Daddy Dearest

Chapter Two

Mr. Davenport POV

I had to quickly get away from her. Without helping her out of that car or offering to carry in her bag, I enter the house from the garage and head directly to the den, where we have a mini-bar. I bring up the bottle of Laphroaig that I keep in a locked shelf and pour myself a shot into a highball.

I take a quick look around to make sure I don't have an audience--with five other people in the house, that's not always possible-- and guzzle down my drink like a dehydrated man who has just crossed a desert without a drop of water. I close my eyes to enjoy that silky heat that surges through my veins and calms my nerves.

I could not stop touching her. Whilst we were in the car, I wanted nothing more than to haul her onto my lap and nuzzle her neck. She smelled incredible. That mixture of fruity body lotion, her sweat, and that special fragrance that a woman emits when she's menstruating... It took all of my concentration to keep my eyes on the road and off the perky, apple-shaped t**s that strained against the thin material of her t-shirt.

I reach down into my trousers so I could adjust myself, lining up my hardening c**k to my navel. Jesus, what kind of dirty, old man am I turning into, lusting after a girl I raised practically along with my children, a girl twenty-five years my junior? Hell, what am I doing panting after a female who wasn't my wife?

I used to criticize her father for falling in love with his own daughter's nanny. Nancy Beckett was only eighteen when she started working for the Plums and Harry married her when she was twenty-one. He'd agonized over desiring a young woman more than half his age and I had judged him harshly for it. Several years later, I am in the same boat and worse yet, she is the daughter of a man who was once almost like a brother to me.

Father of the f*****g Year Award, that's what I deserve, especially since I know my own son desires her, too. He's been harboring a crush on her since they were in the sixth grade.

I pour another half a shot of scotch into my glass and gulp it in one swallow. Waverly would be horrified if she knew I was guzzling down a lovely sipping scotch like it's cheap liquor store bourbon. But that would be nothing if she found me getting sauced on a late Friday afternoon when I'm supposed to be driving the family in two hours for dinner. By the time I set down the highball glass a second time, my hand was no longer shaking. I have got to get a hold of myself. I'm acting like an overly hormonal teenage boy with a perpetual hard-on.

The motion sensor above the door that leads to the garage beeps and I look up in time to see Melody cross the living room, clutching her overnight bag to her front. With her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, she looks even younger. She stops at the mouth of the den and waves awkwardly at me.

I wave back. Hopefully she didn't see my rock-hard stiffy while we were in the car earlier. "Charlotte is in her room and Charlie is in the backyard with his mother. You know where to go. You practically live here." I attempt a smile, but I can't be sure if it were successful.

"Thank you, Mr. Davenport." She bobs like a maid before the Lord of the manor and dashes off upstairs to join my daughter.

I put away the evidence of my drinking right before I hear some noise behind me and my six-year-old daughter Madison launches herself into my arms. Behind her is her eleven-year-old brother Noah, looking like the somber little professor as usual in his brown cords, navy blue jumper, and horn-rimmed glasses.

"Daddy, Noah is being a poopy-head. He said everyone is full of bacteria, but I've got the most in the world!"

My son smirks and pushes up his glasses along his freckled nose. Waverly says out of all our children, he's the one who resembles me the most. He's also the biggest smart-ass. "It's true. Bacteria are everywhere. There's, like, a million bacteria on the top segment of this finger alone." He holds up his thumb.

Madison shrieks in my ear and wraps her skinny arms tighter around my neck. "Daddy, tell that poopy-head to stop lying. I'm not made of bacteria, I'm not!"

I set my daughter down on top of the bar and ease her stranglehold on me. "Maddie, we do not use that word. It's very rude." I switch my attention to my son. "Noah Christopher Davenport, stop trying to aggravate your baby sister. You're supposed to be looking after her, not pestering her. Be a better role model."

Noah folds his arms across his chest and glares at me. "But she's so annoying, dad. She keeps following me around."

I close my eyes briefly, count to ten, and open them again. "Son, you should be flattered. She follows you around because you're her big brother and thinks you're a swell bloke. Give her a break."

Maddie sticks her tongue out at Noah, then hides her face back in my chest. "Daddy, can we go to Chuck E. Cheese tonight? Sally and Mimi are going to be there with their families and I want to show Mimi that I'm better than her at skeeball."

I laugh and kiss her forehead. My baby girl is competitive like her mother. "I think your mum has fine dining in mind tonight, Junebug, so you'll have to mind your p's and q's extra carefully."

She pouts at me, pooching out her lower lip. "But Daddy, Melody is going with us and she's the best at winning tickets. Remember when she scored a million points in skeeball and the manager said she could have any prize she wants in the whole place?"

"It wasn't a million points, dummy. That's impossible," her brother pipes up.

"Hey," I say sharply, pointing at Noah. "I warned you about calling your sister names. What kind of lad bullies his own baby sister?"

"You're always taking her side," Noah cried. "You don't see what an evil little girl she becomes when you're not looking!"

I give him a warning look that wipes off the sullen expression on his face, but say nothing more.

