by Margot Scott
A deep, throaty growl rose from his chest.
“You first, Jetty.” He kissed my neck and began sliding his finger in and out of me. His hands were big, his fingers thicker and longer than mine, allowing him to reach all the tender places I couldn’t.
The pad of his thumb circled my clit. I humped his hand in tandem with pumping his cock. I couldn’t help myself. It felt too damn good not to. He added a third finger and I flinched at the sting, stroking him faster to distract myself.
After a moment, the pain subsided and all I could feel was the tension and pleasure as he moved inside me, his thumb strumming my clit.
I tucked my face into the curve of his neck. He was going to make me come. The man who had taught me how to ride a bicycle was teaching me something far more important now: how to give and receive pleasure. He was going to make me come. The thought had my thighs shaking, my hands faltering in their rhythm.
“Are you close?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Are you?”
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I could come just from listening to you.”
He wrapped his other hand around mine on his cock. I let him glide my fist along his length and closed my eyes to concentrate on what he was doing to me. I pressed my nose to the skin of his throat. He smelled like home.
Eyes squeezed shut, I could almost see my orgasm waiting for me over my inner horizon.
“Don’t stop,” I begged. “Don’t...”
“Not a chance, baby girl.”
Baby girl. The epithet swaddled me like a security blanket. I felt warm all over, flushed from head to toe.
It struck me as a cruel joke that the man I was forbidden from touching would also be the man who made me feel so treasured, so precious—the way a father should. It didn’t matter that Mason and I weren’t related by blood. He was my daddy. Now that I’d found him, I refused to let him go.
I met his thrusts with my own, rocking my hips in time with his fingers.
“Daddy?” I never thought I’d be the type to get off on baby talk, but straddling my long-lost father’s lap with his fingers inside me, those were the only words that seemed to fit.
His cock throbbed in my palm. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Promise you’ll stay this time... Promise you won’t go.”
“Neither of us are going anywhere, Jetty.” He kissed my face gently, all the while fucking into our joined fists. “You’re my little girl. I’m going to take damn good care of you.”
“Promise me, Daddy.”
“I promise,” he said. “Daddy loves you, Jetty.”
Lights and colors burst behind my eyelids. I moaned again and again, my muscles flexing around his fingers, my clit pulsing under his thumb. His hand tightened over mine as wet heat splashed onto my stomach, coating our hands and the undersides of my breasts.
The sound of our panting filled the air around us. Mason palmed my swollen folds and kissed my brow. I felt heavy and light, dizzy and rooted, convinced I’d float away if I wasn’t holding on to him. I straightened so I could kiss his mouth, sweetly and softy, like shy teenagers skipping class to go make out under the bleachers.
He used his T-shirt to clean the semen from my breasts and belly. That’s when I noticed the faint tinge of pink coating his fingers. He must’ve torn my hymen. Had I even noticed? In that moment, all I could recall was the pleasure.
I licked a drop of cum from my knuckle before he could mop it up; it tasted like seawater. The look on his face told me there would be plenty more where this came from, if I wanted it.
Of course I wanted it.
“Daddy,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I want you to be my first in everything. Not just this.”
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his fingertips one by one. He watched, riveted. I nibbled the pads of his fingers and then sucked one into my mouth.
He inhaled sharply. “Fuck...”
I rolled my tongue along the underside and tightened my cheeks, thinking of his cock. Big and thick and solid. One thing I knew for certain. Now that I’d had a taste, I would never be satisfied until I gorged myself on him.
There was no coming back from what we’d done.
“Jetty, if we do this, we can’t tell anyone. Not your mother, not your friends.”
I released his finger with a wet pop. “I would never tell Mom about us. And as for my friends, I’ll just tell them I hooked up with some guy I met this summer.”
“Maybe that’s what you should do.” He pursed his lips, like the words tasted sour. “You deserve to meet a nice, normal guy. Someone you can kiss and hold hands with in public.”
“Who says we can’t hold hands?”
I twined my fingers with his. He studied our joined hands.
“Sweetheart, to the rest of the world, you’re still my daughter.”
“And dads and daughters hold hands all the time.” I understood why he’d want to keep my mom in the dark, at least for a while; she was hardly his biggest fan. But all this secrecy seemed like an unnecessary hassle. I was an adult now. Even if she found out, there was nothing she could do about it. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell everyone the truth?”
His expression darkened. “No, it wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
He aimed his gaze somewhere far away. “If it got out that you and I were a couple, there’d be a media frenzy long after we set the record straight. I don’t care if they come after me, but I won’t have them putting you under a spotlight.”
Something in his stare made me think he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Daddy, I don’t care about—”
“I care,” he said firmly. “I love you, but I can’t have you stirring up bad publicity for me.”
His words hit like a slap. Yet, judging by the glint of pain in his eyes, they’d hurt him just as badly. Mason was a high-profile artist, but even this new rich and famous version of him didn’t strike me as the type to give two shits about what was written on his Wikipedia page. This wasn’t about avoiding bad publicity.
