Page 2 of Dirty Sweet Daddy

When I step out of my office to check on her, the sight knocks the air from my lungs.

Kate stands in my kitchen, illuminated by the fridge's glow, wearing nothing but my old Navy T-shirt. It hangs to mid-thigh, leaving endless legs bare. Her hair is tousled from sleep, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She looks young and soft and heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Sorry," she whispers, noticing me frozen in the doorway. "I couldn't sleep. I hope you don't mind I borrowed a shirt. Mine were all…formal things."

The shirt is worn thin from years of washing. In the chill of the kitchen, her nipples push against the fabric, hard little points that draw my eye instantly. I force my gaze back to her face, heat rushing south so fast I feel dizzy with it.

"It's fine," I manage, voice a low rumble that sounds strange even to my own ears.

She takes a sip of water, her throat working as she swallows. A drop escapes, tracks down her chin, her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of my shirt. I imagine following it with my tongue.

"Lucas?" She sets the glass down, takes a step toward me.

And then she's moving closer, wrapping her slim arms around my waist, pressing her soft body against mine in a hug. My hands hover awkwardly before settling on her upper back, keeping the touch light, appropriate.

She tilts her face up, eyes shining with tears and gratitude, and whispers, "Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy."

The word hits me like a fist to the gut.

Daddy.

She means it innocently—I'm her guardian now, a father figure—but my cock doesn't get the memo. It hardens instantly, thickening against my thigh, and I have to step back before she feels it.

"You should get some sleep," I say roughly, hands on her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length now.

She nods, looking suddenly small and uncertain. "Good night," she whispers, padding back toward the stairs.

I watch her go, the shirt riding up with each step, giving me glimpses of soft curves underneath. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into palms.

I'm rock-hard and ashamed. She's mine to guard. Not to claim. I swore to her father I'd protect her, keep her safe until she's grown and ready for the world.

But as I stand alone in my kitchen, cock straining painfully against my zipper, all I can think about is bending her over the counter and making her call me Daddy while I fill her. Claiming her. Marking her. Making her mine in every way.

I'm going to hell for this. But first, I'm going to my shower to jerk off to the image of Kate's innocent face, those soft lips forming that one dangerous word.

Daddy.

two

. . .

Lucas

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks of pure torture. Kate moves through my house like a ghost, quiet and sad, but present everywhere. Her strawberry shampoo in my bathroom. Her college textbooks on my coffee table. Her fuzzy socks abandoned on the couch. I'm losing my goddamn mind. Her nineteenth birthday is in three days, and I tell myself that's the countdown to sending her away to college—far away from me and these twisted thoughts.

I stare at the security contract on my computer screen, the words blurring together. My security firm needs this deal, but all I can focus on is the soft padding of bare feet upstairs. Kate moving around in her bedroom. Probably wearing those tiny sleep shorts I glimpsed yesterday morning when she came down for breakfast.

Fuck. I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. I need to get a grip.

Since the funeral, we've settled into an uneasy routine. Kate attends her online college courses from the spare room I've set up as her study. I work from my home office, running my security business, taking calls, reviewing reports. We orbit each other carefully, like planets that might collide if they get too close.

She's trying so hard to be strong. I see it in the way she forces smiles at breakfast, in how she asks about my day with genuine interest. She's still grieving, but there's a resilience to her that reminds me of her father. Sometimes I catch her staring at nothing, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to gather her into my arms.

Because if I start touching her, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop.

My laptop pings with an email from the university three states away. The one I've been researching for Kate. Full scholarship opportunities. Student housing. Safe campus statistics that I've triple-checked. Far enough that she'd only come home for holidays. Far enough to give us both space to breathe.

"Lucas?"