This is what I want for the rest of my life. I want to come home to Cammie, hear her puttering around, see her content and at home.
If I’m honest, not seeing her every day was the hardest part of the divorce. She was always like a sweet hit of sunshine, and when my marriage ended, the clouds came. I resigned myself to the dreariness, not wanting to admit what I’d felt for my stepdaughter.
I lean against the doorway and watch her. She looks like she belongs here, with me, in my kitchen. She looks like home.
She rises onto her tiptoes, reaching for something on a high shelf, and the shirt rides up, just enough to show me that she’s naked under there. No panties. Black Sharpie still adorning her soft skin.
Fucking hell, she makes me feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m nearly fifty, and I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. Like I’m a sweater and she could unravel me just by pulling on one loose thread.
A wave of possession crashes into me, as fierce and consuming as a storm. I feel like a caveman. I want to grab her, bend her over the counter, and bury myself inside her until she screams my name.
She glances over her shoulder at me, and I wonder how long she’s been letting me stare. She grins and turns to face me, fingers playing with the hem of the shirt, teasing it upward and giving me another glimpse of her claimed pussy.
Daddy’s girl
A part of me still can’t believe I wrote that on her, but I’m shameless in my need to claim her. To possess her and keep her.
“You’re home early,” she says, letting the shirt fall back down with a playful glint in her eyes. I push off the doorway and walk slowly towards her.
The air around us seems to thicken and pulse as I close the distance between us. My heartbeat hammers in my ears, and my skin feels too tight. When I stop in front of her, I lean down and give her a sweet, almost chaste kiss on the lips.
“I know. I wanted to be at home with you.”
Her pretty eyes go all warm and melty, and I can’t stop staring at her. The sight of her in my T-shirt is twisting me up inside, and the way her nipples are hard and poking against the cotton has my mouth watering. As I stare, she shifts, rubbing her thighs together, like she’s already desperate for whatever I’m about to do to her.
I kiss her again, slower and deeper this time, letting my tongue taste and explore. Everything we’re doing should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.
It feels like the only right thing I’ve ever done.
When we break apart, I reach for the hem of her shirt, the backs of my fingers brushing against the impossibly soft skin of her thighs as I lift it. My cock throbs at the sight of the black ink, stark against her pale skin.
“You didn’t wash it off,” I say, staring at where I marked her.
She blushes and dips her head. “You told me not to.”
Fuck me, she’s such a natural submissive that she does what I ask without question. I groan, the sound coming from deep in my chest as my control starts to slip. “Such a good girl for me,” I say. I drag the shirt all the way up, baring her mouthwatering tits, and pull the shirt off over her head. For a moment, I’m mesmerized at the sight of her huge tits, topped with perfect pink nipples, and I cup them, pushing them together, thumbs flicking over them. She gasps softly and arches her back, pushing into my touch. “Good girls get rewarded.”
I spin her around before she can say anything, bending her over the counter. She gasps as her nipples hit the cold marble, and I fall to my knees behind her, pushing her thighs apart with a firm grip. I spread her open with my fingers, exposing her glistening, swollen pussy. She’s already wet, her pretty clit poking out of its hood. I run my fingers up and down her slit,spreading her arousal over her lips, her clit, her adorable little asshole.
“Have you been this wet all day?” I ask, rubbing her swelling clit in little circles.
“Uh huh,” she moans, pressing her hips back. “You make me feel like this desperate girl I don’t even recognize.”
Her words go straight to my cock. I’m twisted for loving how addicted she is to me already. I lean in and take a long drag of her pussy. She smells sweet and citrusy.
She smells like mine.
“When I lived here,” she says breathlessly as I trace the tip of my tongue over her outer lips, “I used to go to my room and hump my pillow, pretending it was you.”
Her words are like a kick in the gut. Truly, I was oblivious to her feelings for me when I was married to Sylvie.
What would I have done had I known about them? I’m not a cheater, never have been, never will be, but would I have been able to stay away from Camryn?
I don’t know.
“I had no idea you were such a horny thing,” I say, spreading her open with my thumbs so I can see every inch of her.
“For you? Always.”
