Burying His Desires (Taboo Erotica) (2 page)

Chapter 4

I
peeled myself out of the ruined dress and threw it in the trash, then slunk back to my room to shower. Once I had, the truth seemed clear. I had to forgive him and hope he’d forgive me, too. We could move on if we did that. We were still a family, even if it was only just the two of us. I didn’t want to lose that.

I donned the least attractive pajamas I owned—a simple tank top and sweat pants—and went to find him.

He sat slumped over his desk, his bare, muscular shoulders shaking with sobs. A tumbler of amber liquid rested by his hand, a half-full bottle next to it.

I walked in cautiously. “Michael, it’s okay. We’re okay.” I reached out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch or draw away, I slid my palm along his shoulder blades, stroking to comfort him.

After a moment his breathing evened and he shuddered out a deep sigh. Without looking at me he hooked one arm around my waist and pulled me to him, shifting his bowed head so that his cheek rested against my belly. I threaded my fingers through his hair, just hoping to comfort him somehow. I was too bewildered by his grief to acknowledge my own anymore.

He swiveled his chair and wrapped both arms tight around me, clinging and pulling me against him. I went, finding my own comfort in his closeness. We held each other like that, with his face flush against my stomach and my arms wrapped around his shoulders, stroking gently. The smell of the whiskey he’d drunk wafted hotly to my nostrils. There was still a shot of it left in his glass and I reached for it and tossed it back, hoping it would at least give me more courage.

“It’s okay,” I said again.

He murmured something unintelligible into my navel that might have been my name. The movement of his head caused my top to ruck up an inch. His hot breath hit my bare skin and I tensed, unprepared for the spike of pleasure that tiny sensation sent through me.

Michael seemed to grow very still for a moment, then his large hands splayed flat against my back slid down while he turned his face into me. His lips brushed against the bare skin below my navel and I shivered but didn’t move away. I closed my eyes, my fingers clutching tighter at the nape of his neck, just waiting to see what he would do. I should stop him, but oh God, I didn’t want to.

The hands at my back found the hem of my shirt and pushed it higher. His lips slid up my stomach in its wake, tongue darting out to taste at intervals. He didn’t open his eyes once, but kept exploring by touch. His hands shifted to the front and pulled my tank top off over my head, then returned to my breasts, cupping them gently.

His hot breath blew against my already tight nipples, each light gust making the disorienting buzz of desire in my head grow more intense. I should have stopped him. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t. What would Mom think?

None of those thoughts mattered when he latched his mouth on one nipple and sucked. The zing of pleasure undid me and I clutched his head tight to me, tilting my hips into him and moaning.

The response threw him into action. He tugged roughly at the waistband of my sweats and I was too overwhelmed to object. My body needed to be touched. Before I could react, his large hands gripped my hips and lifted, then set me down on his desk. His blue eyes were wide open and glassy from drink, but somehow still completely aware. He looked like he knew precisely what he was doing, but I didn’t care when he spread my legs, pulled me close, and buried his mouth against my pussy.

The hot plunge of his tongue into my wet depths surprised me at first, then it slid back out and the tip toyed with my throbbing clit. He did things I’d never experienced. Made me feel surprising things that I had never even imagined I could feel from simple oral sex. With his fingers buried deep inside, he raised up to look at me.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so beautiful like this, Brit. I want you to come for me, baby.”

He bent his head again, sucked my clit between his lips and did something with his tongue that destroyed me. I was beyond reason when I came, my voice high and clear and out of my control when I cried out, “Oh, God, Daddy. Yes!”

I immediately regretted it when he abruptly stopped with a grunt of alarm, but when I opened my eyes I didn’t see him retreating. Instead, he stood and dropped his shorts, his huge erection bobbing between his legs.

“I’m not your Daddy anymore, baby. But you can say it if it makes you feel good when I fuck you.” With that, he clutched the backs of my knees with both hands and spread me wide, pressing his thick tip at my entrance. His cock stretched me painfully and he seemed to sense the resistance. He slid into me with excruciating slowness, his fevered gaze taking in my face and breasts. His cock sank so deep and filled me so completely, I had trouble even breathing.

Trickles of tears fled my eyelids and trailed down my temples into my hair, but they weren’t from grief this time—they were from pure pleasure. I wrapped my legs around Michael’s hips and pulled him tighter against me, just so there could be no mistake that I wanted him there. He bent and braced his hands on either side of my head, then began to move, his strong biceps flexing with each undulation of his hips. I let out a sharp, surprised cry when he pulled out of me and slammed back in.