"He's just jealous because Melody is way better at him at skeeball," Madison grumbles, swinging her legs side by side from the bar. "Daddy, remember when she won me that gigantic Hello Kitty doll?"

A few months ago, Waverly rented out the local Chuck E. Cheese for Maddie's birthday celebration and invited her entire kindergarten class. The children of my colleagues at school also attended, so there were about fifty kids running around all over the place. It was utter chaos. I got assigned to watch the little monsters along with a handful of other dads, one of whom had a flask of tequila on him. It definitely made the afternoon smoother, I'll tell you that.

My attention was on the ball pit where Maddie had just screamed, "Geronimo!" before taking a belly flop. She's a pretty brave girl and doesn't cry too much, but she must have landed wrong and hurt herself because I saw her face crumple. I was about to rush over to see if she were alright, when she must have realized the other kids were watching her, because the seemingly inevitable crying was curtailed.

It was Mike, an Algebra teacher at Sacred Heart, who brought my attention to the skeeball. "God daaaamn, what are they feeding these girls? That is the finest ass I've seen in a good long while."

I looked at where he was pointing and immediately regretted it. A girl wearing a tight mini-skirt and black ankle boots with white ruffled socks was bent over one of the skeeball machines and I could see the underside of her butt cheeks, along with the flash of white lace knickers. Instant hard-on. When she straightened up to high-five the boy next to her, who was incidentally my son Noah, I was horrified to see that it was little Melody Plum I'd been ogling. I took off the Dodgers cap on my head and casually held it over my crotch. I felt even more ashamed of myself when I saw that the other dads were also gawking at her with lust in their eyes.

To make matters worse, Charlie was also standing nearby where he had been playing air hockey with Charlotte. His face was red and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. He must have sensed I was looking at him because he glanced at me over his shoulder with an embarrassed smile and an awkward wave. He, too, had been watching Melody play skeeball.

That evening, I couldn't stop thinking about her slender, honey-toned legs and tight, perky ass. I had to take a shower and jerk off as soon as we got home, just so I could sit with her and my family in the living room where we were all supposed to gather to watch a movie of Maddie's choosing. She picked Moana, of course, which I've seen at least ten times.

Later that night, I asked Waverly for s*x. I started by kissing the back of her neck, telling her how beautiful she was. She told me to shut up and go to sleep.

"Come on, Wave." I hated the pleading note of my own voice. "It's been three weeks."

Her sigh was heavy and exasperated. "Benjamin, we had a full day today, all right? I am exhausted. Why don't you just wank off and go to sleep?"

And so, that's exactly what I did. I got out of bed, went up to my office on the third floor, and sat behind my desk in the dark for ten minutes. After two pulls from the bottle of whiskey I had stashed in a desk drawer, I laid down on the sofa, closed my eyes, reached into my pants, and had a wank. I pictured the tight material of Melody's skirt molded over her rounded butt and that hint of white lace knickers underneath. It didn't take long. Within minutes, I was releasing gobs of c*m into a fistful of tissues. I kept stroking until I was fully wrung out. After disposing evidence of my shame, I went back to the sofa and practically collapsed in exhaustion. Two wanks in one day. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

"Are we going to Chez Nous tonight?" Noah asks, breaking into my thoughts. "I hope they have duck. They ran out last time. What kind of French restaurant runs out of duck?"

Unlike his siblings, Noah speaks with a trace of my accent, which is Oxonian tempered with the neighborhood of London where I was born and raised, Hammersmith. Some people have called it the "Downton Abbey" accent. Waverly, on the other hand, is from Dublin and lived there all of her life until university age, upon which she moved to Oxford, where we met. Noah's siblings tease him about it all the time, but it doesn't seem to matter to him. He prefers the way Daddy talks, he often says.

"Well, better have a second choice, then, old boy," I tell him as I lift Maddie from the bar and set her down on the ground next to me. "You don't want it to be like last time, when you felt pressured to decide last minute, and ordered something you didn't like."

"Okay, Dad." His tone is more conciliatory. "I'm going to play my game for a bit in my room."

"I'm afraid there's no time, son. We have to start getting ready now." I look at Madison, who has taken my hand in hers. "You'll have to knock on your sister's door and ask her to help you get dressed."

She pouts at me. "Why can't you do it?"

I reach down and tap the tip of her nose with my finger. "Because I asked you to do it, Madison June Davenport."

"Well, it's a good job that Melody is here tonight, then. She does my hair the best. Lottie is rubbish with it."

"Don't say that about your sister."

With my two youngest kids dispatched, I head for the stairs myself so I can get to the bedroom I share with Waverly and get ready. Right at the top of the stairs is Charlie's bedroom, with Charlotte's right next to it. Her door is not all the way closed, so I could hear snippets of their conversation. I hear my name as I pass and my ears burn. Like a pervert, I press my back against the wall on the far side of Charlotte's door and hold my breath, lest they hear me.

"You are so gross," my daughter says laughingly. "My dad is not hot. He's so old!"

