Daddy's Little Temptress

Someone Like You

Alan

I could hear the faint sound of Cyril’s soft, staggered breath as I laid her down on the bed.

Her body was limp, her eyes barely staying open, her face flushed with the remnants of a long night. She had been crying earlier, so much so that her face was streaked with mascara smudges, and I knew there was nothing I could do to take away the hurt she was feeling.

I pulled the blanket over her, my hands automatically adjusting it around her. She let out a low whimper, tugging at my sleeve as if trying to keep me close, but I didn't think much of it at first.

She was in pain…her heart had just been ripped to pieces by the man she loved.

I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She wasn’t just crying for him, though. She was crying for the loss of the future she had built in her mind, the future she thought was hers.

“Let me help you out of these shoes,” I murmured, trying to distract her. I knelt down, gently pulling the heels from her feet, avoiding the flutter of her hands that tried to pull me back as if she needed something more.

When I finally finished and straightened up, she caught my hand in hers, her grip tight and insistent. I tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Daddy…” she whispered through a sob, her eyes blurry with tears. “He broke up with me.”

I sighed, my heart aching for her. I didn’t have the right words to fix it, and I doubted anyone did. She was hurt, and when someone you love is in pain, there’s no quick way to make it go away.

“It’s his loss,” I said, the words sounding hollow in the face of her brokenness.

She sniffled, her gaze drifting away, eyelids fluttering as if sleep were slowly pulling her under. “What do I do now, daddy?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn’t help the pang in my chest when she called me that. Cyril had always relied on me, ever since her mother had passed. And now…now she was asking for something more than the comforting presence of a father.

I could feel the shift that had occurred between us. She isn't my little girl anymore. She hadn’t been for years.

“You move on with someone else… someone better,” I told her, keeping my voice steady, my words calm, even though inside, I was far from it.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she shifted on the bed, curling into herself, holding my hand tightly against her chest, the weight of her fingers pressing down as if they could anchor me to her, hold me in place forever.

“Someone like you?” she murmured, her voice laced with something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I felt a tightness in my chest, my pulse picking up a reaction I knew was completely inappropriate. It was the way she said it, the way she looked at me, the way she leaned in just a little closer.

I pulled away slightly, my heart hammering. Her hand stayed with mine, stubbornly clutching me like it was the last thing she could hold onto.

"Yes, someone like me," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn’t look at her, not fully. Not with the way she was staring at me.

But she wouldn’t let it go.

“Why can it not be you?” she asked, her voice thick with frustration.

I was beyond the edge now. My patience, my composure, it was all slipping through my fingers like sand, and I couldn’t stop it.

“Because... I’m your father,” I said, my voice tired, my tone clipped.

I took a slow breath, trying to gather myself, trying to keep my resolve, but all I wanted was to leave.

To walk away from this mess of emotions I couldn’t untangle,

or control.

She didn’t listen.

Her fingers tightened around my wrist, pulling me back toward her. “Who says fathers can’t be their daughters’ lovers?” she spat out, the words coming out sharper than before.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled back a step, shaking my head. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

“Because they aren’t meant to be,” I replied, my voice shaky now, fighting against the dread building in my chest. I pried my hand from hers with minimal force, my eyes never meeting hers.

I couldn’t look at her right now, not when she was looking at me like that…like I was something more than just her father.

I leaned down, pulling the blanket higher around her, trying to tuck her in, but she wouldn’t let go. She wouldn’t let me escape.

Her voice cracked when she spoke again, her eyes half-lidded, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and something darker, something that made me recoil.

“Why not you?” she repeated, her words barely audible now, as though she were already slipping into a dream, into a fantasy she had built in her mind.

I felt my stomach twist. I couldn’t breathe.

My hands trembled at my sides, and I fought to steady myself. The air felt thick, suffocating, and every breath I took was laced with regret.

Why had I stayed? Why had I allowed myself to be pulled into this situation?

“Because I’m your father,” I said again, my voice trembling now. I had to get out of there. I had to leave before I couldn’t control myself any longer.

“Go to sleep, Cyril,” I said, my voice hoarse, barely a whisper. But she didn’t listen. She never did.

Her hand reached for mine once more, and this time, I couldn’t pull away. It felt like I was frozen in place, caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay, wanting to protect her but knowing I couldn’t.

Not like this.

And in that moment, I realized how much she had changed. How much I had changed. The little girl I had raised was gone, replaced by someone unrecognizable….someone who wasn’t afraid to push boundaries, to cross lines we were never supposed to cross.

I tried to pull away again, but it was useless.

She had a grip on me now, not just physically, but emotionally.

Her eyes were filled with something I couldn’t name, locked onto mine, and for a brief, fleeting second, I saw desire in her eyes and it terrified me.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand, but as I turned toward the door, I heard her voice again, soft but insistent.

“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice thick with something dangerous. “Why can’t it be you?”

I closed my eyes, fighting to regain control, but I was losing.

“It can't be me.”