“Your pussy is so damn tight, baby. Tell me how many cocks have had a taste of it before me.”

“J-just one.”

“Did he make you come?” he murmured against one breast, his lips brushing against my nipple. He kept fucking while he looked up at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. The pink tip of his tongue darted out, teasing at my hardened flesh, the zing of pleasure making my pussy clench hard around him.

“No.”

“Do you want me to make you come again?” With that question he latched onto my nipple and sucked hard.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back with a harsh groan. “Oh, God yes. Please.”

“Then I say it again. Call me what you used to call me, baby. I need to hear it from your lips when you come on my cock.”

“Make me come, Daddy. Please!”

He slid his arms beneath my shoulders and scooped me up, holding tight to me as he lowered himself back down into his chair. My hips settled against his, the entire hard length of him sinking even deeper. The pressure of him inside me made me lose my breath again.

Michael held my face between his palms and kissed me, his tongue sweeping between my lips with a light tease before insistently pushing deeper. I opened up with shuddering moan, tasting the hot oaky flavor of the whiskey he’d drunk. His cock felt too good, buried inside me. I couldn’t
not
move. With the first fresh grind of my hips on his he released a rough growl into my mouth. I braced my hands on his shoulders and used the leverage to fuck him as hard as I could, delirious from the feel of him, so big his cock
owned
me entirely, from the inside out.

“That’s right, Brit. Fuck my cock. Take it like a big girl. Make yourself come with Daddy’s big, hard shaft buried inside your sweet, tight little pussy.”

The shock of the words made my entire body shiver with pleasure. I had never imagined sex could feel so amazing. In spite of the dirty things he said that sounded so wrong, but so utterly
perfect,
his loving gaze was what finally sent me over. My body betrayed me before I could even prepare myself, spasms of ecstasy clenching hard at my core and soon all I could do was simply ride out the waves.

“Oh, God. I love you!” I heard myself cry, far beyond control of my actions.

He clutched at me hard and buried his face against my throat, his hips thrusting up to meet each of my frantic undulations. “I love you, Brit,” he said in strangled words when his semen shot deep into me.

We clung to each other while we caught our breath. I was so afraid he’d lash out again, but he didn’t. Instead he simply lifted me off him and set me back on his desk like I weighed nothing.

His gaze drifted down my body, hovering at the mess we’d both made between my legs. For a second he seemed utterly fascinated by my pussy and reached out to trail fingertips over the sparse, dark gold curls. I didn’t think I could handle more contact, but the almost worshipful look in his eyes kept me from stopping him.

“Christ, you’re perfect in every way, aren’t you?” he whispered. “Right down to your pretty pink pussy. Hard to believe something as big and crude as my cock fit inside.”

“You felt good,” I said, grabbing his hand before he went farther. “I don’t think your cock is crude, anyway. You’re kinda gorgeous.”

He gave me a rueful smile. “Next to you, everything about me is crude, baby. I shouldn’t have…” His expression abruptly darkened and he stood, covering his face with his palms. “Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have even touched you. Fuck, Brit. Leave, please. Leave before I do something even worse.”

Bewildered, I stood and found my clothes. “Michael, it’s alright,” I said, moving close and touching his shoulder. He flinched away and yelled, “Get out, Brit. Do you have any idea what just happened here?”

“You made love to me. That’s all.”

His face was wet with tears when he looked down at me again, his eyes filled with anguish. My own grief welled up in response to the look. All I wanted was to comfort him, and to find my own comfort in his strong arms, but after the last twenty minutes that might be impossible to ever have again. The loss of his love and comfort hit me hard and I left the room struggling to keep the roiling knot of despair from strangling me. I tumbled into my bed a moment later and let it go, sobbing hard into my pillow, overwhelmed partly with grief, but also confusion and uncertainty about what it all meant.

Chapter 5

T
he next morning I avoided the bathroom mirror. It was because I couldn’t bear to look myself in the eyes, though. Not because I knew I probably looked like hell after all the crying. Mom’s funeral was later that day, so I forced myself to at least look presentable, to honor her memory if nothing else.

And how far do you think fucking Dad goes toward honoring Mom’s memory, huh?
I glared at myself as I smeared concealer beneath my eyelids to hide the worst of my guilt. Another voice tried to rationalize, telling me that we were only grieving and finding solace in each other’s arms. Mom had been such a big part of our lives. She was the star we both revolved around in our different ways, and without her gravitational pull keeping us moving, we simply crashed together. I just hoped we didn’t destroy each other in the process.

