Jackson
Ifind her in the kitchen a while later after giving her some space and trying to talk myself out of stuffing her full of every thick inch of my cock that is hell-bent on getting in her tight little snatch.
She curls her cute as fuck little yellow painted toes on the tile floor, leaning against the counter by the sink, her hair wrecked from God knows what. She’s circling a chipped mug with one fingertip and even that simple little movement has my dick seeping cum down my fucking leg.
She feels me before she looks. Her body stills, her shoulders lift. Still focused on that cup, she inhales stubbornly.
Then she turns with her chin up and defiance etched into the shine of her eyes.
“You move like a ghost,” she whispers. I watch her throat work. She swallows, holds, then swallows again, harder.
“I move like a man who owns the ground he’s standing on,” I say, letting her know that I’m not going to stand for her battiness.
The desire to fight flashes across her face. Then, with snarkiness I haven’t heard since she was living under my roof last time, she says, “Stop looking at me like I’m in trouble. I’m an adult that doesn’t work on me anymore.”
“An adult, huh? You are,” I start as I cross the floor to get to her. I’m in no hurry, and I don’t stop until she backs into the counter. “Under my roof, age is irrelevant and you don’t test me before breakfast. Or after.”
She laughs. It’s brittle and pretty. “You don’t get to tell me—”
“Hallie,” I say sharply, letting her name be a warning. “Watch your tone.”
“Or what?”
Her pulse jumps where the light hits her throat. I track it with an insatiable hunger. She’s challenging me, wants me to say it and mean it. She wants to find out if I do what I say.
“Or I correct you.”
The words land like a brand. I watch the impact. She recoils and sways in a way she can’t hide.
“I don’t need—” She cuts herself off. Then, she tries again, softer this time. “You can’t just…decide that.”
“I already decided when I came for you.” My calloused palm finds her wrist. “You called. I answered. That’s a contract.”
“You’re not my dad,” she says, her snark undeniable.
“I’m the man who came,” I say, leaning in as the air gets hotter between us. “That makes me the one responsible for you.”
She fights the breath in her chest as she reaches behind her back to steady herself. The mug slips across the counter too hard, and a tiny splash sloshes over the rim. She flinches at the sound like she broke a rule.
She wants to please me. I can smell it on her. The need to be praised. To not disappoint the man that helped raise her.
“Careful,” I say as I push the cup aside, stepping even further into her space. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” she lies. “You can’t just grab me and—”
What she doesn’t seem to understand is that I don’t grab. I touch. I place my palm at the back of her neck. The contact is weighted enough to steady and light enough to be refused.
She doesn’t refuse. Her knees soften. Her mouth opens on a sound that sounds suspiciously like a yes.
“I told you,” I say, my voice going low. It sends a shiver up her spine. “You live here, you live by my rules.”
“I don’t even know the rules,” she retorts, still standoffish but willing to be guided.
“Then listen,” I tell her, tilting her face the way I want it. “You answer when you’re called. You eat. You sleep. You speak with respect. You don’t push me to see if I’ll hold.”
“How will I know you’re holding unless I push?” she asks, rebellion coloring her words.
God, she’s fucking cute. I should smile, but I don’t. “You’ll know.”
She refuses to meet my gaze, defiant. The only sounds are the rain starting up again against the gutters and her ragged breath.
“Look at me,” I demand taking in that cinched in waist, the way her tits sit high on her chest making me salivate like a fucking dog.
She does as I say, her eyes connecting to mine, and it goes straight to my cock.
There’s so much trust there, I vow to never break it, but I know what she really needs and that’s not just me, but a good hard fucking with my thick ten inches of meat that will give her the attitude adjustment she needs. .
“Say you understand you’ll do as you are told,” I say when she remains quiet.
She opens her mouth and closes it twice before she says, “I…understand.”
“Say you’ll try to be my good girl.”
A beat passes, like she’s considering whether or not to push back. Then, she says, “I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, her shoulders drop and her lips tremble. She leans before she knows what she’s doing. I don’t let her fall, my hold on her getting firmer.
“Now,” I say, electrifying the air around us, “about the tone.”
Her stare flicks down my body, then up to my face. I see shame and want mixing together. “Jackson—”
“Daddy,” I correct, soft and brutal at the same time. “Under my roof.”
She sways again and I’m so fucking hard my nuts are about to bust.
“Or what?” she whispers, not because she doubts me. She needs to hear it again.
