My Daddy's Touch

The summer heat clung to my skin like a second layer as I pulled into the driveway, my ancient Honda Civic wheezing its final breath before I cut the engine. Three months of college down, and I was already counting the days until I could escape back to campus. Not that home was terrible—Dad had remarried two years ago to a woman barely older than my actual mother, and while Linda was nice enough in that trying-too-hard-to-be-cool-stepmom way, the real reason I dreaded these breaks was the man waiting inside.

Marcus.

My stepfather.

Forty-two years old, six-foot-two of chiseled muscle and salt-and-pepper stubble that made my thighs clench involuntarily every time he smiled. Former Marine. Current construction company owner. Absolute fucking stud who had no business looking that good in worn jeans and a tight white t-shirt.

I grabbed my duffel bag from the trunk and trudged toward the front door, already dreading the awkward small talk that would inevitably happen. What I didn't expect was the note taped to the entryway.

Emma,

Emergency work trip to Denver. Back Friday. Marcus is working from home all week to keep an eye on things. Be good to each other!

-Linda

My heart hammered against my ribs. Just me and Marcus. Alone. For five full days.

I shouldn't have felt that flutter of excitement. I shouldn't have immediately pictured him walking around the house shirtless, sweat glistening on his defined pecs as he worked on the deck he'd been building since spring. I definitely shouldn't have remembered the time I'd accidentally walked in on him stepping out of the shower, his thick cock swinging heavy and half-hard between muscular thighs, water droplets tracing paths down his abs to that dark thatch of hair—

"Emma? That you, sweetheart?"

His voice rumbled from the kitchen, deep and warm and doing absolutely nothing to calm the sudden ache between my legs.

"Yeah, it's me," I called back, dropping my bag and kicking off my sneakers. "Linda left a note. Something about Denver?"

Marcus emerged from the kitchen, and I had to physically stop myself from gasping. He was wearing those goddamn jeans—the ones that sat low on his hips, the ones with the worn patches in all the right places. His black t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, sleeves straining around biceps that made my mouth water. His dark hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his fingers through it, and those piercing blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

"Emergency client meeting. Some building code issue." He took a step closer, and I caught the scent of him—sandalwood and soap and something uniquely male that made my pussy clench. "So it's just us this week. You okay with that?"

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my nipples had hardened against my thin tank top. "Sure. I'm nineteen, Marcus. I don't need a babysitter."

He laughed, that rich, throaty sound that did things to my insides. "Never said you did, princess. But your mom worries. And I promised to make sure you don't throw any wild college parties while she's gone."

"As if," I muttered, brushing past him to grab a water from the fridge. The brief contact of my arm against his chest sent electricity shooting through my veins. "I'm just going to unpack and maybe hit the pool. It's hot as balls out there."

Marcus's eyes dropped to my chest for just a fraction of a second—so quick I might have imagined it—but when they returned to my face, there was something darker there. Something hungry.

"The pool sounds good," he said softly. "Might join you later. Got some calls to make first."

I fled upstairs before I could do something stupid, like press myself against him and find out if that bulge in his jeans was as impressive as I remembered.

My bedroom hadn't changed since I'd left for college—same purple walls, same posters of bands I'd outgrown, same twin bed where I'd spent countless nights touching myself to filthy fantasies about the man downstairs. I tossed my bag onto the mattress and immediately stripped out of my sweaty clothes, desperate for a shower.

The bathroom connected my room to the guest room, and as I turned on the water, I made sure to lock both doors. Not that Marcus would barge in—he was respectful, almost to a fault. But I couldn't risk him seeing me like this: flushed, aroused, my panties already damp from nothing more than his proximity.

I stepped under the spray and let the hot water pound against my shoulders, my hands automatically drifting to my breasts. My nipples were still hard, sensitive peaks that begged for attention. I rolled them between my fingers, imagining Marcus's rough hands doing the same, his calloused thumbs scraping against the tender flesh as he whispered dirty things in my ear.

"Fuck," I breathed, one hand sliding down my stomach to the aching heat between my thighs.

