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“Right there, JP.”
So, tonight is going to be like that then. Whenever she calls me JP it’s usually only a few more minutes until she starts calling me Daddy.
“Oh, is my princess feeling needier than usual?”
She nods and then she does something that shocks me. She pulls my fingers out of her and spins around so that she’s kneeling between my legs. She’s still holding my hand that was just inside of her. She looks at my fingers that are wet with her juices before pushing them toward my mouth. I take a second to inhale her scent, my cock going to granite in the memory of her. I suck them eagerly and my senses are reminded of her tangy, sweet flavor that used to be my favorite thing to have on my tongue. She pulls her fingers from my mouth and a smile so sweet and sexy crosses her face that for a moment, I’m lost in her smile and those eyes.
“You know what I think about… often?” she asks me and I shift, trying to relieve some tension in my dick because I already know it’s going to be something to make me even harder.
“That first night…” She trails off. “Dry humping on my parents’ couch while they were asleep upstairs.”
“You mean the night you seduced me?” I chuckle, because that’s exactly what happened. The night I became absolutely powerless against Whitney Monroe.
Five Years Ago:
It had been a month since I’d been back in the States and I was settling back into my old life. Which basically consisted of the hospital and then Kevin and Michelle’s and sporadic visits to see my mother. Then one night, I’d drank a little too much with Kevin after a Lakers playoff game went into double overtime so I planned to stay the night. I’ve stayed over so frequently that the “guest room” is basically just my room that “guests” use when I’m not there. I’d fallen asleep on the couch my guess when the post-game show was on because when I wake up, the television is on but most of the lights are out and there’s a bottle of water in front of me.
Thank you, Michelle.I think to myself.
I briefly wonder what woke me up when I hear sounds coming from the kitchen. I make my way there, not sure who I’m expecting and I groan inwardly when I see Whitney standing on her tiptoes to grab something from the top of the cabinet in a very short mini skirt. I try to back my way out of the room so as to not engage with her at two o’clock in the morning when she’s obviously a little under the influence of something. As much as I want to scold her and ask her how she made it home, and help her get whatever she’s trying to reach, I don’t want to interact with her because things between her and I are changing and I don’t fucking like it.
Well, I don’t hate it if I’m being honest, but it’s wrong. So, fucking wrong. This is Whitney. My goddaughter.
She spins around and I’m granted a view of her front, which is a low-cut shirt that has her delicious tits that I’ve thought about more than a few times over the past few weeks on display. Her hair falls around her shoulders in messy waves, her lips are pouty and full and coated in something fire engine red but it’s her eyes that get me. They’re large and kind of hazy but they’re staring at me like I hold all of the answers to life’s questions.
“JP!” She squeals, but not at a high enough volume to wake anyone in the house. She runs around the island and into my arms before I have a chance to reply. “I didn’t know you were here!”
“Yeah…” I cough, trying to stifle the groan sitting in the back of my throat caused by Whitney pressed up against me squirming around. “The Lakers game ran late and I had too many beers. I was going to take an Uber but I fell asleep and I just woke up to your entrance I guess.” I rub the heel of my palm into my eyes to try and chase the rest of the sleep away.
“Sorry!” she says as she pulls out of my arms and hops up on the island in front of me and begins to swing her legs. I’m hyper aware that she’s in a skirt so I’m trying my best to avoid looking down, while also trying to avoid her tits. God, I’m in hell.
“And where have you been anyway? Isn’t your curfew at midnight?” I say, looking at my watch that reads just after two in the morning.
“Technically it’s one now that I’m out of high school, but shhh.” She puts her finger to her lips. “I’m literally going to college in two months, I don’t think my parents care that I’m down the street at my friend’s house.”
“They will if you’re drunk.”
Her eyes widen before she puts a hand over her mouth. “Who says I’m drunk?”
“Your face, for one. Your voice for two.” I cross my hands over my chest and give her a fake scolding look.
Her mouth drops open before she presses her hands to my cheeks. “They won’t know that I’m drunk, unless you tell them. And you won’t tell them, right?” She puts both hands under her chin and cocks her head to the side, batting her eyelashes at me. “JPEEEE, please.”
“I won’t but just… you’re always careful right? No driving? Not in the car with anyone that’s been drinking? No drugs?”
“Definitely not the first two things but…” she cups her hands around her mouth and whispers, “I do smoke weed sometimes.”
I let out a breath. “I don’t like that you’re doing that.”
“But…” She pouts. “It’s fun…” She pauses. “And it’s legal now! I’m eighteen, JP, relax.”
Yes, weed was legal in California for recreational use but the idea of Whitney doing any type of drug has my blood boiling. “I will certainly not relax. It can be dangerous and you’re barely legal.” My voice is stern and I hope she gets the message that I’m not fucking around about this.
“Barely legal is still legal,” she responds instantly and I know I’m not imagining the look she’s giving me. She looks up at me through her lashes and a sexy smirk crosses her face. It’s obvious what she’s doing and while in some circumstances it might be obnoxious, in this moment, it’s sexy as fuck.
“Whitney…” I trail off. “What’s going on with…” I point back and forth between us. “This.”
“What do you mean?” she says innocently and I give her a look.
