Daddy's Good Girl

Zella He was looking at me. I licked my lips, feeling my throat suddenly go dry at the sight of Isaiah King's eyes on me. My palm grew clammy with sweat, and I wiped my palm nervously over my skirt. His steel grey eyes dropped to my hands to follow the motion, then moved slowly back up, sending heat up my skin. When those eyes met mine again, they were hot and molten. "Zella and I can’t wait to get married!" Oliver's voice broke through the haze, making me tear my gaze away from him and look around at the guests at my engagement party. God, what was wrong with me? This was exactly why I needed to get married. This obsession with Isaiah King had to stop. "Oh, I'm sure," Thomas Carmicheal, my father, grinned, clapping a hand on Oliver's back. "It is meant to be, isn't it, Isaiah? My daughter is marrying my best friend's son, that's a match made in heaven," I winced as people nodded in agreement, blushing because I had, in fact being having terrible thoughts about a man who wasn't just my father's best friend for years but also the father of my fiance. I need help. Isaiah remained quiet, and I could still feel those eyes on me. He was probably not looking, though. For as long as I can remember, I had a crush on Isaiah King. It was silly. It was impossible. He was way too old and had the entire business industry of the country at his feet. Everyone either feared him or worshipped him. It was either one of those two, and it was pretty clear that I worshipped him. I had spent nights in the past six years cradling my pillow, wishing it was his sinfully gorgeous body. I would imagine running my hands through his midnight black hair, feeling the thick strands with my fingers while he kissed me. Isaiah King looked like a man who would practically devour me with his kisses. I ached for them, for him, all of him. But it could never happen. I knew it wouldn't, and a silly, selfish part of me had gone for his son instead, who was practically a safe version of Isaiah King. "A toast!" My sister, Sasha, yelled excitedly, holding her champagne glass up. "To my sister who practically raised me," "Sasha," I groaned as she latched her arm around mine, beaming up at me. "Oh, don't act like that. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I'm happy you've found it with Oliver," Yeah... With Oliver. I couldn't help but steal another look. He was talking with someone, but those grey eyes remained on me. Oh god, there was only so much I could take. My breathing turned heavy, and I came in short pants. I gripped the champagne glass, raising my brows. Did he know what he did to me? He shouldn't stare at me like that. I bit my bottom lip, trying to rein back all the feelings that surged through me. My jaw dropped when he reached up to brush his lips with his thumb, and for some reason, that felt electric. I wanted those hands on me. I wanted to run across the hall and throw myself at him shamelessly. I had wanted him for years, and every day, it only grew much harder to stop thinking about him and yearning for him. My thighs quivered as everyone spoke around me. I was slick with desire, hot and bothered. I needed to find release, or I would go mad. I pressed my legs together, downing my champagne in one go. The alcohol burned like liquid fire down my throat, and I felt my n*****s strain against my bra, begging to be let out. "I... Uhm, excuse me for a minute. I have to go to the restroom," I choked out, giving a smile that probably looked like I was constipated instead and raced out of the hall. I slipped into the restroom, rushed to the counter, and leaned against it. My hands fumbled as I pushed my dress up, facing the mirror. A soft moan slipped from my lips when my fingers found my sopping wet p***y under my panties. "Oh," I sighed, rubbing lightly, closing my eyes as I replayed what Isaiah had done, pressing his thumb over his lips. I imagined that thumb touching me now, flocking against my clit and rubbing down hard. I imagined him placing me on the counter, towering above me, teasing me wth his kisses while his fingers sunk into my cunt. "Oh god, yes, Isaiah," I gasped, easing a finger into my p***y and dropping my head back in need. "Please," That huge frame of his, practically enveloping me in his heat, in his scent. He used the Cologne Blanc, I had figured that out two years ago and had bought the cologne, spraying it in my room and getting excited just taking his scent in. I wanted him to dominate me, take me, tell me dirty, wicked things in my ears while he played with my p***y. Hot pleasure bubbled in my veins, and I groaned, increasing the pace of my fingers in my p***y, moaning his name. "Oh, Isaiah, just like that. Please, please don't stop. I'm going to c*m," "c*m, Zella," I imagined him saying in that deep raspy voice, calling my name in that honey like way that had me dizzy with pleasure. "c*m for me." "Oh yes, yes, yes," I cried as my orgasm slammed right into me. My eyes opened to see my flushed face in the mirror while I worked my fingers in my cunt, prolonging my orgasm. When I finally came down from my high, panting and breathing heavily. "This has to stop, Zella," I was getting married to his son. I couldn't marry Oliver and then be hung up, touching myself to his father. I looked up at the mirror, trying to adjust my hair when I noticed a huge frame at the door. My jaw dropped and I whipped around, mortified. "Isa... Uncle Zay, H-How long has you been there?"