It was about keeping a secret.
And I could think of only one reason he wouldn’t want the truth about us to come out.
“You don’t want my real father to find me,” I said.
He sighed heavily, the hardness in his gaze softening.
“There she is, my clever girl.”
We were right back where we’d started the day before, only this time, I didn’t know how to feel. Annoyed, betrayed, resentful? Sure. Baffled that someone could love me so much and still manage to lie to my face? It was hardly the first time.
“You said you didn’t know who my real father was.”
“I don’t.” He kneaded the back of my neck. “Not for sure.”
“But you must have some idea.” I took his face in both my hands and forced him to look at me. Goddamn, the man was almost offensively handsome up close. “Is my real father looking for me?”
Silence was his answer. It was my turn to look away.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
I begged to differ. He kissed my palms, one and then the other.
“Is he a bad man, my real father?”
Mason’s arms tightened around me.
“He might be the worst.”
I wanted to pound on his chest and demand he tell me everything, but I knew that would only lead to more frustration.
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” I said. “It’s not your job to protect me.”
“You’ll always be my little girl, so yes, it is my job to protect you.” He kissed my forehead, his warm breath washing over my face. “Only you can decide if this secret is something you can live with, Jett. If it were up to me, you’d never leave my bed. But it’s not up to me. Can you be happy pretending to be my daughter in public?”
If it meant I could still be his dirty little girl in private, I could pretend to be anything.
<
br /> “I just want to be with you,” I said. “I don’t care about the rest.”
“Then promise me one thing, Jetty. If you decide to stay, you give up the search for answers. No more questions about your real father, no more spying on me in dark hallways.”
My cheeks burned from embarrassment. He smoothed his hand up and down my back to soothe me.
“You have to promise to leave the past where it belongs,” he continued. “Let go of this obsession and focus on what’s in front of you.”
What was in front of me was the man I loved more than anything, offering me the world in exchange for giving up my struggle for the truth about myself. It didn’t seem fair. I gazed down at our laps, at his cock resting dormant against his thigh. I’d only touched him once, but already I felt like I’d die if I didn’t touch him again.
If I stayed, it would be with the understanding that I’d never find out why he left. There would always be a part of me that remained a mystery, but in return, I’d have a chance to get to know my daddy all over again.
Perhaps I’d regret setting aside the search for my real father someday. But for now, I had found the only daddy I needed.
“No more questions,” I said. “Promise.”
Mason breathed a sigh of relief. “Trust me, sweetheart. It’s better to be kept in the dark about some things.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but I was certain it didn’t matter. I’d made my decision to stay—and I was going to make the most of it.
Reaching between my thighs, I dipped a finger into my pussy, then brushed a layer of my own wetness over my lips like gloss. My daddy groaned low in his throat as he kissed me, catching my bottom lip between his teeth.
With one swift movement, he laid me on my back, then kissed and licked a meandering trail from my mouth to my navel. He gripped the backs of my knees and spread my legs, just like he’d done in the studio.
I trembled as his hot breath washed over my folds.
“It took every ounce of strength I had not to eat your pussy this afternoon,” he said. “You smelled so fucking delicious.”
I smiled. “How do I smell now, Daddy?”
“You smell incredible, baby girl.” He rolled his tongue over my clit, and slid two fingers inside me. I struggled not to raise my hips off the couch. “And fuck if you don’t taste even better.”
Chapter Eleven
The next few weeks unfolded like a string of cutout paper hearts.
My first day of college was less than a month away. There were books to buy and supplies to shop for. I had stopped returning my mother’s texts and calls. The life I’d left in New Hampshire was barely a niggle at the back of my mind.
Nothing existed outside of my daddy and me, and our secret.
Mason and I grew drunk on each other, and like all intoxicants, our desire made us reckless. Kisses stolen in empty galleries. A flash of skin or tongue. Riding in the backs of cabs coming home from parties, with his hand up my dress and his fingers inside me.
We even held hands on the subway.
But the bulk of our time together was spent in bed, always naked, always ravenous.
“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of watching you grind on my cock,” he growled, his fingernails digging furrows into the flesh of my hips. “You’re gonna make me come, baby girl.”
“No, don’t,” I said. “I want to suck you off so I can taste both of us in my mouth at the same time.” Hands braced against Mason’s chest, I glided my pussy along his erection. I was so fucking wet—I was always so fucking wet when he was around. There was no help for it. Only surrender.
“Sweetheart,” he said through gritted teeth, “you can’t tell me not to come and then say stuff like that.”
I laughed and then yelped as he reached around to slap my backside.
“Sorry, Daddy.”
“Yeah right,” he rasped. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
He raised his head to catch my nipple in his mouth. The wet warmth of his tongue sent currents of need zipping through my bloodstream. His back arched as I ground my clit against his sensitive cockhead. I was used to masturbating on my back. Riding Mason like this took a lot more effort, but the view was definitely worth it. It reminded me of humping a stuffed animal, only hotter and slipperier, with way more direct pressure on my clit.
