Page 35 of The Daddy’s Girl

Her moans in my ear.

Amelia’s watchful eyes from across the room.

No. Not that.

I need another vision, so I search for a face or a body that sparks interest in my groin. When I find one, I focus on it. Recalling a beautiful body and supple breasts belonging to a nameless woman from my memory.

For a moment, it works. I thrust into my fist, finding a rhythm that feels good and brings me closer to release.

But the mind is a treacherous and untamed thing. Because it goes where it wants, not where it should go.

It finds her. It imagines what her delicate breasts would feel like in my hands. It imagines those soft thighs wrapped around my ears. It hears her calling my name in pleasure.

And I don’t stop it.

Because it’s working.

Rising onto my knees, I jerk frantically on my cock. Eyes closed, breathing hitched, heart pounding.

In my mind, I’m doing the unthinkable.

I’m fucking Amelia. I’m delighting in the exploration of her perfect body. The dripping heat of her cunt, the tender give of her ass in my ravenous hands, the tight muscle of her forbidden asshole.

In my mind, I roam every single inch of her.

I will hate myself when this is over, but it’s the only thing to fulfill this aching need.

The thought that finally gets me off, the one that sends me over the edge is that Amelia is a woman now with kinks and desires, and just imagining I could be the one to satisfy those needs—something that could never be a reality in this lifetime—sends me over the edge.

I come with a groaning, straining sound as shame-filled pleasure cascades through my body from my head to my toes. Filling my hand with thick ropes of cum, I imagine it’s her sweet, illicit womb I’m brimming.

When the orgasm dissolves, I am filled with indignity, as expected. This is a fantasy I will take with me to the grave and one that will certainly never come true.

Standing from the bed, I wash up in the bathroom, glancing at the man in the mirror. I hardly recognize myself anymore. Fifty-three and jacking off to a twenty-five-year-old like an old pervert. What is wrong with me?

Perhaps this dating scheme is a waste of time. I’ll never find anyone who could make me change my ways. I am who I am. A playboy who’s only good at one thing.

Who could ever love a man like me?

I don’t step foot near the club for the next four days. When Ronan texts me to ask if I’m coming to family dinner on Wednesday night, I pass, using a headache as an excuse.

I don’t open the dating app at all.

No sex. No friends. And certainly no Amelia for four days.

I don’t even visit my mother. I can’t look her in the eye after what I’ve done.

I fill my time with long workouts in my gym and planning a trip out of Paris. I need to get out of here. The city walls are closing in around me.

Late Wednesday night, I’m lying on my couch, reading a new mystery novel, when someone buzzes my apartment door. I didn’t order anything and I’m not expecting company, so when I walk over to the security panel and see Amelia standing on the mat, I let out a defeated sigh.

There is no avoiding this conversation, I guess. I won’t send her away, especially since I’m sure she rode here alone on the Métro late at night.

After buzzing her in, I wait by my apartment door for her to take the elevator up to my flat. When the elevator chimes down the hall, she appears and everything between us feels different.

Maybe it’s just me. It could be because of the way I fantasized about her. It could be because I called her name out with another woman. Or it could be because she watched me in an intimate, private moment.

But Amelia is no longer just my best friend’s daughter.