Page 66 of Off Limits

“Do you like knowing that Daddy wants to fuck you instead of Mommy?” I ask her. “Is that what you like? Do you like knowing that Daddy loves your tight little pussy like no other?”

“Yes,” she breathes, pushing back against me. “Oh God, that feels so good.”

“It feels so good for me too, baby.” I move a hand around to her front, sliding fingers over her smooth mound until I find the top of her slit, then I wriggle in deeper until I’m stroking the top of her clit.

“Oh, that’s good, Daddy,” she gasps. “Daddy, you make me feel so good.”

“Yes, baby,” I growl in her ear. “You make Daddy feel so good, too. It feels so good being deep inside my little girl, knowing I’m going to come right inside her tight pussy. You feel so good for Daddy, baby. You feel so good.”

I keep fingering her clit in gentle circles until her pussy clamps down around me. It’s almost unthinkable that she could be any tighter and I grunt helplessly as I start thrusting harder, the wet friction sending me right out of my mind.

“Oh, Daddy!” she cries.

“Quiet, baby!” I say quickly, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You need to be quiet. We don’t want Mommy to hear us.”

“Oh,” she cries against my hand. “Oh!”

Her cunt squeezes down on me just as I go over the edge, the pulsing motion of her orgasm milking me as I shoot into her. I moan loudly, unable to control myself, and drop my hand from her mouth.

My orgasm seems to go on forever, my dick jerking and squirting inside of her, and I wrap an arm around her torso and pull her closely against me until I’m finally spent, then I drop onto her back for a moment and breathe in the scent of her bare skin.

“Sweetie,” I murmur. “That was just what I needed. God, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispers back. “I love you, too.”

Dinner is spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread—a fancy meal by Melanie’s standards. She presents it with a flourish when Dani and I both descend to the table.

“Dinner is served!” she says dramatically, and lifts the bottle of wine she’s uncorked and pours it generously into three glasses. It’s a bottle she’s taken from my cellar, I notice. A five-hundred dollar bottle that was meant to age for another few years before being opened.

“I prefer Dani not drink,” I bite out, irritated about the wine, and Melanie shoots me an exasperated look.

“Oh c’mon, J.L.,” she says, and shoots a look at Dani. “She’s all grown up.”

“Yeah, c’mon Dad,” adds Dani. Melanie’s words from yesterday run through my head: She can’t be too young to live on her own but old enough for you to fuck. Besides, it’s nice to see Dani and Melanie aligned on something for once.

“Fine,” I mutter.

As usual, Melanie dominates the conversation, but when we’re about halfway through the meal, Dani stands up and says, “I have a Father’s Day present for you.”

“I have one, too,” Melanie jumps in. “You go first.”

Dani gets her school bag from the front hall and pulls out a card and wrapped present for me. It’s easy to tell the present is a hardcover book.

I’m touched. “You didn’t have to do this,” I tell her. I know she doesn’t have much money because she refuses to accept an allowance. I’ve taken to slipping money into her knapsack, which neither of us ever acknowledges.

“I wanted to,” she beams, and wraps her arms around me. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

Every Daddy is a reference, a hidden threat to her mother. She’s feeling brave enough to flirt with danger, but I act like it’s perfectly natural. Like she’s always called me Daddy.

The card is simple: ‘You’re the very best father I ever could have imagined. Thank you so much for everything you do for me.’ The book is a small coffee table book about architecture in Switzerland, not the most inspired gift, but I’m touched by the sentiment. “Thank you so much, sweetie,” I say, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“My turn,” grins Melanie, lifting a gift bag up from her feet and sliding it over to me. It appears to contain a bottle of wine. Better be a five-hundred dollar bottle of wine, I think to myself.

But when I open it up, it’s not. It’s a seven dollar wine at best, but one that surprises me with the warm memories it brings up. I laugh with genuine mirth as I pull it out of the bag.

“Almaden!” I exclaim, chuckling. “Oh my God. How did you ever find this?”

Melanie laughs too, clapping her hands, and for a moment it’s normal, and natural. She’s not acting or showing off. She’s just Melanie, if only for a moment. Melanie, the hilarious and wild woman I fell in love with so many years ago.

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