Mary had been testing Daddy all week.
At 21, she knew exactly what she was doing — wearing the shortest sundresses with no panties underneath, “forgetting” to call him when she got home late, and sending him teasing texts with pictures of her bare thighs and the little pout on her lips. She craved the moment he would finally snap.
Tonight, she pushed him too far.
She came home to their luxurious apartment well after midnight, the city lights sparkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Daddy — Luke, her 42-year-old guardian and the man who had taken complete control of her life six months ago — was waiting in the living room. He sat on the wide leather couch in nothing but black sweatpants, his powerful chest bare, muscular arms resting on his thighs. His dark eyes burned with a mixt