Flashbacks from the night before echoed through my mind as I dressed. My nipples hardened under the lace of my bra in memory of his touch, and my panties immediately felt a little moist, even though I’d just bathed and had dried off thoroughly. I slipped the black dress over my head and zipped myself up, but grimaced at myself in the mirror when I remembered it was one of Mom’s dresses that she’d let me borrow the year before to attend the funeral of an elderly aunt who had passed away. I had nothing else appropriate for a funeral, however, so he’d just have to deal with it.

But as I made my way down the stairs, I imagined my dad enraged enough to rip my clothes off again, and then bend me over and fuck me as punishment for daring to wear something of hers. By the time I reached the living room, my body was flushed with heat at the image, and my pussy was a hot little knot of desire between my legs.

I jumped in surprise when Dad appeared beside me, but he barely gave me the most cursory glance.

“You look lovely,” he said in a business-like tone, then leaned in to give me a swift peck on the cheek. “Ready to go?”

I nodded and stood mute as he helped me into my coat, then held the door for me. We remained silent in the elevator and I watched him surreptitiously in the mirrored wall. His face was blank except for the sadness in his eyes. Every so often he’d fidget with his wedding ring and his throat would work with a hard swallow. It might not have seemed like much to someone who didn’t know him like I did, but I’d never seen his emotions so close to the surface.

Well, except for the night before when he’d seemed like an entirely different person than my controlled, impeccably dressed stepfather. I wanted more of the lust-crazed, dirty talking man, but wasn’t sure how to draw that out of him again.

He was still impeccably dressed. His dark hair was combed perfectly, his strong jaw shaved just so. The aftershave he wore was just subtle enough to make me want to bury my face against his neck and calm my own tension in the familiar scent of him. Seeing him torn down to the bare bones of his emotions had revealed so much more than I could have imagined. How could a man so strong appear so broken? I wondered what it was that actually did hold him together today.

The confines of the limo crawled with all the unsaid words. I had no idea what I could possibly say, anyway. What had happened had happened. It had probably destroyed me entirely for any other man. How could it not? To be so utterly consumed by someone I had already loved all my life. Maybe not in precisely that way until yesterday, but now that the door had been flung wide open, there was no shutting it, at least not for me. Maybe Michael could shut it. If he could, I’d honor that. Not happily, but I loved him no matter what, so I had no choice.

His hands rested on his thighs, fingertips tracing a constant back and forth pattern like he was agitated about something. About five minutes into the ride, he finally spoke.

“Take off your panties, Brit. Hand them to me.”

I froze, every muscle in my body tightening in response to the command, so matter-of fact it took me awhile to even comprehend. Once I processed it, I realised how his voice had sounded overly controlled, barely containing whatever emotions he still held in check.

“Why?” I dared to ask, venturing a sidelong look at him even though my entire body screamed to do it. The very idea left me paralyzed—only with a burning ember in my belly that wouldn’t cease until I gave into him again.

His already faltering facade cracked, his face twisting into a mask of desire for a second before he controlled himself again.

“I just need them.”

I swallowed the pool of saliva that had collected in my mouth and found the will to move again. Careful to avoid showing off too much skin, I slid my hands beneath my skirt and up to my hips, hooking my thumbs over the waist of my lace panties. I was conscious of his eyes on me the entire time. His head was turned just enough to see when my skirt slid a little too high, giving him a view of the garters I’d worn to hold up my dark stockings.

I wanted to tell him I hadn’t worn them for
him
. I’d planned ahead when I packed after his call. After the initial bout of heart-wrenching grief, I’d had one brief moment of clarity and packed thinking I might need some stronger tools of seduction to help drown my sorrows after the funeral. I’d never imagined my own stepfather would be the man I most wanted to seduce. But he was doing a fine job of handling all the hard parts for me.

I tugged my panties off my hips and lifted my ass to pull them down. Every movement I made caused little jolts of pleasure to shoot through me. The wet cling of my panties to my pussy didn’t help any. They peeled off and slid down my thighs, leaving remnants of my arousal behind. I made a point of folding the tiny black lace garment into a neat square with the wettest part concealed before I handed it to him.

He raised them to his nose and sniffed, inhaling deeply, like my scent was a drug. He did seem calmer after that, except for the twitch of his cock I detected at the front of his pants, but once he stowed my underwear in his pocket that subsided.

