Page 12 of Daddy's Girl

His nostrils flare. His chest expands on a sharp inhale. "Oh, God, Delaney...don’t do this."

"I mean, no one will know. It’s not like you’ll be touching me." Another step. “Please?".

That breaks him. I see it happen—the last thread of restraint snapping behind his eyes.

"Jesus, I’m going to regret this. Come here." He doesn't move from the workbench. He makes me come to him, but now my traitorous feet don’t want to move. Finally, my thighs drive my feet forward, the flesh rubbing on the boxers as I close the gap. "Fucking brat. I can already tell you’re going to enjoy wrapping me around your fingers."

With a tiny smirk, I’m drawn to him like he's gravity itself. Shuffling through the sawdust like a toddler toward the cookie jar. I finally stop when barely a breath separates us.

"You want to watch?" His voice drops lower, rougher. "Then watch. Let’s just hope your father isn’t watching from heaven." He looks up at the ceiling, mumbling something about, ‘I’m sorry brother.’

He begins again, hand on his sex, stroking slow and deliberate now. Meant for display. Meant to teach.

"This is what you do to me," he growls. "Every fucking second since I pulled you from that river. Every time you look at me with those angel eyes. My fucking dick hurts. Every time you breathe. Then?Then?" He grits his teeth, finishing with a nod to my chest, “I’ve never been so fucking turned on by a nipple in my life. So fucking innocent, and so fuckingnotinnocent enough.”

Heat pools between my thighs. I'm mesmerized by the movement of his hand, the thickness of him, the raw need etched into every line of his face.

"I shouldn't want this," I whisper, somehow emboldened by the way he said he’s never been so turned on his life. "I barely know you. You’re my dad’s friend."

"But you do know me." Not a question. "I can smell it on you."

My cheeks burn. My skin feels too tight. Too hot. The air between us seems to crackle with something primitive and unnameable, making it hard to breathe, hard to think beyond the rhythm of his hand and the answering pulse between my thighs.

The sound is mesmerizing. Soft and sharp. Fast and yet nuanced. He knows himself and it’s fuckinghot.

Up and down, up and down, I watch until my eyes cross, then he does this little stall, pressing the tips of his four fingers around half-way up on the bottom side, switching from long, brutal pumps to short, staccato almost vibration type movements and oh shit, there’s a drop of clear liquid seeping out of the tip and I start to salivate.

Like, drool is pooling under my tongue.

"I never..." I swallow down the spit, wrapping my fingers around the base of my throat, ripping my eyes from the hypnotic movement of his hands on the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. "I've never felt like this before."

Everything below my waist comes alive, twisting and breathing and grunting like a beast awakened from a thousand-year hibernation.

His eyes darken, pupils expanding until they nearly swallow the color. "Felt like what?" His voice drops lower, rough velvet dragging across my senses. "Let me guess,” he amends as his tongue takes a slow trek across his upper teeth, stalling the movement of his hand before brutally squeezing the meat at the base where it’s jutting out from the opening in his jeans, turning the tip an angry purple. "You’re squeezing those pretty little thighs together trying to hold something back, but it only makes it worse. Heat is rushing around inside you—”

"Like I'm burning," I cut him off, the confession slipping out before I can censor it. "Like I need something I can't name. Like I’ve never been so hungry for something, but it’s deeper, needy. Desperate."

The sound he makes is almost pained. "I can name it." His strokes slow and deliberate now, showing off as I wet my lips. “God help me,” conflict twists the lines of his face before he blurts out, “you shouldn’t have come in here.”

I take a half-step closer without meaning to. "But... my dad said, if youneedanything, Jack Boone will take care of you. And I need to learn. I want you to teach.”

"Holy shit, little girl." His gaze is molten, pinning me in place. “You know I’m old enough to be your fucking father.”

Somehow that only makes it hotter and all I can do is shrug, watching as his cheat heaves. The dark hair curls into little tufts which contrasts with the hard lines of the twitching muscles underneath.

"Sit your ass down. There. Is my best friend’s daughter being a cock teasing little brat, or was that really just a little oopsie having your tit winking at me from under my own god-damn shirt in there?" He’s making demands, throwing around orders, and instead of doing the sensible thing and bolting for the door, I move to the wooden chair next to me and plop down as instructed, the boxers sticking to my sex between my legs. “Now, you’re going to sit there and trust me, aren’t you? I’m not going to touch you, and you’re sure as shit not going to touch me, got it?”

His voice takes on a harder edge, frustration and a seductive sort of forced calm coming over him.

The word 'trust' should scare me after David. Should make me retreat. Instead, it settles between my legs like a sex toy and I manage a nod as he grabs the back of a matching unfinished wooden chair and swings it into place in front of me, dropping into a wide manspread so we are nearly knee to knee.

I consider the craziness of this situation for a moment. I’ve been here, what? A day? Probably not even quite that. I’m alone in a cabin with no one for miles and maybe this man isn’t who my father thought he was. I mean, clearly, he’s a recluse. How much could my father know about him?

He never came around in the eighteen years I’ve been alive. I remember my dad saying he was going to visit Jack a couple times, but other than that, I don’t know how much contact they had after I was born.

He could be like the Deliverance guys. Am I three minutes away from being collared and shoved in a cage with a piggly wiggly butt plug as my new best friend?

And why does that turn me on so much?

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