Page 79 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

Whatever Linda says makes Wren flinch like she's been slapped through the phone.

"Sure, Mom. I'll think about it."

She hangs up. Stares at the far wall. The loose, unhurried woman I've spent days coaxing into the light starts to fade. Armored up again, shoulders climbing toward her ears, jaw wired shut.

"What did she say?"

"That I'm dramatic. That every couple has rough patches." Her voice splinters. "She said I pushed him to it. That if I'd been more open. He wouldn't have needed to look elsewhere."

Copper floods the back of my mouth. My molars creak.

"Your mother told you it's your fault he cheated because you wouldn't do what he wanted?"

Linda’s expectations for Wren were always off, but this? Fuck this.

"Maybe she's right. Maybe if I hadn't been so —"

"Wren." Whatever she hears in my voice stops her dead. Her eyes snap to mine. "She’s wrong."

She presses both hands over her face and sobs.

I pull her into my lap. She resists for just a second before her weight gives, and she's against my chest, crying until my skin is wet. She’s not crying about Dylan.

She’s crying because her mother has never taken the time to understand her. To look into her as a whole person who owes nothing to anyone when it comes to who she wants to be in this life.

Linda was always so full of expectations, killing her daughter’s spirit, making her think at every turn she was some level ofdisappointment. It cuts especially deep when it’s dressed up with smiles and ‘I love you’s’ and ‘I just want what’s best for you’.

It’s love as a weapon, and I’ve had fucking enough.

"Nothing is wrong with you. Not the way you look, not the way you fuck. All you needed was the space to decide for yourself." My mouth finds the part of her hair. "You want to be held down? Want to come on Daddy’s cock? That's who you are. You weren't ashamed with me, you were free, calling me Daddy, admitting what you want, what your soul needs. Don't let them take that from you."

"What if they're right?"

"They'renot." I catch her face. Thumbs on her jaw, tilting her into the light the way I would a subject I needed to see without obstruction. "I've spent my whole career reading faces. I know what performance looks like. I know what honesty looks like, too. Whether it’s in my studio, in my bed, padding around my kitchen in my boxers, my cock in your mouth, my tongue lapping at my daughter’s pussy... it’s all fucking perfect, and you're the most honest person I've ever had in front of my lens or behind it."

A tear tracks down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb and bring it to my lips to lick it clean.

"Grant." She flattens both palms against my chest, right over the heartbeat I can't get under control. "I've had a crush on you since before I should admit. Then it wasn't a crush anymore. It was the reason even kissing Dylan felt wrong. Because it wasn't you. Is that wrong?"

I shake my head and hold her tight.

"I need to know this isn't just protective. Or you scratching an itch." Her voice goes thin. "Because if that's what this is—"

I kiss her. Kiss the doubt out of her mouth. When I pull back, it's just far enough to focus.

"When you came here that night, I told you I wanted you. That was the easy part." I land my forehead on hers. "I’ve loved you for so long. The hard part was when I started to be in love with you, baby. I stayed with your mother, then, only because the idea of not being with you every day was impossible. Until being with you every day was impossible. After that night in your bed, I lost myself, and came in your room, and left your panties full of my cum while I thought you were asleep...”

She climbs into my lap. Straddling me, the sheets pushing up my legs. I'm bare beneath the covers. Haven’t worn a thing to bed since she started sleeping in it.

Her pussy lands hot and slick against the underside of my cock, every fold dragging wet along the length, and I seize her hips on pure reflex.

She reaches between us. No hesitation, no fumbling, just her fingers wrapping around my cock and feeding into her body with the quiet competence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants. The blunt press of my head against her opening locks my jaw so hard I hear the click.

She sinks down onto me, going slow and deliberate. She takes me in silence, her body stretching around me, her breath snagging on each inch, going faster, deeper.

"Daddy."

“Daughter,” I whisper back.