Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
“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 you ever presume to tell me what I do or don’t want to hear. Daddy wants to know everything, 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.”
He growls. “You don’t fucking stop it. You never fucking stop it.”
“Is it bad? Are you disappointed?”
“No, baby. It’s not bad. Daddy isn’t disappointed.” He steps closer, sending my heart speeding as he braces one arm on the wall above me. Nowhere to run, no way to hide. “Is that all? You get wet?”
“Well… No… I…” How do I tell him? I look up and see pain cross his features. “Sometimes I touch myself when I’m in bed. I put my fingers between my legs and hug my frog really tight to keep from making too much noise, and then I rub and rub like I’m trying to get somewhere, but I don’t know where, and it never feels better.”
Shameful wetness streams out of me between my legs and threatens to squeeze from the corners of my eyes as I the microphone dangles forgotten at my side.
This is so embarrassing.
“And when you do all that, what do you think about? Or who do you think about?”
I suck in a shaking breath, gnawing on the inside of my lip before he cocks an eyebrow, and I know I have to tell the truth.
“You…” The answer is barely above a whisper, and I immediately want to take it back.
Except the look on his face isn’t anger. It isn’t disappointment. It isn’t even mockery.
It’s something I haven’t seen before. Like he’s holding something back, and it’s powerful. I glance down and… Oh, my God. I’ve never seen the front of his jeans bulging like that before.
Like he’s growing a dang baseball bat down there.
Now, that looks painful.
“Baby,” he growls. “Eyes back on mine. You think about me?”
I turn my face back up and nod. “Uh-huh. But that’s not the worst part.”
“What’s the worst part, baby? Be honest.” His hand moves to my hair, stroking, making me feel special and safe. Safe enough to tell the truth.
“It’s just… You know the parts down there? The ones I touch?”
“Your pussy. Your little clit. Your lips.”
I nod. “Yes, those… They… I don’t think they’re like other girls.”
I draw a deep breath as he pushes forward further, his body pressing into me, and his cock grinds into my stomach. It’s harder than I imagined, like that baseball bat I thought he might be growing, and I raise my hand, the forgotten microphone coming up with it.
I’ve noticed his cock before, but never like this, and usually he turns away, or when we’re at the dining room table, he’ll cover his lap with a napkin.
I don’t want him to do that. I want him to show me, and let me touch it, let me lick it, let me feel it everywhere.
“Not like other girls, huh?” he asks, the words echoing loud through the speakers, and I push my fingers against my lips to muffle the little whine that seeps from my throat. “Well, I think you need to let Daddy see, then he can tell you if there’s anything to worry about.”