Page 78 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

She looks up with her mouth full and those massive brown eyes, and I almost come on the spot. My stomach muscles clench, my balls tighten.

I tighten my grip in her hair. "Slower. Take your time. No rush. You'll be doing this a lot from now on."

She slows. She hollows her cheeks on the upstroke, and my hips jerk forward as I hear myself make a sound I've never made in my life.

"Just like that." My brain is barely functional. "Fuck, little bird. Just like that. Keep going up and down, up and down."

She takes me deeper. Holds. Gags slightly and pulls back, eyes watering, and does it again because she wants to please her Daddy.

“You’re such a big girl. Doing all these grown up things with Daddy.”

I try to pull her off, because I want this moment to go on and fucking on. But she grabs my hip, digs her nails into the muscle, and shakes her head with my cock still in her mouth. The refusal sends a bolt of heat straight through my spine.

She takes me to the back of her throat, and I come with a sound that shakes the fucking windows.

The orgasm tears itself from somewhere deep in my soul, my hand fisted in her hair while I pulse against her tongue, and she swallows around me, swallows again, her throat working, her nails still anchored in my hip like she's afraid I'll pull away before she's gotten everything she came for.

She finally pulls back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Maybe that's a good way to say good morning, too, Daddy." She pokes her tongue out at me.

She settles back in her chair, then picks up her fork and takes a bite of eggs like she didn't just rearrange my entire understanding of who's in charge here.

"You're staring again," she says.

Yeah. I am. And I'm starting to think I'm the one who's in trouble.

Chapter 6

Her phone rings at seven Sunday morning and it sounds like the warning bell I knew would come sooner or later.

It’s been days of fucking bliss. Fucking, sucking, working, playing, sleeping, eating, but I knew this moment would come. The world is coming for what we have, but I’m fucking ready.

Wren is facedown in my bed, bare except for a little pink tank top that says ‘Brat’ across her tits that I bought her out shopping the other day. It’s bunched at her ribs. Dark hair wrecked against my pillow, bangs smashed sideways. The kind of imperfect composition I'd kill to shoot but can’t tear my eyes from long enough to get my camera.

I've been awake for an hour. Hard since I opened my eyes. Hard the way I've been hard for her since I got the first lick of her pussy.

She kicked the covers off sometime around four and I've had an unobstructed view of her bare ass.

I want to spread her open right now, drag my tongue through her while she's still half-asleep, feel the exact moment her body registers what's happening before her brain catches up.

Christ. I'm an old fucking man and I'm lying here throbbing like a teenager because this girl breathes in her sleep and her lips part and all I can think about is sliding my cock between them.

I want her to know me as her father, her protector, and the man that teaches her what it means to be a perfect, good, dirty girl for me and me only.

Wren jerks awake. Goes white. She's already reaching.

"Don't answer it."

She does with a bleary, sex sated voice. Of course she does. "Mom?"

Linda's voice seeps through into my happiness stabbing it with a rusty blade.

Wren sits up, crossing her legs, swiping hair from her eyes, shoulders slumped. "What do you mean, Dylan called you?"

I only get Wren's half, but I don't need the rest. I've spent enough years inside Linda's darkroom to reconstruct the negative from memory. Dylan called. Played wounded.

"He cheated on me. I told you that in my text."