“Or I teach.”
The room narrows to the place my hand finds her wrist. The sparks in the air intensify, and my cock pulses with want. This girl who has never wanted structure or discipline is finally letting it happen to her.
“Turn,” I grunt as I release my hold on her. I take half a step back, looking down at her. She sucks in a ragged breath. “Hands on the counter.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. I see her process my request, then I see her understand it.
She turns slowly, splaying her hands on the surface in front of her.
There’s a tremor in her legs that’s a mix of fear and anticipation but all I picture is raw dogging her bent over until she passes out.
“I need you to know why I’m doing this,” I tell her, my mouth close to her ear. I rub my palm over the curve of her ass, letting her know exactly what’s coming for her “Not because I’m angry. Because you need it.”
Her nod is small, almost imperceptible. Then, she says, “I—yes.”
I press against the small of her back, forcing her to arch her bottom toward me. With the tip of my toe, I urge her feet apart. Then, I grab onto the meat of her ass, pulling a gasp from her lungs. My cock spasms as she trembles.
“Count for me,” I command, taking my hand away and positioning myself to strike. “You start with one, then keep going until I stop. Now, say ‘one’.”
She inhales. Her hands clench, nails dragging across the granite countertop. I flex my fingers, waiting for her to start.
“One,” she says, unable to keep the single word steady.
That tremor in her voice spurs me on. I bring my hand down against her ass, sharp and fast. The sound fills the kitchen.
The sound she makes after isn’t pain, not really. That’s mixed in, but pleasure undercuts it. She doesn’t shy away, presenting herself to me again. Then, after taking a measured breath, she speaks again.
“Two.”
I give Hallie the correction she’s looking for. My palm comes down again, and she jumps. This time, it comes down a little harder because she’s paying the price for making me want to fuck her so bad I can barely see straight.
When she says, “Three,” still defiant but softening, and things inside me start to re-arrange themselves.
Yeah, I want to fuck her. Yeah, it’s wrong, she’s my daughter in many ways but she’s put me in this situation by just fucking breathing. By being the definition of barely legal and a fucking tease with a capital ‘T’.
Her breath hitches as my palm meets that ivory flesh again leaving my hand print behind. She shakes, her thighs pressing together desperately. Still, she holds herself as though she’s challenging me. I can’t have that. I’ll break her, just enough.
Then I’ll build her back up again.
Between the fourth and fifth strike, she whimpers. There’s a pause as she tries to collect herself. And, just before I prompt her to speak again, she says, “Six,” in a smaller voice.
I smirk. It won’t take long until she’s right where I need her.
So, this time, I smack just below the swell of her ass and Jesus, it fucking jiggles like Jello and I can’t wait until I’ve trained her pussy to take my dick, then it will be her ass next.
She yelps, falling forward as she sticks her bottom out further.
“More than halfway done,” I say, my voice raspy. “Keep going, little one.”
“Halfway?” She whimpers. The words make her whine. She’s getting closer to baring everything to me. When she says, “Seven,” I know we’re almost there.
I give her another correction, and her breath catches on a sob. When she counts to “eight” and “nine,” her entire body starts to convulse.
After the tenth strike, I know she’s where I need her to be. I rest my palm flat on her spine. My voice ragged, I say, “Breath, Hallie. Daddy is here.”
She does as I ask. She sucks in air, filling her lungs and emptying them quickly, then slowly. I rub over the places where she’s surely red and close to bruising.
“Good girl,” I say into the back of her neck. I’m careful to keep from pressing my erection into her, she’s not ready yet.
“I’m sorry,” she says to the counter, her voice cracking.
“For what?” I reply, forcing softness into my tone as I think about all the things I want to do to that bratty mouth of hers.
“For…for everything,” she says before swallowing harshly. “For needing it.”
I turn her gently. Her eyes shine with the tears she shed as her chin quivers. I thumb the tear away before it falls bringing it to my lips and licking it away, watching her pupils blow out.
“Say it again the right way this time, baby,” I command.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
It hits me right in the fucking balls and I nearly off load in my pants. She chose to use that word, and now it’s something that belongs to both of us. I think I should step away and give her room, but she’s looking at me like she needs me to keep her steady.
She goes to her knees, slipping out of my hold. There isn’t any shame in it. She’s giving penance as she tips her face up to me, her hands resting on her thighs and she’s a fucking miracle this girl.