I was waxed bare—had been since sophomore year of high school—and the sensation of my fingers against my smooth, slick folds made me whimper. I was already wet, embarrassingly so, just from thinking about my stepfather. It was wrong on every level, taboo in the most delicious way, and that only made my pussy throb harder.

I found my clit and circled it slowly, my hips bucking against my hand as the water cascaded over my body. In my mind, it wasn't my fingers touching me—it was Marcus's tongue, thick and hot and demanding, lapping at my slit with the same intensity he applied to everything in his life. I pictured him on his knees in the shower, water streaming down his face as he ate my pussy with abandon, his strong hands gripping my ass to hold me in place while I rode his face.

"Marcus," I moaned, the name slipping out before I could stop it.

My fingers moved faster, rubbing my clit in tight, desperate circles as I imagined him standing up, his cock jutting out hard and proud, the tip glistening with pre-cum. I wanted to taste him—wanted to drop to my knees and worship that thick shaft with my mouth, wanted to feel him hit the back of my throat as he fucked my face with the same dominance he showed in every other aspect of his life.

The orgasm hit me hard, my body convulsing against the shower wall as I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, leaving me trembling and breathless, my fingers still buried in my spasming cunt.

I stayed under the water until it ran cold, my mind racing with possibilities. This week was going to be torture—or it was going to be the best week of my life. And I knew exactly which outcome I was hoping for.

I found my skimpiest bikini—the white one that was practically see-through when wet—and pulled it on along with a pair of denim cutoffs that left half my ass hanging out. If Marcus was going to be stuck with me all week, I was going to make sure he noticed exactly what he'd been missing.

The backyard was gorgeous, a product of Marcus's obsessive landscaping. The pool gleamed turquoise in the afternoon sun, and I grabbed a towel from the deck box before settling onto one of the lounge chairs. I positioned myself strategically, making sure the sun would highlight my curves in the most flattering way possible. I wasn't model-thin—never had been, never wanted to be—but I knew my body had assets that men appreciated: full, heavy breasts that spilled out of any top, wide hips that begged to be grabbed, and an ass that had inspired more than one frat boy poetry attempt.

I was halfway through a chapter of my smutty beach read when I heard the sliding glass door open. I didn't look up immediately, pretending to be engrossed in my book while I tracked Marcus's movements from the corner of my eye.

He was shirtless now, wearing only those sinful jeans and a pair of work boots, a cold beer in his hand. His chest was a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and scattered scars—souvenirs from his military days, he'd told me once. A light dusting of dark hair trailed from his pecs down to his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans in a way that made my mouth dry.

"Getting some sun?" he asked, settling into the chair beside mine.

I finally looked up, making sure to let my eyes linger on his bare torso before meeting his gaze. "Trying to. Not much else to do around here."

He took a long pull from his beer, his throat working as he swallowed, and I had to squeeze my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building there. "You could always help me with the deck. I've been meaning to stain it before winter."

"Manual labor? Pass." I stretched languidly, arching my back so my breasts pushed against the thin fabric of my bikini top. "I'm more of a... leisure activity kind of girl."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes dropping to my chest before he forced them back to my face. "Is that so?"

"Mmhmm." I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the lounge chair so I was facing him. The position put my cleavage on full display, and I watched with satisfaction as his gaze flickered down again. "I like things that feel good. Swimming, sunbathing, reading..." I paused, letting the silence stretch between us. "Other things."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Emma, I don't think—"

"Don't think what?" I asked innocently, standing up and walking toward the pool's edge. I could feel his eyes on my ass, burning holes through my cutoffs, and it gave me a heady sense of power. "That I know what I want? That I'm old enough to go after it?"

I dove into the water before he could answer, the cool shock of it doing nothing to douse the fire in my veins. When I surfaced, Marcus was still sitting there, his beer forgotten in his hand, his expression a mixture of desire and conflict that made my stomach flip.

This was it. The moment where everything could change.

I swam to the shallow end and stood up, water streaming down my body, my white bikini now completely transparent and clinging to every curve. I watched Marcus's eyes widen, his gaze raking over my exposed nipples, the dark shadow of my pussy visible through the soaked fabric.

"Emma," he said, his voice rough. "You should... you should probably change."

