Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
The first kiss is—God, it’s like a windswept storm. I don’t even remember the mechanics, just the shock of her lips, the heat of her breath, the way she opens for me. She tastes like wine and sugar, like everything I’m not supposed to want. Her hand finds my shirt, clutching at the fabric, pulling me down, closer, until I feel the small bones of her wrist against my chest.
Stop, the voice in my head rasps. She’s your stepdaughter.
But do I stop? Hell no. I’m an asshole, and always have been. My hand slides down, skimming the fine bones of her shoulder, the curve of her arm, until I reach the hem of her dress. It’s velvet, soft as a bruise, and she shivers as my fingers slip under the edge, searching for her skin. When I touch her, just above the knee, she gasps into my mouth, and I can feel the shock roll through her body.
I move higher, tracing the inside of her thigh, and she’s shaking, breath coming in tiny, desperate bursts. I don’t know what I’m doing—I mean, I do, but there’s a part of me that’s detached, watching the whole thing like a film. The man in the movie is someone else, someone dangerous and doomed, and he’s touching his stepdaughter in the dark, and she’s letting him, not just letting but wanting, needing.
When I find the cotton of her panties, it’s already damp. I freeze, momentarily stunned by my own need, but Mary Kate presses against my hand, her lips parting around a silent plea. I stroke her through the fabric, gentle at first, then harder, and she cries out—just a tiny, muffled sound, but it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Mmm, Daddy,” she mewls. “Oh god.”
The word “Daddy” unleashes the beast within. I want to fuck her. I want to throw her down on the carpet and tear her apart, make her scream, make her mine. But instead, I slip two fingers beneath the fabric, find the slick heat of her, and work her until she’s panting, clutching my shirt, digging her nails into my shoulder. The only light is the flicker of the sconce, turning her hair to gold, her skin to marble.
“Oh!” she whimpers faintly, clutching at my shoulders. “Mmm!”
“Come for me, sweetheart,” I rasp against her mouth, my fingers stroking and rubbing her clit, before patting it in tender slaps. “Come on Daddy’s hand.”
The golden girl obeys and climaxes suddenly, a shudder that runs the length of her body, her big breasts heaving as she cries out against my mouth. A gush of warm wetness fills my palm, and I rub her through the orgasms, murmuring soft words of praise.
“You did great, sweetheart,” I rasp. “So fucking young and sexy.”
I hold her up as she sags against the wall. Her forehead presses to my chest, and she’s laughing, gasping, half-crying. I want to remember this forever.
But the house isn’t silent—never has been. Somewhere, a voice calls out, the sound of footsteps growing louder, and reality crashes back. I pull my hand away, smooth her dress, and step back as if nothing happened. Mary Kate blinks, dazed, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
We stand there, hearts beating so loud I think the whole party must hear it, and then she smiles, a secret so sweet between us, and slips away down the hallway, hair streaming behind her like a flag.
It’s been years now, but I replay that moment every night.
Mary Kate is still talking, her voice sweet and low, but my mind is lit up like an x-ray. I stare at the pale line of her throat, the way her lips move as she sounds out the syllables, and my hand tightens around the spine of the book I picked up without thinking.
She has no idea, I think. Or maybe she does. Maybe she always has.
“—you listening?” she says, and I realize she’s staring at me, one eyebrow arched in challenge.
I cough, try to hide the flush crawling up my neck. “Sorry. Long day.”
She smirks, the left side of her mouth curling up. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
I force a laugh. “Just thinking about some of the times we’ve shared in the past.”
She bites her lip.
“Which times, exactly?”
I think about lying, but the moment is too intense, and I decide to go for it.
“That Christmas. And Thanksgiving,” I rasp.
Mary Kate’s eyes go wide, the blue almost drowning me. She bites her lip. “You remember?”
I nod, slow and deliberate. “I remember everything.”
She looks away, a blush blooming high on her cheekbones. For a second, she seems so small, so fragile, that I want to pull her into my lap and hold her, just to feel her heartbeat against mine. But I don’t. I stay where I am, rigid, every muscle wound tight.