Page 58 of Forbidden Daddy

When I felt my climax building up, I pushed her off of me. I sat up with her and pulled her into a heated kiss. I was fully hard between us and shucked my jeans off the rest of the way. Evelyn tried to dip down again, but I held her up.

“No, darling,” I said, “I want to be inside of you when I come.”

She just nodded and pushed herself off of my lap. She had that look in her eyes that I knew meant she was about to do something wicked. And I was right. She sat back, shuffled out of her jeans, and sat there with her legs wide.

“Just watch,” she whispered.

I did as she instructed, but wasn’t sure how I would survive it, because one of her hands was dipping inside of her underwear, those long, slender fingers disappearing from view at the same time as eyes closed. She was clearly enjoying herself. The other hand wandered upwards to tweak a nipple, and I could have come just from watching her. She was rubbing herself, that much I could see, but when she slid out of her underwear, it was a sight like no other.

I wanted to draw her. I had planned to show her my own artwork, the sketchbook full of faces and people I admired, but now I had a muse. I dug in my discarded jeans for a pencil and started sketching. The bent angle of her legs spread apart and resting on the cushions. The way she slid a couple of fingers into her, and they came out glistening. Her head, tilting backward to expose the long column of her throat that led down to those two magnificent breasts I couldn’t help but admire. As she fucked herself on her fingers, they bounced lightly, and I wished I could capture the movement on paper. I even sketched the background, the way the moonlight fell over her body, the way the trees looked behind her.

She was mine. I knew, without a question asked, even without rings on our fingers, that she was mine and I was hers, and we’d never need another person to have or to hold.

I threw the sketchbook to the side, letting it land somewhere amongst the pillows, and her eyes shot to mine at the soft noise. Her thighs were quivering now, and I could tell she was on the edge. I wanted to see it, wanted to see what her body looked like as a whole when she came undone.

“Come for me,” I asked.

And come, she did.

She threw her head back again, and her toes curled against the blanket. She bit one lip to stop herself from crying out, but I wished I could have heard her.

I was leaking precum, my head throbbing with want to be inside of her, but I didn’t want this to end too soon, so I waited. I let her keep playing with herself, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I pulled off my shirt and crawled forward. Evelyn’s eyes were still hungry, but she submitted to me when I took both her hands in mine and trapped them above her head. Her mouth became a small ‘o’, but she didn’t stop me. I gave her ample chance to, but there was no complaint. I kissed her forehead, her cheeks. I nibbled on one ear and found that she reacted pleasantly when my tongue dipped into the place just behind it. I held back for a moment, but she bucked her hips into mine, obviously telling me to get a grip. I had to brace myself, tell myself that I had to go slow to make this pleasurable for her.

I didn’t get a choice.

“If you don’t fuck me now, I’m driving back to the city,” Evelyn threatened.

I wanted to laugh at the strained way she said it, but I knew laughing woulddefinitelymake her leave for the city. Instead, I huffed out a noise of acquiescence and lined myself up to her. The push was nowhere as tight and awkward and it had been the first time we slept together. I didn’t think it was because of her virginity, necessarily, but our combined lack of experience with each other. I knew that she preferred me to go hard, jackhammering into her without restraint. I couldn’t deny that it turned me on as well, seeing her whole body shuddering. When we first returned from Nevada, neither of us had wanted to sleep with the other. The fear that the electricity was only there when it was a forbidden affair was terrifying. When we joined together, however, things had been as intense and perfect as they always were.

Now, I pulled out and slammed back in, still holding her hands above her head. She strained against them, and when she couldn’t break free, I saw that it made the whole experience that much better for her. I kept going, holding her hands past the point that it was actually comfortable for me. The sight of her straining against it was just too much to give up. As a result, she came. I felt her clenching around me, but I kept going, pushing harder and faster if possible, and the girl that had previously tried to stifle her screams let out a keening noise that only drove me more insane.

“That’s it, baby,” I growled, “let me hear you.”

“Hu-uh-right-there,” she gasped before trailing off into another wail.

Finally, I had to let go of her hands to attack that neglected bundle of nerves above her entrance. If I had any hope of getting her off for a third time before I came, it was there. As it was, I was already holding myself back.

She started squirming under my touch, panting. She was oversensitive, and I was thankful because I knew she was already close to that edge again. I kept going, pounding into her, hearing her scream, until she was coming around me, and I fell with her, letting her milk me.

We lay together afterward, and she was in my arms, flicking through my sketches. She paused when she reached the first one I had done of her.

It was watercolor, and drawn in hard angles, with barely any detail. It was drawn from memory - not something I was used to. It was Evelyn on the night I had met her. Her hair was sticking out at odd angles, and her mouth was pulled into a hard slash of indecision. The particular moment I had tried to capture was from when I had asked her if she wanted a ride back to her house and she hadn’t known how to respond. Her skin was as tan then as it was now, and even in the drawing, I had tried to capture the freckles that glowed like tiny suns on her face. Her eyes were serious, brows turned downwards, and her whole expression should have turned me away. Across one side of her face, there was the glancing light from a streetlamp. It yellowed half of the image, but since the other half was in shadow, it made a beautiful contrast. Despite the lack of detail, I was proud of the image—it was something I had spent time on, to get the coloring just right.

On the next page, there was more of Evelyn, but they were studies in posture. Tiny sketches with color blotted over them. Evelyn standing under a streetlamp with her satchel, Evelyn’s silhouette outside the bright lights of her old building—that damn sign that said the door would be fixed soon. The next one was Evelyn in the dress she’d worn when I met her formally, as Hannah’s friend. The sketches stopped for a while then. Where I’d been drawing something new every few days, the dates skipped ahead, and then I was looking at a self-portrait, and not an attractive one. My eyes were heavy, my skin pasty. I hoped it had been poor choices on my part as the artist, and that I hadn’t actually looked like that, but I remembered that time, when I wasn’t sleeping because of the girl in my house when I wondered how I’d survive her presence.

“I can’t believe you were drawing me,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned, “It’s really creepy, isn’t it?”

She shrugged in my arms.

“Nah, it’s only a few, and at that point, you thought I was a stranger like any of the people you draw. So, it’s not really creepier than that.”

I had to take it, even if she suggested my drawing of strangers was a little creepy.

“I was wondering,” I said softly, and she looked away from the drawings to glance up at me, “I’ve never actually seen any of your work, but Hannah said you’re a decent artist.”

“Ha,” Evelyn laughed, “If you count graffiti as art.”

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