"Why?" I asked, climbing out of the pool and walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps. Water dripped from my hair, from my fingertips, from the valley between my breasts. "It's just us here, Marcus. No one else. Just you and me."

I stopped directly in front of his chair, close enough that my shins brushed against his knees. The bulge in his jeans was unmistakable now—thick and hard and straining against the denim, exactly as I'd imagined.

"Princess," he warned, but there was no conviction in it.

I reached out and traced a finger down his sternum, feeling his muscles jump beneath my touch. "I've wanted you since the day Mom brought you home," I whispered. "I used to listen to you fucking her through the walls, touching myself and imagining it was me. Imagining your cock inside me, your hands on my body, your cum filling me up—"

"Jesus Christ, Emma." He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes blazing with a hunger that matched my own. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"Don't I?" I leaned down, bringing my lips close to his ear. "I know you're hard right now. I know you've been stealing glances at my tits since I got home. I know you want to know if I'm as tight as I look, if I moan like a good girl when I'm getting fucked, if I'd let you do all the dirty things Mom won't—"

He snapped.

One moment I was standing there, the next Marcus had hauled me into his lap, his mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate, pent-up desire. I gasped into his mouth, my hands flying to his shoulders as he claimed me with a ferocity that left me dizzy.

His tongue swept inside, tangling with mine as his hands roamed my body with greedy possession. He palmed my breasts through the wet bikini, his thumbs finding my nipples and rubbing them into aching peaks. I ground down against his erection, whimpering at the pressure of it against my throbbing clit.

"Fuck, Emma," he growled against my lips, his hands sliding down to grip my ass. "This is so fucking wrong."

"Then stop," I challenged, nipping at his jaw. "Stop if you don't want me."

His answer was to stand up, lifting me easily in his arms as if I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his cock nestle against my pussy through the layers of fabric separating us, and nearly came right then.

"Bedroom," he gritted out, carrying me toward the house. "Now."

He didn't make it to the bedroom.

We barely made it to the living room couch before Marcus was tearing at my bikini top, ripping the strings with his teeth until my breasts spilled free. He groaned at the sight of them, his hands cupping their weight as he lowered his head to capture one nipple in his mouth.

"Oh god," I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked hard, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud. "Marcus, yes—"

He switched to the other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation sent sparks shooting straight to my core, my hips bucking against him as I sought friction for my aching clit.

"These tits," he muttered, his voice muffled against my skin. "Fuck, princess, I've jerked off thinking about these tits so many times. Imagined them wrapped around my cock, imagined coming all over them—"

"Do it," I begged, arching into his touch. "Do everything you've imagined. I'm yours, Marcus. All yours."

He made a sound like a wounded animal and pushed me back onto the couch, his hands rough as he yanked my cutoffs down my legs. I lay before him in nothing but my soaked bikini bottoms, my body on full display, my pussy visibly wet even through the fabric.

Marcus paused, his eyes drinking me in with a reverence that made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. "Look at you," he breathed. "Spread out for me like a fucking feast."

He dropped to his knees between my legs and hooked his fingers in the waistband of my bikini. "These need to come off. I need to taste you, Emma. Need to feel you come on my tongue."

I lifted my hips, helping him slide the fabric down my legs until I was completely bare before him. The cool air hit my heated flesh, making me shiver, but Marcus's hands were warm as he spread my thighs wide, exposing my glistening pussy to his gaze.

"Bare," he groaned, his thumbs tracing my outer lips. "You keep yourself bare for me, princess?"

"For you," I confirmed, my voice shaking. "Always for you."

He lowered his head without another word, and then his tongue was on me—hot and wet and absolutely devastating. He licked me from bottom to top in one long, slow stroke, gathering my arousal on his tongue before circling my clit with devastating precision.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, Marcus—" I thrashed on the couch, my hands gripping the cushions as he ate me with abandon. He wasn't gentle—he was ravenous, his tongue stabbing into my entrance before returning to my clit, his lips sucking at the sensitive bud until I saw stars.

He added a finger, sliding it into my tight channel with ease, curling it to find the spot that made my back arch off the couch. "So tight," he growled against my pussy. "So fucking tight and wet. You gonna squeeze my cock like this, princess? Gonna milk every drop of cum from my balls?"

