Page 34 of Unthinkable

She cuts into the pancake. “Very.” A smile plays on her lips as she slips the pancake into her mouth. The same lips that encompassed my thumb so seductively.

Jesus, I want her.

I want my adopted daughter.

I scan over her face as she eats, searching for a sign of deceit, or uncomfortableness, maybe, but I find neither.

“And can you remember everything that happened last night?” I query with hope.

She snaps her bright-blue eyes up to meet mine, holding my heart hostage. “Of course.”

I swallow hard and brush a hand over my cropped hair. “How do you feel about it?”

She slowly finishes eating, then licks her lips. “I want more. A lot more, Daddy.”

My cock jumps, and adrenaline sparks in my veins. Jesus, she wants this. My innocent girl is all grown up, and she wants to feed into fantasies I wasn’t aware I had until now.

I should stop this.

My mouth becomes dry.

“Please, Daddy.” Jesus, she begs so beautifully. What would she look like on her knees, submitting for me? I could teach her so damn much.

I clear my throat. “If I give you more, you need to do everything I say.” She nods eagerly. I hold her focus. “Everything, Immie.”

“I will. I promise.”

Her eyes remain locked on mine as I lean forward and reach out to her. I stroke her cheek with the backs of my fingers, then follow her jawline and, unable to help myself, all the way to her pouty lips. I run the tip of my index finger over her bottom lip back and forth, imagining my cum painting them.

“You’re mine, Little Nightmare.”

She sucks my finger into her mouth, causing my mine to fall open, and my cock drips pre-cum into my boxers as memories of her sucking her cum from my fingers hit me. I reluctantly withdraw my finger.

“I want you to be mine too,” she whispers. She doesn’t want me fucking Amanda, and who can blame her.

Why the hell would I want her when I can have my girl.

“Agreed.”

Her face lights up, and my chest swells with pride. Jesus, she’s beautiful.

A throat clears, and I freeze.

Amanda.

Shit.

Getting busted with Immie is not something I want. Not yet, at least.

I laugh, but it lacks humor. “You had syrup on your lip, let me grab you a napkin, Immie.”

“Did you make your wife breakfast too?” Amanda asks as she marches over to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair, then turns toward me and lifts her eyebrow.

Her hair is disheveled, her makeup smeared, and her clothes are the same ones she went out in last night.

God knows how many men she fucked before she climbed into bed next to me. I grimace at the thought. What the hell am I doing fucking her when she’s allowing herself to be used so freely. Especially when I have Immie offering herself to me. It’s almost as if she’s been waiting for me all along, and now that we’ve crossed a line, there’s no turning back.

I glance back at Immie, and innocence shines through her. Why am I fucking Amanda when I have the girl of my dreams right here?