Page 8 of Daddy's Little Plaything

I exhaled through my nose. “That depends.”

She lifted her head, searching my face. “On what?”

I traced my knuckles along her jaw, tilting her chin up further. “On whether you want this to go further. If you want to be mine in all ways.”

She held my gaze for a long time, eyes searching, expression soft. “Yes,” she whispered. “I only want you.”

Something heavy and tight in my chest eased. She was mine. And she wasn’t running.

I rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath me, and brushed my nose along hers. “Then we keep doing what we’re doing and enjoy every fucking second of it,” I murmured against her lips.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, her voice steady. “I've never heard anything sound better, Daddy.”

I kissed her then, slow and deep, tasting the promise on her tongue. No more fighting this taboo desire I wanted—I needed. It was just… us.

And nothing had ever felt more fucking right.

EPILOGUE

BECKETT

The world would never understand us. We’d known that from the start.

Even now, years later, when I woke up every morning with Phia wrapped around me, her body warm and soft against mine, I knew people would still look at us and see something wrong. Something forbidden.

And yeah, at the very core of this, being with my daughter in the way I was… was wrong.

But I didn’t give a damn. She was my everything.

I sat back on the porch, beer in hand, watching as she walked barefoot across the yard, the golden glow of the setting sun catching in her dark hair. She was wearing one of my shirts—too big on her, hanging off one shoulder, and exposing smooth skin that I’d marked in every way possible.

Phia turned, catching me staring, and smiled slowly. “You’re looking pretty possessive there, Daddy.”

I arched my brow. “Am I?” She wasn’t wrong.

She walked over, stepping between my legs, her hands bracing on my chest. “Mm-hmm. I know that look.”

I reached up, brushing my thumb along her bottom lip. “That’s because when it comes to you, I’m pretty fucking possessive, baby girl.”

Some days, I still woke up half-expecting this to have all been some kind of dream, that I’d open my eyes and she’d still be off-limits. But then I’d roll over, bury my face in Phia’s hair and feel her body mold to mine like she was made to fit me.

I did still feel guilt, slivers of shame, because I knew how wrong this was, but I was too fucking selfish to let her go.

My hand slid down her back, gripping the curve of her hip as I pulled her into my lap. “Are you complaining?”

She tilted her head, considering. “No, Daddy,” she whispered.

Her arms wrapped around my neck, her fingers threading through my hair. I knew what she was doing, knew what she wanted—to tempt me until I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. And it was easy as hell for her to do because, when it came to Phia, she always had my sole attention.

“I can see what you’re thinking. Sometimes you can’t hide your thoughts.”

She always did this when she caught me thinking too much about our relationship.

That I was perverted. Sick. Wrong.

We were building a life together—away from prying eyes, away from judgment. Our own little world. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, not if society found out. But this was our life, and nothing had ever felt better than that.

We weren’t naïve. We knew there would be more hurdles ahead. Marriage. Children—if she even wanted them.

---