by Ally Vance
My hips roll, back and forth as I rub myself against the smooth material. Heat trickles through me and I close my eyes, picturing him as he jerked his cock in one rough, calloused hand.
I reach for one nipple, tweaking and tugging it until I’m whimpering in pleasure. It’s as if electricity is alive in my veins, shooting through every inch of me and I’m nearing the edge where pleasure and pain meet, and I want to leap off the cliff.
His grunt echoes in my mind. I hear him mumble the word fuck over and over again and it sets me off. I’m so close. Two more movements and I’m chasing a high I’ve had so many times thinking of him.
I mewl as quietly as I can, “oh, fuck yes, daddy.” My orgasm rattles through me like a storm hitting the ocean. A force of nature that I can’t control takes hold and I soak my pillow in my musky-scented arousal.
When I open my eyes, I see him at the door. His shadow hovering just there, out of reach, but I feel his gaze burning me. Everything we’re doing is wrong, but I can’t help myself.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I rise, padding toward the closet to find my bathrobe. It’s almost midnight, and I need to shower before school tomorrow. The moment my bedroom door opens, I’m met with bright green eyes the color of leaves in spring.
“Are you okay?” He questions, arching one dark brow at me.
One more month.
“Yes,” I whisper, reprimanding myself for the husky tone. I push past him without another word and shove into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with a sound bang.
Once the lock clicks, I lean against the wood, sighing as my heart slowly steadies itself to a normal rhythm. This isn’t something I should be doing. I know it. Every night it’s the same thing, I watch him, spying on him as he strokes himself.
I drop my robe and step into the shower, then turn on the taps so the icy water can shock me out of the heated desire that’s racing through me. No boy at school has ever made me so needy. My boyfriend of six months has tried to touch me, he’s even attempted to get me to suck him off, but I refused.
I’m sick.
I’m broken inside my head because all I want is to lick and pleasure the man on the other side of the door. I know he’s there. I’ve heard him shuffling away at times after my shower. He stands at the door, listening, waiting for me to touch myself, like I watch him.
We’ve been doing this for the past two years, and I can’t take it anymore. Ever since I found pleasure with my fingers, I’ve fantasized about him. Living with the handsome, dark haired man has turned me into a ball of twine, and I’m wound so tight, I’m bound to snap soon.
I want to beg him to take the one thing I’ve held onto, and I know he can’t.
It’s wrong.
So, I have a plan. My scholarship has been approved, and I can move away to the city. I can meet someone else, a man who’s older, someone who can replace the father in my life, but also offer me a relationship. Something I can’t get at home.
When I step out of the shower moments later, I hear the shuffle. I listen to the footfalls of Dad as he makes his way to the bedroom. I wish I had the courage to walk in there and beg him to take my virginity.
I’m sick.
It’s okay, I’m leaving soon, and he’ll be free of my stupidity.
What would he do when I am no longer around?
Would he think of me?
Or would he replace me with someone who isn’t worthy of his love?
I don’t know the answers to those questions. But what I do know, is that the moment he’s alone, I’ll make sure he recalls every moment we’ve ever had.
I’ll give him glimpses of what he’s missing. Perhaps it will be enough to taunt him. It may be enough for him not to find a replacement for me. Nobody could ever take his place, because my heart and mind, and my body, they all need him. Just his tender touch with a hint of rough.
Those calloused fingers with the harsh grip of a man, not a boy. Back in my bedroom, I get dressed, pulling on my sleep shorts, and a thin top that hugs my slight curves.
My door is cracked a few inches, and I know if he walks past, he’ll see me. He’ll notice me sitting at my desk, my feet curled under my butt, and I know he’ll watch for a while before he heads to bed.
Even though I should get some sleep, I’m wired. Tomorrow is my final exam. Not long now and I’ll graduate. Leaving home is something I have to do, not something I want to do. Only because I know he’ll be alone.
