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“You want to know what it’s like to feel twice as many hands on you? Twice as many cocks begging for your attention? One here—” He moved faster in an out of my asshole. “—and another here.” He slid two fingers into my pussy.
I moaned. Illicit images played out like a slideshow across my mind. Four hands gliding over my hips and breasts, two mouths kissing and licking my nipples. Two cocks sliding in and out, using me, filling me to bursting. It was depraved and brutally comical, considering I had yet to have one man’s cock inside me, yet here I was greedily wishing for two.
My inner muscles clenched around his fingers, in front as well as behind. He was hard again. He hummed as I took his cock between my soapy hands. I needed this, needed his body and the reassurance of his desire for me. Especially after learning about his history with Kristin.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Please, fuck me, Daddy. My ass or my pussy, wherever you want. You don’t have to come inside me. Just, please…do it.”
He groaned into my ear, picking up the pace with his fingers. I grappled for something to hold he up, but the tile was too slick, so I used his shoulder. He withdrew from my pussy and pulled me against him, trapping his erection between us. We kissed, wet and sloppy. I could practically taste his desperation.
Grasping his shaft, I guided his cock between my legs. He rocked forward, gliding against me. This was it. He was finally going to fuck me.
The sigh that seeped from his chest had to have left him hollow. He slid out of my backside and angled his cock back against my belly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t.”
His rejection crushed me. He may as well have been standing on my chest.
“Why not?” I asked, my voice barely a squeak above the rushing water.
He cradled my face. “We don’t have time, sweetheart.”
Liar, I thought. We’d had three weeks, plus the rest of our lives, and at least two hours till dinner. We had all the time in the world. I stood there, deflated, as he kissed my forehead and detached the shower massager from its post on the wall. My skin humped with goosebumps as he rinsed the soap from me, then from himself.
I didn’t find the will to speak again until he’d finished toweling me off.
“If you like threesomes, then why do you get so jealous when other people flirt with me?”
“It’s different.” He wrapped the towel around my shoulders and then motioned for me to sit on the edge of the tub so he could comb my hair. “You aren’t someone else’s wife or girlfriend. You’re my daughter. I made you. That makes you mine.”
I didn’t want to be soothed by the gentle glide of the comb, but the rhythmic drag and swoosh had me drifting. I was his, completely, which was right where I wanted to be. I couldn’t understand this self-imposed restraint toward something he already owned.
“When people see us together,” he said, “they don’t see a couple. They see me and they see you. They watch you, like a piece of fucking performance art, or fruit ripening on the vine. I’m the vine in this scenario, in case that wasn’t clear.”
The comb snagged in my hair. He worked through the knot carefully, his touch as tender as his tone was strained.
“You can’t see their mouths watering, but I can,” he said. “I’ve watched their cocks perk up at the sight of you. And short of overplaying the role of the protective father figure, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
The air felt charged with our mutual frustration. I pulled the towel tighter around myself like a cocoon. After a long stretch of silence, he added, “There’s only one person I’d be willing to share you with, and that’s one more reason why he’s not coming tonight.”
He had to be talking about Maddox.
I left him to finish getting ready.
In the bedroom, I couldn’t stop myself from rereading the text message. I was curious about this old friend of my father’s whom I’d never heard of. The man my father deemed worthy enough to share his bed as well as his daughter. Part of me wanted to meet him if only to see for myself what made Maddox so special.
But, more than that, I wanted a chance to discover what Maddox knew.
It had been a while since I’d given thought to my father’s reasons for leaving me. Probably because he was so present, the past didn’t seem to matter. However, as deep as our connection ran, there was clearly something keeping him at arm’s length. Something he was determined to step over and around, rather than face. I was used to this kind of avoidance from my mother. That he would perpetuate it had me questioning if this thing between us had something to do with her.
If Maddox had known my father before I was born, then perhaps he’d met my mother. If they were as close as my father had said—close enough to be considered family—then it was possible that my father had confided in Maddox his reasons for abandoning me.
My father’s electric razor buzzed from the bathroom. He would be looking to get dressed soon. Quickly, I secreted his phone into the walk-in closet and thumbed a reply text to Kristin with the name of the restaurant and a time shortly after we were set to arrive. He would not be happy once he realized what I’d done, but it was a risk I had to take.
I tossed the phone on the bed and returned to the closet to finish getting ready. I had managed to convince my father to continue his work on the painting, regardless of whether he intended to show it. After a few sessions, he’d presented me with a debit card with my name on it and said, “Modeling for me is work. You deserve to be compensated.”
I went out and bought myself clothes. Mostly gauzy shirts and backless dresses, things I could wear to parties and gallery openings. I wanted to feel his skin against mine as he led me through crowded rooms.
Tonight, it was paramount that I look sexy and grown-up. Kristin would be there, and so would Maddox. I needed to make an impression—preferably a large one in the vicinity of Maddox’s trousers. I opted for a slinky, loose-fitted violet dress with an asymmetrical hem. Black lace-trimmed panties, no bra.
