Even at twelve years old, I was already starting to look at him as the ideal man. As tall as a house and built like a grizzly, and ready to fight the world if it made me cry. Of course, I thought that meant any boy I got involved with would have to live up to his standard, but as I got older, I realized that’s impossible. Because there’s only one Reuben. Only one Daddy.
Then, when I turned eighteen, something changed. I don’t mean with him, I mean,Ichanged.
I guess you could say I had an epiphany. I’m an adult now, not a child. And that means, if Iwantto walk around the house in my panties and a t-shirt, I can. And if Iwantto pout and tease and try to show him that I’m not a little girl anymore, I can do that too.
Because the way he looks at me sometimes… I can’t help the thoughts it gives me. And I know—Iknow—he’ll never accept that. But I’m still allowed to want it.
I squeeze my thighs tight, hoping to stem the heat that’s building in my core, but it only serves to add friction. It feels really good, and I want to rub my legs together more, but Reuben’s still staring, and his eyes drift to that spot, and… Oh, God… I feel like I’m about to wet myself.
“What do you mean, nothing is dry, princess?” His voice is a low growl that shakes my spine and nearly makes me fall to my knees.
Except if I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself. I’venoticedthings. Things a daughter—even a sort of guardian daddy-daughter—shouldn’t want to notice. The bulge in the front of his pants ishuge.
I have absolutely zero experience with such things.
Well, I’ve examined what I’ve been able to see in pictures, and nothing even comes close. Daddy has them beat. And I can’t even count the number of times I’ve imagined taking out what’s behind that zipper, opening wide and sucking on his cock likeit’s one of those orange Push-ups he used to buy me from the ice cream truck when it would come jingling through the park.
I lick my lips and watch his gaze follow my tongue as I try to remember what I said.Nothing feels dry on me right now.
God, did I really say that out loud to him?
“I just… I--” I shrug as I struggle to cover for my filthy admission, gripping tight to the microphone that’s still in my hand, still connected, occasionally sending static through the speakers when it brushes against my t-shirt. “I shouldn’t tell you these things. I’m sorry.”
My head falls, and I stare at my bare toes.
He built this whole thing for me. My own auditorium, right here at home, with so much seating that sometimes it’s overwhelming. But he always said, “One day, you’ll fill stadiums. You need to know that that feels like.”
And here I am, making a mockery of all that love, all that fatherly stuff I should be grateful for, because I can’t stop thinking about him in ways I know I shouldn’t.
In an instant, I feel his warm, calloused hand under my chin, turning my face back up to look in his eyes. Those pale blue eyes I’ve imagined so many times when I’ve been lying in bed, alone, hugging the tattered, one-eyed frog plushie my dad bought me for my fifth birthday when he and Reuben took me to the zoo, and trying not to touch myself because it wouldn’t be enough.
And failing. And it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Because what I really want, I can’t have.
“Baby.” He draws a breath through his nose, and his eyes turn to storm clouds. It’s like staring down a bull pawing at the dirt, ready to charge.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I say again, a little sob coming with the words. “You don’t want to know these things—”
His hand tightens around my throat. Not a lot, but enough to cut off the words and make the tears dry in an instant. “Never…”He growls, and I know I’ve gone too far. He’s going to agree with my mother that I need to grow up. Karaoke night is well and truly over. “Don’t youeverpresume to tell me what I do or don’t want to hear. Daddy wants to knoweverything, baby. Always. Every high, every low. You do not apologize for coming to me with your thoughts, your dreams, your fears, or your desires. I’m your number one safe place. You hear me?”
He stands there, seething, and all I can do is nod. When I do, his grip loosens, and I take a grateful breath.
“Now,” he says, “tell me what you mean, princess. What feels wet?”
“Well…” Heat prickles on my cheeks.
A low growl precedes his words, making my skin heat as it echoes through the speakers. “Don’t make me ask again.”
His chest fills with a long breath, his tongue glancing along the points of his top teeth. He has the light stubble of a day-old beard covering his strong jaw, a shimmer of silver in the short hairs.
“It’s just… If I tell you, you can’t make fun of me. You have to promise.”
His eyes narrow, but his hand goes to his chest and swipes a cross over his heart. “I would never make fun of you, baby. Never. Now tell me the truth.”
“Okay, well… Sometimes, when I’m near you, I make my panties wet. I don’t mean to, it just happens. I try to squeeze my legs together to stop it, but it just makes it worse.”
“Good girl,” he says, a muscle ticking under his left eye as relief floods through me that he isn’t angry. “How long has this been happening?”
I shrug, licking my lips. “I don’t know. A while. I don’t know how to stop it.”