"He's not old, you jerk. He's one of the youngest teachers we have at school. You don't see it because he's your dad, but he's a stone-cold fox."

I groan inwardly and close my eyes. This is just great. It is one thing that she doesn't see me as a man, but it is quite another for her to recognize me as an object of desire. Just the very thought of her lying in her bed at night, caressing her own thighs, imagining her hands as mine... made it a challenge for me to breathe.

This is insanity. I force myself to walk away from the door and trudge my way down to the master bedroom down the hall, as though my leg weighed seven stones. I make it to the ensuite bathroom and take off my clothes, suddenly unable to bear the feeling of fabric on my skin. My c**k is tumescent and the tip dripping with pre-c*m. I turn on the shower and go into the stall, soaking myself under water that was as cold as I could stand it. I begin to soap myself, under my arms, all over my chest, and finally reach for my throbbing c**k, which I give a stroke upward. Behind me, the shower door opens and my naked wife sneaks up and slips her arms around me, kissing the spot between my shoulder blades.

"Is this all for me?" she whispers, reaching for my turgid d**k and giving it a squeeze. "Oh darling, is it Christmas already?"

I turn around in her arms and back her against the tiled wall. Hoisting her up, I cover her mouth with my own, lifting up her legs to wrap them around my hips. I drag the tip of my p***s along the thick lips of her cunt and she throws her head back, gasping out loud, as she digs her fingernails into my back.

"f**k me, Ben," she commands before biting the spot between my shoulder and neck. "Oh, God, I need you. f**k me."

But the voice I hear in my head is not my wife's. It's Melody's soft, raspy voice, begging me to take her, to enter her. I close my eyes, pull back my hips and thrust deeply into her.

"Benjamin!"

Twenty minutes later, Waverly is sitting in front of her vanity mirror, brushing her hair and humming a tune from our university years that I can't quite recognize. Her cheeks are flushed and green eyes glittering with something I haven't seen in a while.

"I don't know what's gotten into you today, Benjamin," she says with a shy smile, meeting my gaze in the reflection. "But you haven't made love to me like that in months."

I squeeze her shoulders and drop a kiss on top of her head. "My darling tigress, you're the one who attacked me in the shower." I turn away to pick up the button-down shirt laid out on our bed. I couldn't look at her anymore. My own guilt was threatening to choke me.

"I know things haven't been smooth between us these past few weeks. Sometimes I just forget what an amazing, wonderful man I'm married to." She tugs at my arm to ensure she has my attention. "We should go on a brief holiday, just you and me. Maybe we can drive up to Napa on a long weekend."

"That's a brilliant idea."

She finishes getting ready and gives me a resounding kiss before leaving our bedroom to check on the children.

I run a hand through my hair. Waverly and I have had this rift for several months now. She said she no longer felt any passion from me whenever I kissed her or made love to her. She confessed that sometimes, she feared our s*x life had become rote and I was just going through the motions. After that, things just started to get awkward between us, to the point where she became standoffish and less receptive of my overtures. Our lovemaking became more infrequent and she became less affectionate.

How could I tell her that while I was f*****g her in the shower, I was thinking of the girl our own son has a crush on? She must never find out.

After getting dressed, I sit on the bed for a moment to take a couple of deep breaths, so I could reorientate myself. I need to stop thinking of Melody Plum this way. Am I going out of my mind? I'm old enough to be her father.

I give myself five minutes, then follow my wife out of the bedroom and down the stairs. I find everyone in the living room all dressed up and ready to go. My eyes automatically search my immediate area for Melody, who is standing off to the side, laughing at something Charlie is telling her.

She looks up and smiles at me. "Looking spiffy, Mr. D. New suit?"

I feel my face turn red and press my palm against the back of my neck. The suit is indeed new. I'm wearing a navy-blue Armani suit with a light lavender shirt underneath and a dark blue tie decorated with silver slashes. I wasn't thinking of getting gussied up, but I must have subconsciously wanted to look my best for her. "Ah, thank you, Melody."

Charlotte cracks up. "Oh my God, dad, are you blushing? Melody, look at what you did. You made my dad blush!"

Waverly, who is fixing the collar of Noah's shirt, glances at me and beams. "Smart and snazzy, indeed, Mr. Davenport."

My wife is wearing a deep burgundy, off-the-shoulder sheath dress that complements her tall, trim frame. Her blond hair is done up in a neat French braid and around her neck is the string of pearls I gifted her on our twentieth wedding anniversary last year. She doesn't look a day over thirty-five. I'm a lucky man, as my best mate Paul would say, and yet barely able to control myself from checking out the young woman fiddling with my eldest child's tie.

Her sleeveless purple dress which has a full skirt and a square neckline that shows off her pert, rounded breasts is breathtaking. Her long, thick black hair hangs loosely around her shoulders and her smooth skin, the color of light honey, glows with vitality and that joie-de-vivre that brightens up any room she happens to be in.

"You look very nice, too, Melody," I say, managing to keep my voice normal and free of the growl building up within my chest.

I'm a ravening wolf eager to pounce and feast on her young, nubile flesh. I am a bad man.