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S&S Barroom Etiquette and Poolside Lessons.
"I do!" she pouts. "You told me it didn't matter who the guy was. 'Go get him,' you said. Well, I want you, John McArthur."
My full name on her lips is torture to me. Both achingly sad because it takes her out of the role of my daughter, and achingly torturous on my throbbing cock. It wants her. And that means I want her, and that's something that can't happen. "No."
"Then I'll go find Seth!" She spits angrily. She jumps up from the bed and makes her way toward the door.
"Like hell you will," I growl, blocking her. The thought of that little shit sliding right back into my place in the future kills me.
"Let me by!" she tries to nudge past me but I hold her back. That needy sound escapes her again.
This time I pull her close, holding on to her, refusing to let her go. We stare at each other while she breathes harshly. Her eyes are wide.
"Daddy," she begs. "Please."
"What do you want?" The rough words rumble from my chest.
"I want you. I've always wanted you."
That thought runs me back through recent years and snags on memories of her clinging a bit too close, or climbing into my lap when she was much too old for it, or taking deep whiffs off my neck when we hugged. Or watching me when I emerged from the pool in my bathing suit.
She wants me. It's not just some momentary urge. She's wanted me for a long time.
What was she thinking while she watched? Was she imagining me naked? Imagining my fat cock hardening? Imagining taking it in her hands? Imagining me stuffing it inside her?
"So take me," she demands, dark and thick. "Or I'll have Seth take me."
The beast growls and paces around the daddy in me, cornering him, making him cower. "You're telling me to fuck you?" My cock pulses in my pants. My gut churns.
"Yes," she whimpers, sagging against me. "Fuck me."
The nasty word on her sweet tongue makes my cock throb harder. "I'm not gentle," I find myself saying. "I'm a real fucking prick when it comes to sex, Danielle. Selfish and rough."
She pulls in a long, shaking breath. "I don't care."
"I won't be nice."
She shivers against me and whispers, "You can do whatever you want to me."
The air rushes in my ears, heating my head. No one has ever told me that before. And there are so many things I could never get her mother to do for me.
I push her back on the bed and climb over her while she makes a whimper of shock and delight. Deja vu returns. But how could this be familiar? Maybe because she looks like her mother?
The father in me returns with a jolt, and my brain recoils from what I almost let myself do. I rise to my knees above her, sickness spreading from my throat to my balls. "Fuck. Why are you doing this? You're my baby! No one should touch you this way, Danielle, least of all me."
"You can't keep me on a shelf! If you want to keep me for yourself, you have to take me." She squirms. "All or nothing, Daddy."
Her words make so much sense to me. And the nothing she's talking about sinks my heart. "Nothing?" I repeat, gutterally, painfully.
The same pain flashes through her eyes before she undulates beneath me. "Or everything. Please," she whines. "Everything."
The father falls, sending a last wave of guilt through me before the beast roars. This body. This soft, supple, writhing body. My hands run over Danielle's waist and slide up over her tits. Incredibly soft as she arches her back and shoves them into my hands.
I moan and lean down to bite the soft flesh through her shirt.
She squeaks, excited but shocked.
"I'm gonna fuck you," I growl, barely aware that I'm speaking. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."
"Yes..." she moans. "Please!"
"You're gonna regret this, Danielle. You're gonna hate me."
"No, never!" she squirms more, saying whatever she thinks I want to hear. Whatever will keep me touching her.
The only way I can do this is hard.