Chapter 10
My father stared at me, unblinking, then cupped my face with both hands. He pressed his lips to mine. This wasn’t a chaste kiss, like the one he’d initiated in my bedroom. This was slow and deliberate sensory overload. I melted, letting the robe fall from my arms to pool around my hips.
Tension wound tighter and tighter between my legs. I touched his chest; his heart was rioting like a caged animal. I shivered and he must’ve felt it because within seconds his hands were on me, dispersing their warmth across my goose-prickled skin. Unlike his kiss, his touch was cautious, each caress a question to which my body responded with a resounding yes.
He held my waist, then slid his palms to the small of my back. I whimpered against his mouth, wishing he’d move them lower. He pulled me close, trailing kisses along my jaw. His stubble tickled my cheek. I laughed.
I pushed my breasts against him, and the rumble in his chest rattled my body like a small seismic shift. He drew back to look at me. “I need to know that you want this, Paige. Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
The word he was hinting at was no, and no was the last thing I wanted to say to him. I closed my eyes as he stroked my arms, his touch featherlight.
“I want this,” I said. “You.”
He kissed me, sliding his hands beneath the robe to grip my backside. I rocked against him, gasping when I felt the bulge of his erection against my inner thigh. My father was hard and there was no mistaking the cause. It was me. Not some art model or a remnant from his past on a screen. Me. His little girl.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered between kisses. “And soft. How are you so fucking soft?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled like this, my top and bottom teeth bared, eyelids pinched, vision blurred. His tongue skimmed my bottom lip—another question. I opened my mouth, and he delved inside, drawing a cry from deep in my throat. He tasted like spearmint and black tea. I followed his lead, mimicking each nip and lick. This wasn’t my first French kiss, but I was woefully out of practice.
He tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion and pulled me flush against him, flooding my chest and belly with heat as his cock continued to nudge me through his pants. I wanted to see it, to hold it in my hands, but I couldn’t make myself reach for it. What if I stroked too hard or not hard enough?
I groaned softly as he palmed my breasts, running his thumbs over my nipples. Plumping the soft mound, he took a puckered tip into his warm, wet mouth.
“You have the most delicious nipples,” he said. “I can only imagine how good the rest of you tastes.”
I moaned and clenched my inner muscles at the thought of him putting his mouth on my clit. He pushed my breasts together, gliding his tongue back and forth over my nipples.
My fingers twitched, restless. I weaved them into his hair. He was making me feel amazing, but what the hell was I doing for him? His cock was there, begging to be touched, and I was too damn scared to do anything about it.
His gaze caught mine. “You okay?”
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Just fine?”
“More than fine.”
I kissed him so he couldn’t look at me.
Goddamn, those hands. They were everywhere—gliding up my back, down my chest, over my breasts and belly, between my legs. His fingers grazed my folds and I shivered, whimpering around our tongues, unable to keep my hips from rocking. He pressed the heel of his hand against me, putting pressure on my clit. My father’s palm fit my mound like they’d been made for each other, like he’d sculpted me from clay to be his perfect match. I gave myself over to it, to him. I was his, whether he wanted me or not. Luckily, it seemed he did.
He dipped two fingers between my folds and spread my moisture over my clit, drawing circles that made my toes curl in delight. My nails etched into his shoulders, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. His erection continued to prod my thigh, a reminder of all the things I should’ve been doing to him.
“I want…” I panted. “I can’t…”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
Hearing him call me sweetheart made my eyes burn with unshed tears. “I want to touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
“But…” I leaned my head on his shoulder, my thoughts coming at me in illicit pictures rather than words. He smoothed my hair.
“Paige, where do you want to touch me?”
I wanted to touch him where he’d touched me and everywhere else, to memorize the constellation of freckles on his chest and back. I wanted to know him better than he knew himself, to taste his elbows and the backs of his knees.
He grasped my hands and placed them on either side of his face.
“Start here.”
His hand returned to my clit. Meanwhile, I made it my mission to learn this man. I skimmed his cheekbones and brows, traced the edge of his jaw. I licked the pulse points below his ears, and kissed his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, and his tight, tan nipples. I mapped him, this artist who had made me, raking my fingernails down his chest and outlining the veins along his arm with my tongue.
Everything I wanted to do to my father, I did.
Finally, I reached his belt buckle. With feigned confidence, I freed the leather strap from the metal enclosure and unfastened his jeans.
He sucked in a breath as I eased his cock through the hole in his boxers. I encircled him with all five fingers, my hand warmed by the blood-hot burn of his skin. He watched intently, his eyes crescent moons and his chest heaving. I slid my fist along his length. Such silkiness, on top of all that pressure.
After a few more test strokes, he shuddered and angled his pelvis toward me. I wrapped both hands around him, one above the other, and stroked downward. He inhaled sharply.
“Was that good or bad?”
He chuckled breathlessly. “That was very good, sweetheart.”
A smile consumed my face. He cradled my pussy with his whole hand, a simple gesture that made me feel cared for, comforted. He showed me how to round the head of his cock with every pass, how tight to squeeze the shaft without hurting him. I studied his reactions and adjusted my technique accordingly, captivated by how good I could make him feel using just my hands.
A cry bubbled up from my chest as he pushed a finger inside me.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
I winced. The pain was brief, but sharp and unexpected. “A little.”
He stilled his hand and looked at me—really looked at me. “Paige, have you done anything like this before?”
