Page 10 of Forbidden Fruit (Sweet Treats 7)

With a soft smile, I reach behind me and begin unzipping the back of my dress, letting the pink fabric fall from my breasts. The huge ivory mounds come tumbling out, luscious with pale pink tips that are already stiff with need. They tremble in the air between us, and his blue eyes devour my curves although he remains utterly still.

“Would you?” I ask in a soft voice while cupping my breasts for his enjoyment. “Because it would make me so happy, Daddy, if you would take my cherry tonight, and help usher me into womanhood.”

The answering flare in his eyes is my answer, and suddenly, this night has just turned a corner for the better.

5

Owen

Oh shit. I can’t believe I’m doing this. At the very least, I should carry her up to my room but when she unzipped the top of her dress, my mast sprung out to full strength, and every cell in my body buzzed with arousal.

After all, this girl is gorgeous, hands down. She’s lush, creamy and sweet with long, curly brown hair and a figure to die for. Huge, double D breasts sway my way, and as I watch, the pink tips harden and tremble delicately, as if begging for my touch.

I can’t resist. I bend my head and suckle a giant tit in my mouth, enjoying the mouth feel of this girl. She tips her chin up and gasps, her eyes closing with pleasure.

“Oh, mmm!” she cries out, her hands tunneling through my hair. “Yes!”

Oh shit. This is so wrong. I’m literally about to ravage a virgin in the deserted hallway of this hotel, and yet I can’t stop myself. She’s needy and desperate, and yet a lady at once too. Her tale of woe was sad, but also funny in some ways. I’m not being demeaning. I’m just saying that her ex-friend and ex-boyfriend sound like idiots who make bad decisions. Come to think of it, I can’t wait to whup that guy’s ass when it comes time. What was his name again? Ryder? I’ve always hated jerk-faced Prom Kings. They’re all glossy finish and charming smiles, but there’s no substance beneath that shallow veneer.

Then again, Ryder’s a teen boy and I know a lot about teenagers. The reason I’m here tonight is because my daughter, June, was supposed to be initiated into Dads and Daughters in one of the hotel ballrooms. My friends and I got together, all wearing our penguin suits. Then June was supposed to step onto stage and the ceremony would start.

But June threw a hissy fit twenty minutes before she was supposed to get on stage. My daughter became the Runaway Bride. She was here one moment, and then gone the next, and no one could stop her. I caught her in the lobby of the hotel as she was making her escape, but it was useless. My daughter was furious, and her words made me step back with shock.

“I’m not meant to be in Dads and Daughters,” she hissed, her brown eyes sparking with rage. “This is a dirty swingers club, and I want nothing to do with it.”

I hold up my hand, looking around to see if anyone can hear. Fortunately, the other guests are too caught up in their own business, so they continue chatting and smiling while mingling with others.

“June, can we talk about this somewhere else?” I manage in a controlled voice. “You don’t have to go back for your initiation, but let’s not have this discussion out here.”

“No!” she hisses again, pulling the tiara from her head and hurling it onto the floor dramatically. “You’re a group of dirty daughter-swapping dads, and I’m having nothing to do with it. Good riddance!” she exclaims before flouncing out.

I look at her departing back and grit my teeth. As a divorced dad, it hasn’t been easy raising June on my own. Unfortunately, I think it’s June’s mom who’s gotten to her. Although my ex doesn’t know about Dads and Daughters, I have a sinking suspicion that somehow, my ex has poisoned our daughter against us. It’s just a feeling I have, but my spidey sense is usually right.

Now, I’m left with a disaster on my hands. I watch helplessly as June stalks to her car and gets in, slamming the door emphatically. Then she hightails it out of the hotel parking lot, and to add insult to injury, she smirks and gives me a big middle finger. Great. I’ve raised such a high-class, charming girl. Not.

Seething, I take a deep breath. Should I head back to the ballroom and apologize to my friends? They’ll understand. Most of us are fathers, and quite a few have had the indescribable experience of raising a teenage girl. They’ll clap me on the back and say it doesn’t matter. It happens.

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