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Her gaze is unfocused. “Um, later?”
“That’s not very specific.” My fingers tease the lace concealing her arousal.
“I could come by on your lunch break.”
“Yeah, you’ll come all right.” I tap above her clit. When her jaw unhinges to hang slack, I bump her chin. “Close your mouth or I’ll give you something to gag on, good girl.”
She snaps her lips shut with a smothered moan. “Good grief, you’re addictive. My body gets a buzz off you. I’d ride you straight to Pound Town right now if—”
“I’m baaaaaack!” Syd reappears as if she never left.
I lurch upright against the headboard, forcing images of Blippi and Baby Shark into my lust-clouded brain. That strategy deflates my cock faster than an ice bath. Just thinking of the latter snuffs out any lingering heat. A shudder racks my limbs at the imaginary torture.
Meanwhile, Harper still appears under the influence. She’s palming her forehead as if that will erase the visual I stamped there. It’s a wasted effort, if I have any stakes in the game.
My daughter studies her dazed expression. “What’s wrong, Harpy?”
“Uh, nothing. Just warm.” She fans her face.
Syd races to her side of the bed. “Get out from under the covers.”
Harper gasps when my little girl rips the blankets away. “Thanks, superstar. That’s much better.”
She beams under the praise. “I’m a super good helper.”
“And very stylish. I love your outfit.” Harper appraises the clashing patterns as if mixing stripes, polka dots, and leopard is the latest trend.
“I’m really colorful.” Sydney spins to give us the full picture.
“Just like your personality,” Harper croons.
“Daddy just needs to fix my hair and I’ll be ready.” She produces an elastic band from thin air.
I stand and stretch, joints popping with the motions. My stride is lazy while I step into the adjoining bathroom. Sydney is hot on my heels, getting into position at the mirror.
“What would you like today, Boop?” My mind skitters through the limited options in preparation.
“A bun,” she instructs.
“Excellent choice.” I begin gathering her dark strands into my fist.
Harper hovers in the doorway. “Is it wacky hair day at school?”
Syd’s nose wrinkles. “No, that was last week.”
The teasing critic giggles. “Do you want a brush or comb?”
I rake over the bumps in a weak attempt to smooth my progress. “Nah, that just prolongs the inevitable.”
“It’s true,” Syd agrees. “Daddy has a system.”
“I can see that,” Harper laughs again.
“My gracious child accepts my faults. Pigtails and twists are hard to grasp. Don’t even get me started on braids.” I struggle to tighten the tie while maintaining my grip. “Darn fingers are too big.”
“You try your best. That’s what matters.” Her grin stretches wider with pride.
I didn’t think my spirits could lift much higher this morning, but she just proved me wrong. Warmth spreads through me at a rate that’s almost staggering. A favorable sigh from our rapt audience pulls my attention to the right. Harper is using the wall for moral support. Her unwavering focus demands attention as I finish the task at hand. If she’s not careful, neither of us will arrive at work on time.
