Page 11 of Dirty Sweet Daddy

He swallows hard but nods once, those blue-gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

"I've wanted you forever," I say, the words rushing out like I've been holding them back for years—because I have. "Since I was sixteen and you were the only one who remembered my birthday. Since you taught me to drive when Dad was too busy. Since you called me at school just to check if I was okay." I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "I know you think this is wrong. That I'm too young, that I'm confused, that it's just proximity or grief or whatever excuses you've been telling yourself."

His throat works as he swallows, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"But I'm not confused. I don't want anyone else. I never have." I step closer, closing the distance between us. "I'm nineteen. I'm an adult. And I know exactly what I want."

"Kate," he says, voice strained. "You don't understand what you're asking for."

"Then explain it to me," I challenge. "Tell me why this is so wrong. Why you keep fighting it when we both know you want me too."

"Because I'm—fuck, Kate, I'm forty-two years old. I've done things, seen things..." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Your father trusted me to protect you."

"And you are," I insist, reaching up to cup his face between my palms. His stubble is rough against my skin. "You make me feel safe. You always have."

He doesn't pull away from my touch, which I count as another small victory.

"But I don't want to be just safe with you, Lucas." I stroke my thumb across his cheekbone, feeling him tremble beneath my touch. "I want everything. I want you to look at me the way you do when you think I don't notice. I want your hands on me. I want⁠—"

I rise on my tiptoes, bringing my face closer to his. "I want you, Daddy," I whisper, deliberate and clear.

Something breaks in his expression—a dam crumbling under too much pressure. His pupils dilate, nearly eclipsing the blue-gray of his irises. His breathing turns ragged.

"Kate," he warns, one last attempt at resistance.

But I'm done waiting. Done playing games. I press my lips to his, soft and tentative at first—a question, an invitation.

For a heartbeat, he's perfectly still, and fear flashes through me that I've misread everything, that I’m making a tremendous fool of myself. Then his hands are in my hair, big and warm, tilting my head back as he takes control of the kiss. His mouth slants over mine, no longer gentle, no longer hesitant. He kisses me like a starving man at a feast, like he's been holding back for years and can't contain himself anymore. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and I open for him willingly, eagerly.

The taste of him—whiskey and mint and pure male need—makes me whimper against his mouth. His hands tighten in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wants it, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy with want.

"Lucas," I gasp when he finally lets me breathe, my hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Say it again," he growls, voice lower than I've ever heard it, vibrating through my entire body. "Say what you called me before."

My heart races, understanding exactly what he needs. "Daddy," I whisper, watching his eyes darken further. "Please."

With a sound like a wounded animal, Lucas lifts me as if I weigh nothing, spinning us around and pressing me against the nearest wall. His body pins me there, hard and unyielding, his erection a thick ridge against my stomach through our clothes.

"Do you have any idea," he rasps, mouth moving to my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, "what that word does to me when you say it?"

"Yes," I breathe, tilting my head to give him better access. "That's why I say it."

He chuckles against my skin, the sound sending shivers down my spine. His hands move to my thighs, pushing up the hem of my dress, pausing when he discovers my lack of underwear.

"Jesus Christ, Kate," he groans, fingers digging into the bare flesh of my ass. "You're going to kill me."

I wrap my legs around his waist, aligning our bodies perfectly so his cock presses against my core. Even through the denim of his jeans, I can feel how big he is, how hard. The thought of having him inside me—stretching me, filling me—makes me clench with need.

"I need you," I tell him, rocking against his hardness. "I've needed you for so long."

“Can’t fight it anymore,” he murmurs against my lips. “Don’t want to, baby.”

His mouth captures mine again, hot and demanding. One hand slides between us, up my inner thigh, until his fingers brush against my center.

When he finds me soaking wet, he groans into my mouth, “So wet for Daddy.”

The word sends another rush of heat between my thighs. "Only for you," I promise. "Always for you."