I want to beg him to take the one thing I’ve held onto, and I know he can’t.
It’s wrong.
So, I have a plan. My scholarship has been approved, and I can move away to the city. I can meet someone else, a man who’s older, someone who can replace the father in my life, but also offer me a relationship. Something I can’t get at home.
When I step out of the shower moments later, I hear the shuffle. I listen to the footfalls of Dad as he makes his way to the bedroom. I wish I had the courage to walk in there and beg him to take my virginity.
I’m sick.
It’s okay, I’m leaving soon, and he’ll be free of my stupidity.
What would he do when I am no longer around?
Would he think of me?
Or would he replace me with someone who isn’t worthy of his love?
I don’t know the answers to those questions. But what I do know, is that the moment he’s alone, I’ll make sure he recalls every moment we’ve ever had.
I’ll give him glimpses of what he’s missing. Perhaps it will be enough to taunt him. It may be enough for him not to find a replacement for me. Nobody could ever take his place, because my heart and mind, and my body, they all need him. Just his tender touch with a hint of rough.
Those calloused fingers with the harsh grip of a man, not a boy. Back in my bedroom, I get dressed, pulling on my sleep shorts, and a thin top that hugs my slight curves.
My door is cracked a few inches, and I know if he walks past, he’ll see me. He’ll notice me sitting at my desk, my feet curled under my butt, and I know he’ll watch for a while before he heads to bed.
Even though I should get some sleep, I’m wired. Tomorrow is my final exam. Not long now and I’ll graduate. Leaving home is something I have to do, not something I want to do. Only because I know he’ll be alone.
Sighing, I push off the chair and notice the shadow at the threshold of my bedroom. With a smile, I scoot into bed and allow the sheet to drape itself over my thighs. Flicking the light switch, I close my eyes and dreams of him steal me.
Chapter 2
Vincent
She’s so beautiful. So wrong for me, but so perfect. I make my way through the house and enter my bedroom. My erection is pressing against the material of my boxers, but I don’t expose myself. The moment I touch my dick, I’ll come all over my hand.
She makes me feel things I shouldn’t. With every year that passes, I care for her, I love her, but I can’t deny my body reacting to her in more ways than I should allow. I notice her curves, those slight hips that I’m so tempted to grip and hold steady.
Even seeing her in a bikini, has my libido acting like a fucking teenager. How am I hard for her? She’s not meant for me in that way, but my brain and body aren’t corresponding. The only part of her that’s still hidden from me is the beauty between her thighs, that my mouth waters to see.
A woman.
She’s turned into a woman before my very eyes, and I can’t stop thinking about how she tastes, how she feels. My mind is awash with her and nobody else. Even the guys have asked if I’m whipped, but they know I’m not dating, so how the fuck do I admit my feelings.
Many lonely nights I’ve found myself alone in the office, I’ve masturbated thinking about her beautiful body every single day.
Guilt weighs on me. I thought I was sick, that I was a terrible father, but when she flirted with me, confusion settled like a lead weight in my gut.
I knew she was watching. I don’t blame her because I watch her too. It’s wrong on so many levels, but I can’t help myself. All I want to do is taste her sweetness. It’s been years since her mother died, and I haven’t been interested in other women. Perhaps because Rylee reminds me so much of her mother.
I shouldn’t ache for her, but I do.
Most nights I’m out at the club, at a bar, inside another woman because it’s all I can do to keep myself from going to her and stealing a kiss. From feeling her body against mine. Like a drug, she’s been racing through my veins since I first noticed her womanly curves.
As much as I fight it, my restraint is a fine line, taut and ready to snap. I’ve sat back and watched her go on dates. I’ve even offered advice. And even though I know she’s still a virgin because I’ve threatened all the boys that she’s brought home, I still can’t stop my mind from wandering to a dark place.
The darkest corner of my mind where I keep the fantasy of being her first, of tasting the sweet juices that I am sure soak her panties when her fingers dip into her tight heat. That same corner holds my desire and need in a locked box, where the curve of her ass, the slope of her lower back, the slenderness of her neck beckon me.
When I have a blonde whore bent over in front of me, it’s her face I see when I fill a rubber. It’s her pouty lips that I imagine wrapped around my dick, swallowing her Daddy deep into her pretty, young throat.