Sighing, I push off the chair and notice the shadow at the threshold of my bedroom. With a smile, I scoot into bed and allow the sheet to drape itself over my thighs. Flicking the light switch, I close my eyes and dreams of him steal me.
Chapter 2
Vincent
She’s so beautiful. So wrong for me, but so perfect. I make my way through the house and enter my bedroom. My erection is pressing against the material of my boxers, but I don’t expose myself. The moment I touch my dick, I’ll come all over my hand.
She makes me feel things I shouldn’t. With every year that passes, I care for her, I love her, but I can’t deny my body reacting to her in more ways than I should allow. I notice her curves, those slight hips that I’m so tempted to grip and hold steady.
Even seeing her in a bikini, has my libido acting like a fucking teenager. How am I hard for her? She’s not meant for me in that way, but my brain and body aren’t corresponding. The only part of her that’s still hidden from me is the beauty between her thighs, that my mouth waters to see.
A woman.
She’s turned into a woman before my very eyes, and I can’t stop thinking about how she tastes, how she feels. My mind is awash with her and nobody else. Even the guys have asked if I’m whipped, but they know I’m not dating, so how the fuck do I admit my feelings.
Many lonely nights I’ve found myself alone in the office, I’ve masturbated thinking about her beautiful body every single day.
Guilt weighs on me. I thought I was sick, that I was a terrible father, but when she flirted with me, confusion settled like a lead weight in my gut.
I knew she was watching. I don’t blame her because I watch her too. It’s wrong on so many levels, but I can’t help myself. All I want to do is taste her sweetness. It’s been years since her mother died, and I haven’t been interested in other women. Perhaps because Rylee reminds me so much of her mother.
I shouldn’t ache for her, but I do.
Most nights I’m out at the club, at a bar, inside another woman because it’s all I can do to keep myself from going to her and stealing a kiss. From feeling her body against mine. Like a drug, she’s been racing through my veins since I first noticed her womanly curves.
As much as I fight it, my restraint is a fine line, taut and ready to snap. I’ve sat back and watched her go on dates. I’ve even offered advice. And even though I know she’s still a virgin because I’ve threatened all the boys that she’s brought home, I still can’t stop my mind from wandering to a dark place.
The darkest corner of my mind where I keep the fantasy of being her first, of tasting the sweet juices that I am sure soak her panties when her fingers dip into her tight heat. That same corner holds my desire and need in a locked box, where the curve of her ass, the slope of her lower back, the slenderness of her neck beckon me.
When I have a blonde whore bent over in front of me, it’s her face I see when I fill a rubber. It’s her pouty lips that I imagine wrapped around my dick, swallowing her Daddy deep into her pretty, young throat.
My body is tense, I need a release, of some form, but I still recall the guilt that comes with pleasure. I’ve forced my feelings down, so far into a black hole that I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back.
Rylee is my life. She’s my heart and soul. I’ve made sure to do right by her, and if she continues to stay with me, I know I’ll break her trust. I’ll shatter the promise I made her mother and myself—that I’ll always keep Ry safe from everything and everyone.
Her mo
ther couldn’t handle living with a biker. She hated the life, the club, she detested being near the guys who I considered family. My ex-wife found it easier to live her high-flying life in the streets of Hollywood being a single woman rather than a mother.
At first, I thought Ry would hate me, or even blame me for making her mother leave. That’s what it seemed like, because her hate-fueled words came across loud and clear—I was the bad one in the marriage.
She didn’t want to try. Even though I begged her to stay. Perhaps that’s my problem, I craved the intimacy too much whereas she was cold, aloof. And what I hungered for from my ex, I got in spades from the pretty little blonde that’s now running through my mind twenty-four seven.
Each day that passed, and I watched Rylee growing up, anger would rise up, burning in my veins because she didn’t have a mother to turn to in times of need. As a young girl, she needed advice on womanly things. I didn’t know how to explain her period, and I really had no clue how to tell her why her breasts were growing. Like her mother’s tits, they’re beautiful, with rosy pink nipples, taut little buds that my mouth waters to taste.