The limo drew to a stop and just a split second later, he leaned over, gripped the back of my neck and pressed his lips to mine. I had no will to resist their silken insistence, nor the tongue he plunged into my mouth a second later. I didn’t even have the will to protest when his hand slid up my thigh and he pressed urgent fingers between. I spread my legs just enough for him to sink his fingers deeper.

“You’re the only thing keeping me sane today, baby,” he murmured as he plunged two digits deep into me, hard enough to make me want more, but not hard enough to bring me off so quickly.

Before I could react, he was gone, the delicious penetration of his fingers leaving me hot and tingling. I nearly burst into tears at the sudden absence of him after such intense contact, but forced myself to recover quickly when the attendant opened my door and offered a hand to help me out.

The experience left me shaky for the rest of the afternoon. I avoided Michael through the service. I got through my own eulogy for my mother early, and the pleased smiles from the throngs of attendants gave me some confidence to get through the rest of the day.

But when Michael stood up to give the eulogy he’d written for Mom, he looked directly at me as he began to speak. Partway through, I noticed he held a wad of dark fabric clutched tightly in one fist, his thumb constantly stroking a piece of it while he spoke.

Part of me wanted to flee from his sharp gaze, but my body responded to his every syllable, to every dart of his eyes over my body. I hated myself for it, but I nodded at him, accepting whatever silent promise he was giving me. We were connected in our grief, after all. We needed each other. I needed him like I couldn’t believe.

We watched each other off and on during the wake after the funeral. The penthouse was too thronged with solicitous friends for any privacy, but I had the sense he was as done with everyone as as I was.

I’d been walking around all day without my panties. Not that that should have bothered me, but knowing he had the garment in question and was fondling it regularly hadn’t let me sit still for more than a moment or two. Part of me wanted to scream at him,
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
We’d broken the worst rules together already. He might not be my biological father, but he’d adopted me when I was too young to know better. He was still legally my dad.

Except since Mom had died, he’d become something more than that. He’d become a man with a powerful need that it seemed only I could quench.

And God forbid, but I wanted to.

In the middle of a polite conversation with an older friend of Mom’s who was torturing me with kindness, he came. His large hand pressed against my back and his hot breath gusted into my ear. “I need to talk to you, now.”

He made an apology to the friend and shoved me down the hall to his study. I balked.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About…?”

He shut the door solidly behind us, locked it, then pressed me up against it. “About how goddamn much I need to fuck you right now.”

“What happened to the fear that you’d do something worse than last night?”

“Oh, God, Brit…” He kissed me hard and pulled away, his lips flushed and wet. “Do you think there’s anything worse than a guy fucking his daughter?”

“Daddy… You’re not…” He kissed me again before I could get the words out.

“No, baby, but you have always been my little girl. You’re too perfect for a man like me. But fuck if I don’t want you like I couldn’t believe.”

He tugged the bodice of my dress down and found my nipple with his mouth. His hand groped beneath my skirt. I raised my leg and spread myself open for him. His fingers found my clit and the folds of my pussy that concealed my core. He stroked gently, and every touch made me dizzy.

“Jesus, you have the most perfect little snatch, Brit. It’s got to be meant for something better than me.”

“No, oh God. My snatch wants your cock.”

“Do you want me now, baby?” he asked. I almost laughed because he’d clearly brought me in here to fuck me. I almost said no.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”

He unfastened his belt and trousers. Before I realized what I was doing, my own hands were eagerly assisting. He groaned at the way I gripped him and pulled his cock free of his shorts. With both hands he lifted my thighs to wrap around his hips. A moment later, his glorious cock shoved up into me and I cried out, then bit my lip at his alarmed stare. Someone might hear us, but he couldn’t do much more than that to make me cry out, as involved as he was in fucking me.

I couldn’t do much more, either. He had me pressed hard against the door, holding me up with his own strength, which was considerable.

He slammed into me hard, rushing to get it done. The speed and force of it was mind bogglingly beautiful. Every quick, hard thrust pushed me closer, and then his voice in my ear against the door sent me over.

“I want to fuck you slowly later, baby. Now, I just need to come, and I think you do, too.”

I tried to muffle the sound of my orgasm by biting his suited shoulder. It didn’t matter because he pulled my head back and kissed me, obscuring the sound with his mouth as his cock continued its steady plunge through all the spasms. I had no idea which end was up when he finally stopped. I think he caught me and carried me to the sofa on the other side of the room. The last thing I felt was a soft press of lips on my forehead and the drape of a woollen blanket over me before he was gone.

He’d said only one thing before he left. “I will always love you, Brit.”