Page 110 of Wanting What's Wrong

Mom:As I figured. You get some rest. You looked tired on the video. Are you back on the coffee? Two cups a day is plenty, but ten? How’s Lennie? Tell her I said hello and I miss her bunches. I’ll FaceTime her in the morning.

Me:She’s okay. I’ll make sure of it. Love you, Mom. (but I might love coffee more) I’ll call tomorrow.

Mom:Take care of that girl. She’s what really matters, son. We are her only family. She needs you. And you need her. Love you too. Be good.

Leaning back in my chair, I listen to the soothing sound of the rain on the roof and the windows. I reach into my front pocket and pull out the thumb drive Ryan dropped. I spin it in my fingers a few times. It’s damp, so I stick it in my top drawer, lock the desk, and leave the rest of the messages and this shit storm for the morning.

I love walking barefoot through the house. The floors go from satin-finished wood planks to rough-cut travertine, to natural sealed slate. The textures and temperature differences greet each step as I look at Lennie’s blue and white cashmere blanket hanging on the back of the sofa. I bought it for her the first Christmas she spent here.

She wraps herself in it when she sits in her spot in the corner of the cream and white herringbone velvet sofa. The couch is so soft that you never want to leave once you settle in. She’s sat there so many hours, either on her computer or watching the mammoth TV mounted above the stone fireplace.

Unlike me, she’s not attached to her phone. More often than not, I have to remind her to keep it with her but she still forgets. I’ve been planning some other way to keep tabs on her. A bracelet or necklace with some tracking device inside but she hates jewelry. She says it burns her skin, which, true or not, precludes me from forcing it upon her.

She’s come down to the living room less and less these last months, and I’m sure it’s because of my vibe; I’ve been fucking manic when it comes to her. I work my way around in the dim light from the Tiffany lamp on the end table and lower myself into the spot where she usually sits, comforted and fucking turned on by sitting in her place, wondering if she’s ever sat here with a bare ass. Maybe her bare pussy with those little blonde curls brushing against the fabric.

I pull her blanket to my face, drawing a long breath of her cherry and cream scent. Knowing this blanket has touched her everywhere. She holds it to her mouth when she’s watching ascary movie and wraps herself in it whenever she sits here. It covers her when she sleeps and gives her the soft comfort she’s been missing.

My balls draw up into my gut thinking about it. Wondering how it will feel when I sink into that tightness, hold myself steady and shoot my seed against her ripe, unprotected womb. I let my head fall back, the ache in my cock doubling as I breathe through the cashmere, knowing I should get to the office. Deal with the situation there. But I want to be right here. With her in her bed and me, covered in shame for how I feel about my stepdaughter. Not to mention, my employee.

“Cade?” I bolt to my feet at the sound of her voice, her blanket still clutched in my fists. “I forgot my blanket.”

She’s standing a few feet away in the dim light and I see her in a way I haven’t before. Yes, she’s my Lennie, the little girl I vowed to care for and raise as my own, but it’s so much more. She’s in my t-shirt, my boxers and her nipples press out on the fabric as think of her belly full of me. Naked and on her knees as I fight back my own begging for her to give me relief.

I want her pregnant and sucking my cock. Tits swollen, a hint of milk on her nipples. The vision has haunted me for longer than I would admit. A bow in her hair, red lipstick smeared across her pink cheeks, solid gold plug in her ass with the word Daddy’s Girl written across her tits. All of this represents one thing.

She belongs to me.

She is mine. My property, my baby, my slut, my dream, my princess and my most precious possession.

The murderous jealousy that engulfed me when I saw Ryan Nolan with his hands on her bubbles up from my core to pound against my sternum. The sort of violence she inspires in me hasn’t surfaced since my youth. I’ve worked hard to channel that rebellious, counter-culture energy into work. Once I saw thepower of my position, my wealth, I knew losing control would only serve to erode what I was trying to build.

But from that first moment when those paparazzi put her in danger at Disney-fucking-Land, the old Cade was ripe and ready to fight. A war, if necessary. And with what happened last night and the blowback that’s all over the inter-webs by now, war is what has come to pass.

“I would have brought it to you. I love how it smells. Always makes me think of you.”

She tiptoes around the couch as I hold the soft fabric out, then, in a moment of clarity, I draw it back. The dark, wonderful fantasies that have plagued me take root into my soul, and I pat the seat on the sofa as I sit back down.

“Sit,” I order, pointing to the cushion next to me. “Now,” I add with a rumble in my chest as the conflict between the promises I’ve made and the needs I have go to war.

She stills for a moment, her eyes glassy, her blonde hair messy around her pink cheeks. Then she swallows, and I wonder how that would feel around the head of my cock.

“Are we…going to watch a movie?” she asks, the quiver in her voice telling me she knows that’s not what’s happening here.

“Is that what you want to do? Snuggle in next to Daddy and watch a movie under the blanket together?”

How I’ve made it this long without deep-dicking her and making her mine I don’t know. She’s so sweet and so fuckable; it’s taken a force of will I didn’t know I had to hold off this long, but I’m not going to make it much longer.

I need her.

The raw breeding monster inside of me is clawing his way out; right or wrong, this Daddy is taking his little one tonight. From our interaction in the limo, she’s all in. Sure, she ran off at the end, but it’s a lot. She needed to decompress, but she’s back, and I’m all in.

“Yes, that would be nice. I can’t sleep.”

“Sit.” I nod to the spot next to me as I grab the remote and click on the TV, playing what I know is her favorite comfort movie, Hairspray. The one with John Travolta and Christopher Walken. Both nice guys. I got Lennie a signed Hairspray movie poster for her birthday last year. “I’ll give you what you want, Lennie, baby, just like always. But now, things are going to be different.”

“Different, how?” Her bright silver-gray eyes are locked on mine, the sweetness that’s dripped into my soul for years needs to be made dirty, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“You’re a good girl.” I put down the remote asGood Morning Baltimorestarts to play, then reach over and grab her face, her mouth in a squished little O shape, eyes wide in surprise. “But good girls need discipline. They need to be guided. Need to do as they are told. They need to be taught how to be what Daddy needs.”

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