When I told her I was ready to move on, to find a woman not to replace her mother, but to find someone as a companion for me, I lied. I told her lie after lie. Each night I fucked club whores because I didn’t have another choice. I found them perfect for finding the release I needed—blonde, willing, and not the one woman I do want.
Since we moved to Arizona, away from her mother in Los Angeles, I’ve managed to keep her away from the club, away from the leering bikers, but I’m no better than the men who would want her.
I’m no longer sure how to care for her, and that’s why I’ve made the decision to send her to her mother. The school she’s been begging to attend after graduation is not far from Hollywood, and she’ll be able to live a life, find a nice boy who’ll care for her, and hopefully, she’ll move on.
I want her to have a beautiful life. And her being here with me is not it. I have the club, the weapons, and drugs, to deal with. I can’t keep her safe anymore, not from the men at the club, and not from me.
She’s intelligent, strong-willed, just like her mother. But there’s a fiery nature to her as well. She’s very much a tomboy hiding behind her baggy sweatpants, and those tank tops, but I can see what a stunning woman she’ll be one day. That she already is right now.
Pulling out my cell phone, I tap out the message to inform Olive that her daughter will be taking a bus tomorrow night. If she does an overnight trip it would be easier, she can sleep, and by the time she arrives, it will be early morning.
Once the message is sent, I slump on the bed, the mattress comfortable under my tired body. I lay my arm across my eyes, hoping to stop the images of Rylee in her bikini from appearing in my mind’s eye, but it’s useless because she’s always there.
Sighing, I flick off the lamp on my nightstand and roll over, hoping sleep will steal me and I don’t have to jerk off thinking about the pretty blonde in the bedroom next door.
Chapter 3
Rylee
“Good morning, dad,” I smile when I walk into the kitchen. He’s dressed in his dark slacks and white T-shirt which seems to hug every curve of his body. His cut is hanging on the back of the chair, and I know the moment he pulls it on, I’m going to be drooling over him.
I’ve never been allowed at the club, he told me I’m too young to hang out with bikers, but I know he doesn’t want me being included in the dangerous things they do there. I’ve seen his guns, his ammo, the knives that he thinks he hides from me.
One thing my father doesn’t realize is, he can’t hide anything from me anymore. It’s been years since I’ve learned how violent he can be and I’ve heard the whispers at school about the motorcycle club he’s a part of. Even though we live in a nice neighborhood in a beautiful home, I know who pays for it.
He smiles at me, his mouth tilting in a way that sets my stomach into fluttering butterflies. They come alive every time he’s near me.
“Good morning, princess,” he grins setting down my breakfast which smells amazing. Dad is an amazing cook, and when he puts his mind to it, he tends to go overboard. “I have a few things to do in town today. Was there anything you needed from the store?” he asks.
“No, I don’t think so. Oh, can you get that new vanilla ice cream I like?” I smile up at him, knowing he can’t deny me something when I offer him my pouty lips. The small grin is his response, and my heart thuds wildly in my chest.
“Sure, I can.”
Since he seems to be in a good mood, I push a little further. “So… Uhm, can I come to the club with you?” I ask, knowing he’ll refuse me.
“No,” he growls, pulling on the leather cut. “You’re too young to be spending time around those assholes, and the club whores that frequent the bar.” I know this because he doesn’t share much of his home life with them. Whenever one of the men visit, I hide in my bedroom. Sadly, I’m just a secret he keeps behind closed doors.
One thing about my father, he doesn’t beat around the bush. I knew the words fuck and whore before I was in first grade. It didn’t bother me, but it did annoy my mother. She couldn’t handle having a husband in a motorcycle club, so she split.
