Page 95 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

How is this happening?

He holds the slick metal to my throat as my mind spins, tip pressing the soft skin just beneath my jaw.

"Didn't think I'd let you get away, did you?" He tilts his head, the mask grinning at me. "Nowhere to go out here. Nobody to hear you. Just you and me and all this dark."

I should be terrified, maybe this man…he ambushed Rhett on his down the drive, stole his knife.

But when his free hand slides between my thighs — rough, mud-slick fingers pushing against bare flesh the sound that leaves me isn't just fear.

It's filthy and desperate and it comes from somewhere I can't control.

He laughs. Low and pleased and muffled but deep in my marrow, I know.

"You're sick," I hiss, my whole world unraveling. Everything I've known up until now in my life, starts to crumble around my mud-covered feet.

He leans in until the skull's grin is inches from my face. "That makes two of us." His fingers push harder, sliding through my feminine places, and my hips move against his intrusion as much as I battle the urge, I lose.

I have to be sure. I shove my hand up between us, fingers hooking under the jaw of the mask and ripping it sideways.

The buckle snaps and it clatters to the floor as the burning in my eyes returns.

Lightning cracks at the same moment his face is bared and the world stops turning.

No. No, no nonono, not him.

I know those eyes. I know that jaw, that hard mouth, those sun-creased lines carved deep around eyes the color of a winter sky.

I know that hair, damp now and falling across his forehead.

He was looking at me just like he is now across my dinner table a few hours ago. While my father sat beside him.

My mouth opens. My chest fills. His fingers between my thighs and I'm still wet and I'm still pressed against this door by a man who just chased me through a storm.

"Pawpaw?"

His expression doesn't change. He doesn't soften, doesn't pull his hand away from my pussy. He holds my gaze with those cold,steady eyes and pushes his fingers into my opening. Two thick, rough fingers enter me with no warning and my head falls back against the door.

"That's right, little bunny." His voice is all Pawpaw now. No mask to muffle it. Just that low, raw scrape I've heard say grace over supper and tell my father how proud he is to be part of our family. "And you're soaking wet for me. So let's see how much worse I can make you feel about how good this is going to get."

Chapter 4

Billie

His fingers are inside me. His face is bare. And I can't stop staring at it because it's the same face that kissed the top of my head on my porch tonight, the same face that smiled across my dinner table while my dad talked about fence posts.

The same face that belongs to the man my family calls Pawpaw.

"You can't do this," I whisper, even as my hips roll against his hand. Even as my pussy clenches around his thick fingers like it's trying to keep him there. "You're — we're —"

"Say it." He curls his fingers inside me and I gasp. "Tell me who I am."

I shake my head. If I say it, it's real. If I name what this is — his fingers deep in his granddaughter's cunt, my body pinned to the door by a man who played Santa on Christmas. Who taught me how to whittle sticks and scared Billy Tindale half to death by waiting in the backseat of his shitty Buick with one of his bowie knives after he kept snapping my bra sitting behind me in Algebra.

If I say his name, all those good and pure memories disappear and I can't pretend this is a stranger in a mask.

He pulls his fingers out and I involuntarily whimper at the loss. He holds them up between us glistening from my own lusty betrayal and not the rain with an expression as calm as stone.

"You won't say it, but your little pussy already did." He brings my arousal to my mouth and drags them over my lips, painting me with my own flavor. "Now open up and taste how much you want your Pawpaw."