Total pages in book: 8
Estimated words: 6777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 34(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 23(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 34(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 23(@300wpm)
Now, in the dimming light of the barn, with shadows lengthening and the storm raging, it felt like the universe had conspired to push us together.
I was up on a ladder, stretching to secure a flapping tarp, my muscles aching from the day’s work. A sudden gust of wind shook the entire structure, and I wobbled precariously. Daddy was there in an instant, his powerful hands gripping my calves to steady me.
“Careful up there, Polly,” he growled, his voice rough like gravel, but his touch lingered, his fingers sliding up slightly along my legs before he reluctantly pulled away.
The contact sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cooling air.
I descended the ladder slowly, my pulse thundering louder than the storm outside. We stood face to face in the dim glow of a hanging lantern, hay dust swirling around us like tiny stars.
My father’s shirt was damp from sweat and the gusts of rainwater that blew through the open barn doors. The material clung to his chest and outlined every ridge of muscle. The fabric was translucent enough to hint at the dark hair beneath.
I could smell his scent. It was earth mingled with sweat and a hint of the strong pine soap he used. It made my head spin.
“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of rain hammering the roof.
He didn’t step back. Instead, he reached out, his calloused fingers tucking a stray strand of my dark auburn hair behind my ear, his touch sending sparks across my skin.
“You’ve been driving me crazy, Polly. Ever since you came back home this summer. Walking around in those barely-there shorts and looking at me like that… it’s torture.”
The admission hung between us, heavy and charged with suppressed longing. I should have pulled away, reminded him of the boundaries we couldn’t cross. He was my father, for God’s sake. But I stepped closer, my body pressed against his solid frame.
“It’s wrong,” I said, my voice trembling, but my hands betrayed me, fisting in his sweat-soaked shirt.
“Damn right it is,” he replied, his blue eyes darkening with desire. Then his mouth crashed down on mine, a kiss that was all fire and possession, tasting of forbidden promises.
If this was so wrong, why did it feel so right?
Daddy’s hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto a nearby stack of hay bales, the prickly straw scratching at my thighs through my shorts. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against my pussy through his jeans.
We tore at each other’s clothes with a frantic urgency born of pent-up need. His flannel shirt hit the floor in a matter of seconds, revealing a torso sculpted from decades of relentless farm labor.
He had broad shoulders that tapered to defined abs. There was a smattering of silver and black hair across his chest that trailed down invitingly to the hard V of muscle that disappeared beneath his jeans.
I ran my hands over him, tracing the contours, savoring the heat radiating from his skin. Daddy yanked my tank top over my head in one swift motion, his eyes feasting on my breasts as they spilled over the top of my bra, nipples hardening in the cool air and pressing against the material.
“So damn beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky, as he unhooked the bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. “Made perfectly.”
But my father wasn’t one for gentle caresses. He had never been. He was dominant, a force of nature, and expected things to go his way. And hell, I craved that control and power.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one large hand, his grip firm but not painful, while his other hand trailed down my body, teasing my waist, my hip, and then the edge of my shorts.
“Tell me you want this, Polly,” he demanded, his breath hot against my neck as he nipped at the sensitive skin there.
“I want it,” I gasped, arching into him. “Please, Daddy.”
The words slipped out unbidden, taboo and electric, hanging in the air between us like a spark. It ignited something primal in him. His eyes flashed with a mix of shock and raw hunger. “Say it again,” he growled, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my shorts.
“Daddy,” I repeated, my voice breathy, the name I hadn’t said since I was a child sending a thrill through both of us.
He shifted me enough so that he could shove my shorts and panties down my legs in one violent motion. They hung over one ankle, and his fingers found me already slick with arousal when he shoved his hand between my legs and stroked my pussy. He teased me mercilessly, circling my clit with rough, precise strokes that made my hips buck.