I can’t recall a time when she was around anymore. I don’t remember her voice, or even how she would tell me she loved me. Perhaps she did, maybe she didn’t.
Dad leans in, planting a soft kiss on my forehead, and I’m tempted to move my face so it lands on my lips instead. But I don’t. It’s getting worse every day, and I don’t know what to do with myself. How do I hide it? All I want is for him to kiss me, like I know he wants to because I’ve seen how he looks at me.
I’m distracted today, and I wonder if he’ll notice. I can’t stop thinking about what happened last night, when I saw him stroking himself. It looked so beautiful. How his body would bulge and tighten, how the white fluid would streak from his shaft and onto his belly.
I know his body is toned, and I remember vividly how his semen coated the tanned, taut skin. It makes me tingle in places I shouldn’t be tingling.
Dark brown eyes meet mine, and normally I see pain etched in them. It's been that way for years. Since mom left, he's always had this aloof sadness that seemed to make him even more handsome.
Is that wrong?
Perhaps.
But I can’t not think about my father as being the most handsome man I know.
“Okay,” I can’t help but smile as I settle in and fork a mouthful of scrambled eggs into my mouth. He seems lighter today, almost as if something has happened and I wonder if he knows I saw him last night. Perhaps he’s not angry with me for watching, or maybe he’s going to talk to me about not doing it anymore.
I wonder if he realizes it wasn’t the first time that I’ve done it. I focus on my food as he settles in opposite me to eat his own plateful of bacon and eggs. I typically don’t eat a lot of meat, and being the caring Dad, he is, he’s made me an extra portion of toast instead of the mound of food he has.
While I sip my orange juice, I watch him. The gray dusting of his hair in-between the darker strands makes him look a lot older than his forty-five years. And even now, when his beard growing, I can see the silver amongst the black.
Generally, he shaves, but he hasn’t for a couple of days, and the tingle that pulses between my thighs when I imagine what his beard would feel like makes me squirm in my chair.
“Are you okay, Ry?”
“Yeah, I am,” I grin, hoping I’m not blushing too much. His eyes bore into me, assessing me, and I have to look away because I can feel my face heating. I lower my gaze to the plate and finish up my food before he asks me anything more.
I don’t know how I’m meant to act around him, because all I can think about is him naked. Touching me. Kissing me. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, hoping to calm myself, but all that I inhale is his minty, spicy cologne.
“Ry,” Dad says. “I’ve been thinking
, since you’ll be eighteen soon, and you want to go to Princeton, I’ll get you an apartment on campus.”
My mouth falls open. I can’t stop gaping at him in surprise. First, he didn’t want me far away, now he’s sending me to the opposite side of the country.
“But—”
“Since you’ll be seventeen soon, you should start thinking about moving, about your life away from me.” He rises quickly, cracking my heart in a million pieces. “Your mom called. She said you’re welcome to stay with her.” He tells me this while looking at the goddamned sink.
“But I thought you wanted me—”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Your mother wants time with you, and I can’t stop her.” The clanking of cutlery in the sink, along with the shattering of glass and my father’s hiss of shit echoes around me.
Nothing is real.
I’ve been living with a man who doesn’t love me.
My heart cracking in my chest is the only evidence that he’s said anything. I’m not crying, as there are no tears in my eyes.
Don’t show weakness, princess.
Those are his words. The same thing he would tell me when I had night terrors as a child.
“You want me to leave?”
“I think your mother should guide you from here on out. We’ll have a visit every other weekend,” he says with a wry smile, and I can see the lies dancing in his dark eyes. My father has never lied to me, but right now, the man before me is nothing more than a lying, conniving asshole. Just like my mom called him.
Chapter 4
Vincent
Present day
The coffee sits on the table before us. Two large mugs of steaming black liquid. She looks so beautiful, sitting on the bench seat across from me. I wanted to reach out and stroke her long blonde hair, the golden color shimmering in the last of the glowing sunlight that’s seeping through the windows.
