Page 17 of Deviant

“The only thing that matters is the evidence,” Horatio says, and I roll my eyes. Yea, and all evidence points to me being attracted to my dad. Love that for me.

The scene plays out in front of me, but I don’t really see it. My thoughts are all scattered, replaying what I saw tonight and what I felt. Both before and after.

Pushing my thighs together, I lean forward to put the carton down on the coffee table. I was so turned on; I still am, if I’m being honest.

I feel my skin flush as I recall myself being swept up in his arms again and thrown over his shoulder. No qualms about lifting me like a rag doll in front of an entire crowd. God, I’ve never felt like that before.

Pulling the lapels of the coat up, I let the cologne engulf me, and it’s almost like I’m transported back to his office. His eyes are tracing over me, and he doesn’t realize I notice. His gaze lingers on my chest, and I know he sees the swell spilling out and how my nipples are just barely contained.

The quick lick of his lips told me for one moment he was looking at me like I was a piece of cheesecake. His favorite dessert. He didn’t see October Davis. He only saw someone he wanted to devour.

I’ve never seen a man look at me like that, and if a man can’t look at me like he did, then I don’t want him.

I let myself sink into my fantasies, and I picture this just like one of the dirty books I read. I let my imagination go wild. My eyes flutter and I drag one hand down my body, forcing the coat open until I reach the juncture of my thighs. I unfold my leg out from under me and spread them wide, leaving me exposed to the cool air of the room.

My other hand is pushing the top of the material of my dress down along with the lacy half-cup bra until my tits spill out and the straps are digging into me, giving me a bite of pain.

Cupping one large, round breast in my hand, I roll my nipple between my thumb and forefinger until it hardens further, and then I pinch it. The sharp sensation shoots right from my chest to my clit, and I moan, “Fuck.”

I trace the seam of my matching panties and find them soaked through. I pull the wet fabric away from my body and move them to the side before my fingertips start caressing my slit. I tug on my lips, timing pinches with the ones I’m still giving my nipple, and the pain has me floating.

I keep my eyes closed, and it’s like I can see a crop of dark hair with streaks of gray kneeling before me, playing my body like an instrument.

Emerald green eyes look up at me through long, black lashes, and a bright pink tongue licks me from my crack to my clit before sucking the hard nub into his mouth.

I let it play out like a movie as I let two fingers slide between my folds and slip them into my pussy, slowly thrusting in and out, letting my body warm up.

I pick up the pace and listen to the lasciviousness of my body as my wetness is exposed, while the heel of my palm smacks against my pelvis with force. I’m chasing my orgasm, and I no longer care about any sense of propriety.

“Fuck me, Daddy. I want to feel your big dick in me. Make it hurt. I want you to hurt me so good,” I moan out, picturing my dad grinning up at me, mouth slick with my juices before he fists his hard cock and enters me in one solid thrust.

As soon as the picture crosses my mind, I feel my body seize up and my orgasm washes over me and out of me as my body forces my fingers out of my pussy, and I squirt. I glance at the mess I made all over myself and the couch and grimace at the sheer fact that I'm rocking solo, which means clean-up is all on me.

I can’t even get a helping hand in more ways than one.

Utterly spent, I sag against the soft material of the couch with my legs still splayed and my tits on display. I’m trying to catch my breath, and I don’t want to open my eyes and come back to reality.

My phone keeps buzzing over and over until I finally get fed up enough to grab it and break the alternate reality I just experienced.

I see one message from Justina and multiple from my dad, along with a few phone calls.

Me: I’m fine and yes, I’m home. We both know you already knew that, though. I don’t feel like talking to you right now.

Old Man Davis: Be mad all you want, O. Don’t fucking ignore my texts and calls again.

I’m an adult. He needs to chill the hell out if I don’t respond in the two-point-five seconds he thinks I should.

Old Man Davis: I know you saw this message and you’re ignoring me. Grow up, October. Love you and goodnight.

Sighing, I know I’m about to text him back because even when I’m pissed at him, he’s my dad, and I’m never not gonna tell him.

Me: Love you too, but you’re still a dick. Goodnight.

I shoot him a kiss emoji and then turn off my phone for the night and throw it onto the cushion next to me.

It’s only then that I realize the ice cream is still on the table.

The ice cream is now covered in me.

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