
When the beautiful blonde comes, she explodes, pussy clenching, ass tight around my fingers.
She sobs my name, over and over, the sound pure desperation as her sphincter clutches my fingers in violent spasms, almost breaking them in the process.
It’s a beautiful sight, and I suckle at her clit, lapping at that hard nub as her asshole shivers.
I don’t come. I don’t even touch myself.
I want this to be about her.
When she finally calms, I pull my fingers out with a deep sucking sound, and then lift them to her face.
She’s limp, boneless, her hair a wild halo around her face. She looks up at me, eyes glazed, but opens her mouth obediently, accepting the ass to mouth contact.
“Holy shit,” she whispers while sucking my fingers. “I can taste my bottom on your hand, Hunter.”
I laugh, the sound a little savage.
“I know, baby, and I’m going to teach you to like it. You’ll be tasting your ass on my dick next, so get used to the flavor.”
Daisy’s blue eyes flash, but her cheeks color because she’s aroused. That’s my girl. She’s a little slut, and that’s what I want in the women I sleep with.
We lie there, tangled up, her body pressed against mine, every curve a brand on my skin.
After a while, she falls asleep, her breathing deep and even.
I don’t.
I watch her. I memorize every line, every dimple, every pale curve. I run a finger down her spine, tracing the freckles she doesn’t know she has.
I think about all the ways I’ve failed her already.
I think about how much worse it will get when she finds out who she is. Who I am.
But I can’t stop. I won’t. I’ve touched her intimately, and I don’t plan to stop.
She’s mine, now.
And I’m never letting her go.