We are here, alone, for at least a week, according to the flight I booked for Catrina. I don’t need to go into the office, I have employees who can fucking handle things, and Winona’s classes are on break for another ten days.
I’m on my feet before she hits the last note, her lips breaking into a smile that reminds me of how she must see me. The man who’s always been there for her, the man who stepped in when her father died.
But not the man that wants to stuff his tongue in her cunt while she begs for Daddy to lick her good and clean.
“You liked it?” She jumps up and down, clapping as she bounces down the three steps from the stage onto the gold-and-jewel-toned carpet as I stand waiting, welcoming her next to me with one arm out, the other hand at my side, my spunk still clutched in my palm.
“Like isn’t the word I would use. Fucking life changing, baby. The world doesn’t deserve something as beautiful as you, first of all, then you add that voice...” I shake my head as her arms slide around my midsection and squeeze.
“Stop. You always exaggerate.”
I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling her. Taking her in. Her black hair is scented with the peach and jasmine shampoo I have formulated just for her from a custom hair care company in Brazil.
“No exaggeration, baby. Just honest truth.”
Her softness presses against my side as that familiar pounding intensifies down low in my groin. I smooth her hair with my free hand as she raises her chin and meets my eyes.
The same eyes that looked at me with wide wonder as I read her the entire Lord of the Rings books after tucking her into bed at night, wiping away her tears as she grieved for her father, and my heart broke that my best friend would not be around to walk her down the aisle.
A few years later, it was me thinking about her walking down the aisle. Only, it was me at the other end waiting for her, too. No doubt my best friend would put a bullet between my eyes if he got wind of the things I imagine when I think of her now.
She shifts back, and for a second, I’m grateful for the space, because I’m two seconds from tearing those little yoga shorts off her ass and stuffing her full of all ten inches of Daddy’s grade-A beef stick.
I fight but fail to keep my eyes off her tits, those long, thick nipples making my breath catch and my mouth water as she takes her own deep breath on a tight smile, her hands tugging at the hem of her shirt as a long, tense silence stretches between us.
Her eyes drift down, and there’s no fucking way she doesn’t see the massive hard-on that’s tenting my jeans. She blinks, eyesflicking here and there before finally landing on my clenched left hand.
Fire sears over my skin as she reaches out before I can tug it away. “Is something wrong with your hand? Why are you holding it like that?”
Her soft little fingers pull at my wrist, flipping over my hand as she starts to unwrap my fingers from my palm.
How the hell do I explain this?
“What are you holding?” She crinkles up her nose as she tugs away the last fingers, exposing the quarter-sized deposit of jizz cupped in my hand.
My brain buzzes as I scramble for something that makes sense.
Tell her what it is, part of me screams inside my head, while another part stomps that voice down, reminding me this girl is mine to care for, not traumatize.
“Coconut oil,” I snap. We keep a little pot of it on the kitchen counter, so she can soften her hands if she does the dishes. “Thought you might want some, but then you were all ready to sing, so I just—held it.”
Pathetic. But now I’m committed, so…
“Looks like you have a little dry spot,” I say, trying not to look at her lips. Do not rub cum on your foster daughter’s lips, you fucking monster.
She draws a soft little breath, and I swear she moves fractionally closer. She gazes up into my eyes, her lashes fluttering, as she says in a small voice, “Nothing feels dry on me right now, Daddy…”
Chapter Four
Winona
Daddy’s staring at me. And it’s the good kind of staring, the kind that always makes me a little bit squirmy, and sometimes leaves me needing to get some alone time to take care of myself.
This is not a new situation.
I came to live with Daddy Reuben when I was twelve years old, but he was in my life long before that. He was really always there. Reuben and my dad were my touchstones, like I guess it must be for kids who have gay dads, except mine were both straight. I knew Dad loved Mom, and she loved him, and they both loved me, but Mom was always… a little bit in her own world. And that was fine, until Dad died, and I needed someone, and she wasn’t up to the job.
I don’t blame her for that. I really don’t. I love her for who she is, not for who I wish she was. Dad taught me that. But I was still a little girl, and she wasn’t there, and Reuben stood in for my dad.