Was my lack of experience that obvious? I shook my head, letting my hair fall over my face. How was it possible to feel both eight and eighteen in the exact same moment?
My father sighed and pressed his forehead to mine. “I really wish you’d told me. I would’ve slowed things down, checked in more.”
But I didn’t want to slow down. Slowing down meant thinking, and thinking meant overthinking. Second-guessing. “Does this mean we have to stop?”
He planted a kiss between my eyebrows and said nothing for a long moment. I tensed.
“Only if you want to,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief and kissed a line from his mouth to his earlobe. “I don’t want to stop. I want to make you come.”
A deep, throaty growl rose from his chest. He kissed my neck and began sliding his finger in and out of me. His hands were big, his fingers thicker and longer than mine, allowing him to reach the tender places I couldn’t.
The pad of his thumb circled my clit. I humped his hand in tandem with pumping his cock. I couldn’t help myself. It felt too damn good not to. He added a second finger and I flinched at the sting, stroking him faster to distract myself.
After a moment, the pain subsided and all I could feel was the tension and pleasure as he moved inside me, his thumb strumming my clit.
I tucked my face into the angle of his neck. He was going to make me come. My own fatherwas going to make me come. The thought had my thighs shaking, my hands faltering in their rhythm.
“Are you close?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Are you?”
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I could come just from listening to you.”
He wrapped his other hand around mine on his cock. I let him glide my fist along his length and closed my eyes to concentrate on what he was doing to me. Clutching his shoulders, I pressed my nose to the skin of his throat. He smelled the same, like sandalwood and home.
Eyes squeezed shut, I could almost see my orgasm waiting for me over the horizon.
“Don’t stop,” I rasped. “Don’t…”
“Not a chance, baby.”
Baby.The epithet swaddled me like a security blanket. His baby. I felt warm all over, flushed from head to toe.
It suddenly struck me as a cruel joke that the father I’d been seeking would also be the man who made me feel this good. The only man I was forbidden from touching, who could make me feel so wanted, so treasured, so precious to another person. Now that I had found him, I refused to let him go.
I met his thrusts with my own, rocking my hips in time with his fingers.
“Dad,” I said, breathless. “Promise you’ll stay this time... Promise you won’t make me go.”
“Neither of us are going anywhere.” He kissed my jaw and neck, all the while fucking into our joined fists. “You’re mine, Paige, and I’m going to take care of you.”
Lights and colors burst behind my eyelids as I came.
I whined, my muscles flexing around his fingers and my clit pulsing under his thumb. His hand tightened over my fist as wet heat splashed onto my stomach, coating our hands and the undersides of my breasts.
The sound of our heavy breathing filled the room. He palmed my swollen folds and kissed my temple. I felt dizzy and rooted, like I’d float away if I wasn’t holding on to him. Finally, I straightened so I could reach his lips. We kissed sweetly, like shy teenagers skipping class to go make out under the bleachers.
He used his T-shirt to clean the semen from my breasts and belly. That’s when I noticed the blood stain on his hand. He’d torn my hymen with his fingers. Had I even noticed? I must have, but all I could remember was the pleasure he’d given me.
“Dad,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I want you to be my first in everything. Not just this.”
His hand paused between my legs.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, baby.”
“Why not?”
I licked a drop of cum from my knuckle before he could mop it up. It tasted like seawater. Contrary to his words, the look on my father’s face told me there would be plenty more where that came from, if I wanted it.
Of course, I wanted it.
“Because this isn’t just about what feels right in the moment,” he said. “Do you want your first time to be something you can’t ever talk about? Because that’s how it would be. You couldn’t tell anyone. Not your mother, not your friends.”
“I would never tell Mom about this.” I lapped another salty droplet off my thumb. Now that I’d had a taste, I would never be satisfied until I gorged myself on him. “I’ll just tell my friends I hooked up with some guy I met at college.”
“Maybe that’s what you should do.” He pursed his lips, like the words tasted sour. “You deserve to meet a nice, normal guy. Someone you can kiss and hold hands with in public.”
I twined my fingers with his.
“Who says we can’t hold hands?”
“Paige, I mean it?—”
“Normal’s overrated.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his fingertips one by one. He watched my mouth, riveted, as I nibbled the pads of his fingers and then sucked his thumb.
He inhaled sharply. “Fuck.”
I rolled my tongue along the underside and tightened my cheeks, thinking of his cock. Big and pink and solid. All this wavering on his part was useless. There was no coming back from what we’d done.
He slid his finger out of my mouth, dragging his knuckle past my teeth. I angled my face and waited for him to kiss me. He gripped my thighs, smearing saliva onto my skin.
“This is what you want,” he said, and though it wasn’t a question, I could see the battle being fought behind his eyes.
Reaching between my thighs, I dipped a finger inside myself, then brushed a layer of wetness over my lips like gloss.
He reared forward and caught my lip between his teeth, then kissed me greedily. With one swift movement, he laid me down on the couch and then kissed and licked a meandering trail from my mouth to my stomach. He gripped the backs of my knees and spread my legs, just like he’d done in the studio.
I trembled as his hot breath washed over my most tender places.
“It took every ounce of strength I had not to taste your pussy this afternoon,” he said. “You were practically dripping, and you smelled so fucking good.”
Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Had my desire to be touched by my own father really been that obvious?
I gasped as he licked me all the way from my back entrance up to my clit. His lips curved into a satisfied smirk.
“I knew my little girl would be delicious.”