"Yes, yes, please—" I was incoherent, my hips bucking against his face as he worked me with his tongue and fingers. "Marcus, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna—"

The orgasm crashed over me like a tsunami, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure radiated from my core. Marcus didn't let up, his tongue continuing to lap at my clit, his finger pumping in and out of my spasming cunt, drawing out my climax until I was sobbing his name, my body limp and trembling.

He finally pulled back, his chin glistening with my arousal, his eyes dark with lust. "One," he said, standing up and unbuttoning his jeans. "We're going for at least three before I'm done with you."

I watched, mesmerized, as he pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips, his cock springing free with a heavy slap against his stomach. It was even bigger than I'd imagined—thick and veined and leaking pre-cum from the flushed, angry-looking head. The shaft was a work of art, curving slightly upward in a way that promised to hit every perfect spot inside me.

"Holy shit," I breathed, sitting up and reaching for him. "Marcus, you're huge."

He stepped closer, letting me wrap my fingers around his girth. I couldn't close my hand around him—he was that thick—and the thought of him inside me sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through my veins.

"I'll go slow," he promised, his hand tangling in my hair as I leaned forward to lick the bead of pre-cum from his tip. "Fuck, Emma—"

I opened my mouth and took him inside, my tongue swirling around the head as I tasted him—salty and male and absolutely addictive. I worked my hand along his shaft, unable to take more than half of him into my mouth, but determined to make it good for him.

"That's it, princess," he groaned, his hips twitching as he fought the urge to thrust. "Suck Daddy's cock. Show me what that pretty mouth can do."

The word "Daddy" sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I moaned around his shaft, the vibration making him curse. I bobbed my head, taking him deeper with each stroke, my hand working the base of his cock while my other hand cupped his heavy balls.

"Jesus, your mouth is heaven," he panted, his grip tightening in my hair. "But I need to be inside you. Need to feel that tight pussy wrapped around me."

I pulled back with a wet pop, looking up at him through my lashes. "Then fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me like you've wanted to all these years."

He hauled me up and spun me around, bending me over the arm of the couch. I heard the rip of a condom wrapper—thank god one of us was thinking clearly—and then his hands were on my hips, his cock nudging against my entrance.

"Ready, princess?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Ready," I gasped, pushing back against him. "Please, Marcus. Please fuck me."

He pushed forward in one slow, steady thrust, filling me inch by inch until I was stuffed full of his cock. I cried out at the stretch, the burn of him splitting me open in the most delicious way possible. He was so deep I could feel him in my stomach, his thickness pressing against my walls in a way that had me seeing stars.

"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "So tight. So fucking perfect. You feel like heaven, Emma."

"Move," I begged, rolling my hips. "Please, Marcus. Fuck me hard."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He pulled back and slammed into me, the force of it pushing me against the couch arm. I screamed, my fingers digging into the cushions as he set a brutal pace, pounding into me with the strength of a man who'd been fantasizing about this moment for years.

The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, wet and obscene and absolutely perfect. Marcus's hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into my flesh as he used me for his pleasure—and mine.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want to feel you come on my cock, princess. Want to feel that tight pussy milking me dry."

I reached between my legs, my fingers finding my clit swollen and sensitive. I rubbed tight circles as Marcus continued to hammer into me, his cock hitting a spot inside me that made my vision blur at the edges.

"That's it," he encouraged, his pace faltering as his own orgasm approached. "Come for me, Emma. Come for Daddy."

The combination of his words, his cock, and my fingers sent me over the edge. I came with a scream, my pussy clamping down on his shaft in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever. Marcus groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

"I'm gonna come," he warned, his grip tightening. "Gonna fill this condom, princess. Wish I could fill you instead—wish I could pump my seed deep in your unprotected pussy and watch it leak out of you—"

"Yes," I moaned, the image sending aftershocks through my body. "Yes, Marcus. Come for me. Come inside me."

He buried himself to the hilt and roared, his body shuddering against mine as he emptied himself into the condom. I could feel him throbbing, could feel the heat of his release even through the latex barrier, and I wished more than anything that there was nothing between us—that I could feel his cum painting my insides, marking me as his.