“I’m close.” I rocked my hips, letting the tension build. “Just one more minute.”
“Whatever you need, baby girl.” He teased my nipple with his tongue. The coalescing of pleasure from above and below made my stomach flutter.
“Oh, that. Keep doing that.”
I closed my eyes. He sucked on my nipple until I was almost crying, then trailed a line of kisses across to my other breast. His cock throbbed beneath me. It must’ve been torture, holding back his own release while I used him to get myself off.
Clit pulsing and pussy dripping, I held his face in my hands and kissed him, recalling that first kiss and how it had changed everything. I rubbed my clit against him and thought about his cock, how close it was to my opening—
How all it would take was one miscalculated thrust to force it inside me...
My orgasm zapped through me like lightning. I whimpered into Mason’s mouth. He slipped his tongue between my lips and tasted me, his hands clasping both sides of my ass, holding me even tighter to his hard body. He trembled with the effort it took to hold off on coming. I swallowed hard and took a moment to catch my breath.
“Okay,” I said. “Your turn.”
I slid down his body and grasped his cock, slick from my efforts and impossibly hard in my palm. I painted my lips with the drop of precum at the tip, then took the head into my mouth. He tasted salty and a little tangy, a flavor I’d come to recognize as my own. I bobbed my head, taking as much of him as I could fit without gagging.
“God, I love fucking that beautiful mouth of yours,” he growled, his fingers grasping at my hair.
I responded by cupping his balls the way he liked them to be cupped. He made a sound that was like a moan and a snarl combined. I tongued his urethra, and his whole body trembled.
I was getting good at this.
“Careful,” he said, “or you’ll get a facial instead of a mouthful.”
I flashed him a wicked smile. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d lost control all over me.
Gripping his shaft, I wrapped my lips around him and resumed sucking him off, relishing the salt of his precum mixed with my own essence. I loved the sounds he made and the musky scent of his body. I knew exactly where he liked to be licked and how hard to suck.
As with everything else involving my daddy, I couldn’t get enough. It was like I’d been born to do this. And I supposed, in a way, I had.
Mason’s cock was thick. I had to be thoughtful about my positioning so I didn’t end up with a sore jaw. His eyes never left my face. Sometimes he admitted to wishing he were a photographer, so he could instantly capture these moments without having to pause. More than once, I thought about suggesting we take pictures, but I was afraid mentioning photography would remind him of my mother. It would be like summoning her presence into the room, and I didn’t want her here any more than I wanted to move back home.
His hand tightened in my hair. He was close. I could tell by his shallow breathing and the way his hips bucked with each swipe of my tongue. This was my favorite part, watching and hearing and feeling him lose his composure in the seconds before he was about to blow.
I sucked harder and faster, using my hand as an extension of my mouth. I listened for the helpless panting, felt the sudden swelling of his cock.
Hot, salty cum gushed over my tongue and splattered my throat. I swallowed. He loved it when I swallowed, and I loved anything that allowed me to take pieces of him inside me.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “That was fucking intense.”
I held him in my mouth as he softened, then let him slip out. Quiet as a cat, I crawled up the bed and settled into t
he crook of his arm. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead, my right cheek, then my left.
“Fuck baby,” he said. I’d come to learn that excessive swearing before, during, and shortly after orgasm was just one of his quirks. “How’d you get so good at that?”
I nuzzled his neck. “I have a patient and thorough teacher.”
“If only every student exhibited your boundless enthusiasm.”
It was true. I had taken to practicing the art of the blow job like mastering a new artistic medium, always ready and eager to drop to my knees, and not just in the bedroom. Likewise, Mason was an expert at pleasuring me with his mouth. He could make me come in under three minutes using only the very tip of his tongue. But he much preferred to draw it out, to watch me sweat and squirm.
“What time is it?” he asked.
I grabbed his phone from the bedside table. “Almost five o’clock.”
“We really should get up.” He rolled on top of me and sighed, burying his face in my hair. “Remind me again why we should get up.”
“Because no one can live on sex and post-coital cuddling alone?”
“I’m willing to test that theory if you are.”
I laughed, relaxing into the feeling of being pinned in place by his body.
We did in fact have plans to meet up with a small group of Mason’s colleagues for dinner. After an early start in the studio—he preferred morning light for painting—we’d spent the afternoon alternately napping and making love. I used to cringe at that phrase. Making love. It sounded so hokey. But that’s exactly what we were doing, transforming desire into something tangible with our bodies. Mason’s love was alchemy. He made me into something else, like new growth after a forest fire. Supple, yet strong.
The first night we spent together, he joked that he'd created a monster and we laughed about it, but it was true. I thought about sex all the time now. I wanted it every second of every day.
“I was thinking I’d invite everyone back for drinks tonight,” he said.
“Sounds fun.” I skimmed my fingernails down the center of his back and relished the exhale that followed. He kissed my neck, then rose from the bed, his hair wild and chest sheened with sweat—his and mine.
