Page 5 of Daddy's Addiction

When Tommy walked away from me, I’d never felt so used and degraded in my entire life. I dropped my head in shame as I followed Marshall up the stairs for him to show me to my room. He’s an older gentleman with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. Pity oozed from him, and I couldn’t find it in me at that moment to feel mad about it.

But now that I sit in this lavish princess-themed bedroom staring at the pretty pink walls and ridiculously frilly decor, anger is bursting to get out.

How dare he?

How dare he make my body feel alive with the unadulterated lust in his eyes. More alive than I have for the last eighteen years I’ve been on earth.

Then his touch—oh, wow—and those lips sent a thousand bolts of electricity through my veins and a tsunami to my panties that even my Clit 3000 can’t achieve.

And then, when he realized who I was, he turned his anger with himself into hate toward me. How dare he?

What sort of man opens the door to a girl in a school uniform and assumes she’s there for sex, anyway?

I was already out of sorts at being thrust into my stepfather’s life when I couldn’t even remember meeting him in the first place. If I wasn’t so desperate to feel wanted, I’d have stayed at the boarding school, but all my friends had somewhere to go, and I normally look forward to being at Mr. Marino’s house during school break.

To say I was disappointed to hear he was rushed away on business is an understatement, and now I’m stuck here, unwanted. Only, for a few minutes, I felt like I was someone’s everything.

My mind has been mulling over the events all night long, and I’ve barely been able to sleep a wink after his touch made me desperate for something I’ve never felt before. Desperate for him.

He hires prostitutes, I’m sure of it. My nose scrunches up in disgust. His hands touched me when they’ve also touched them, yet I can’t help but feel partial jealousy toward them at how they have experienced more of him than I ever have. Probably ever will, now that he knows who I am.

I sink back into the lacy pink pillow and touch my finger to my lips.

There’s no way he’s getting away with making me feel like this.

Used.

Sitting up, I straighten my shoulders with renewed vigor.

I’ll show Tommy Marino I can be everything his whores can be.

And so, so much more.

Tommy

My cock won’t go down. It’s stuck up in a perpetual state of shock. Like the damn thing has been electrocuted, and it’s so fucking stiff it feels like rigor mortis has set in. But I refuse to acknowledge it, hoping the fucker gets the message sooner or later. Preferably the former.

It chafes against my boxers with each step I take, and as I open the door to the kitchen, it almost leaps out of my jeans at the sight before me.

Jesus fucking Christ. How the hell am I meant to deal with this shit? I grind my jaw from side to side as my entire body tenses in awareness at her proximity.

Her back is to me, but given how her shoulders have tightened, she knows I’ve walked into the room, and the air changes around us.

I grit my teeth in annoyance while scanning over her perky little ass perched at the breakfast bar like she belongs there. She’s in sleep shorts that have me wondering if she’s wearing panties beneath them.Jesus, I’m screwed.

I scrub a hand over my head and exhale, vowing to get laid as soon as possible and banish her from my thoughts once and for all.

Making my way toward the refrigerator, I ignore the feel of her eyes on me and take my morning juice out and a fresh Danish pastry from beneath the warmer.

Turning to face her, I manage to hide my hard cock behind the counter. This is not what I want my stepdaughter to see. I grimace at the thought, but worse than that, my cock aches at her presence—the element of taboo corrupting the poor fucker.

Her green eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I’m stunned to silence at how beautiful she is. My gaze scrutinizes her. A scattering of freckles covers the top of her nose. Her hair is up in some sort of messy bun, elongating her neck, which has a mark on the side. A mark I’m certain I gave her. The memory causes my throat to go dry and my cock to weep. I cling to the counter to refrain from stroking over it, desperate for some relief—any fucking relief right now.

I’ve not given anyone a hickey before. Other than Justine, anyway. My jaw clenches at the reminder.

Slowly, my eyes wander down to her lacy camisole top and farther down toward her tits. Jesus. She’s not wearing a fucking bra, and my mouth waters at the sight before me. Bringing my drink to my mouth, I try and disguise my need for her, but I can’t look away from her tits. Christ, I can even see her darkened nipples, for fuck’s sake.

My hand tightens on the juice, and I slam the pastry onto the counter, crushing it beneath my palm as I glance over my shoulder to make sure no staff are around and might have seen her dressed like this. She jumps at my reaction, spilling milk from the spoon down her chest. I watch in rapture as it trickles beneath her top, around the valley of her tits and onto her nipples, no doubt. I groan internally. That beautiful, plush, young flesh that makes my mouth water to sink my teeth into. And fuck, she has the perfect pair of tits to push my cock through as I hold her by her pretty little throat while she panics at the force of me plowing into her hard.

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