Twice as Dirty (II)
1586 Words
ELARA’S POV~
This was how it all started. A few hours before the board meeting, Hugh summoned me to his private suite.
The room smelled of his unique expensive, and spicy cologne, a scent that always made my knees weak, no matter how much I hated myself for it.
Hugh Vance stood by the window, looking out at the estate grounds. He was forty. In the absolute prime of his life.
He wasn't an old man; he was like a titan. He had a swimmer’s build, with broad shoulders that strained against the bespoke navy fabric of his suit, and a chest that looked like a slab of marble under his white dress shirt.
His hair was a rich, dark brown, but a distinguished salt-and-pepper gray was starting to creep in at the temples, and slicked back.
He’s your stepfather, I scolded myself, my eyes tracing the line of his back. He’s Daddy. Stop looking at his ass.
"Come here, Elara," he commanded softly, without turning around.
I walked to him, my head held down, my hands trembling.
"Look at me," he ordered.
I looked up and saw him turn around. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold, burned into mine. They were cold, and predatory, but filled with a hunger that made my skin crawl and my p***y throb.
"My late wife had taste," Hugh mused, turning to face me fully. "But you... you hide yourself. Grief is no excuse for a Vance to look like a orphan."
He reached beside him and lifted a garment bag. The material inside shimmered.
"Tonight," Hugh stated, his voice dropping an octave, "you sit at the head of the table. You represent this family. You do not embarrass me."
He pulled out the dress. It was cream silk. It was high-necked, but so thin it was practically translucent.
"Put it on," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "Now."
"Daddy," I stammered, my cheeks flushing. "It’s... it’s too revealing. The board..."
"Let them see," Hugh cut me off, stepping closer. The air between us crackled. "I want them to see what I provide. I want them to see you. Turn around," he whispered.
I turned, trembling.
"Raise your arms."
I did. He pulled my cotton sweater up. His knuckles brushed my ribs. They were large and rough hands. Totally capable of violence or pleasure.
Don't think about his hands between your legs, I screamed internally. It’s wrong. He’s forty. He’s Daddy. But as he held the dress open, my eyes dropped.
Oh my f*****g goodness.
He was wearing a tailored trousers, that was cut tight across his narrow hips. And there, resting heavy against his left thigh, was the unmistakable, thick shape of his c**k.
Even soft, it looked massive. It was a heavy, long ridge of flesh outlined by the wool. The head was a thick bulb pressing against the fabric.
I felt a traitorous gush of wetness in my p***y.
No. Stop. He’s your guardian. He’s practically your father.
But the image burned into my mind, at the way the material tented slightly. The thought of how big he would be if he stood up, if he unzipped that fly and that thick, heavy length sprang free...
"Step in," he ordered, his voice cutting through my dirty thoughts.
I stepped into the dress. He pulled it up. The fabric whispered against my legs, sliding over my hips, molding to my waist like a second skin. He zipped it up and his hand lingered on my spine.
"You have her grace," Hugh murmured, stepping around me.
He stood close. Too close. I could smell the mint on his breath, the spice of his skin. I could feel the heat radiating off his chest right in front of my face.
"Look at yourself," he whispered, turning me toward the mirror.
I looked. The dress was… I don’t know, maybe scandalous. It dipped low in the back, exposing my shoulder blades. The front clung to my chest, outlining the hardening of my n*****s, which were betraying me completely.
"You look..." he started, his large hand coming up to brush a stray hair from my forehead.
Say 'beautiful,' my mind screamed. Say 'pretty.' Please don't say it's sinful.
"...like a woman who needs a firm hand," he finished, his thumb tracing my jawline.
My eyes dropped again. I couldn't help it. The bulge in his pants was right there. So close. I imagined him unbuttoning that waistcoat, the sound of the zipper... the weight of that thick c**k in my small hand...
This is wrong, I thought, my breath hitching.
This is a sin. He’s my father in the eyes of the law. I shouldn't want to choke on his c**k. But my p***y clenched, aching.
"Daddy, please," I whimpered, not even knowing what I was asking for.
"Please, what?" Hugh smirked, his eyes darkening. He knew exactly where I was looking. He shifted his weight, and the bulge seemed to twitch under the fabric. "You should be saying 'Thank you, Daddy.' I bought you that dress so the world can see what a beautiful young woman you've become. Now, don't you want to make Daddy proud?"
"Daddy!" I gasped, my face burning with shame and lust.
"Shh," he soothed, his massive hand sliding down to rest heavily on my hip, his pinky finger brushing the curve of my ass. He didn't lean in. He stood tall, fighting the urge to crush me against him. "It's okay to look, sweetheart. But Daddy works hard to keep you in silk. The least you can do is stand up straight and act like the lady he raised."
He then adjusted his cufflinks, the movement making the bulge in his trousers jump. He was fighting it. I was fighting it. That sinful tension we both shouldn’t be feeling.
"Tonight," he said, his voice strained, "I will have my hand on your chair. A fatherly gesture. And you will sit there, and you will be a good girl. Because if you fidget... Daddy might have to remind you how to sit still."
I froze. The room spun.
"Yes, Daddy," I breathed, the fight leaving my body, replaced by a dark, wet surrender.
"Good girl," he purred, patting my cheek. "Now, go fix your makeup. And Elara?"
"Yes, Daddy?"
"And for God's sake, hold still tonight. I don't want to see you fidgeting. Daddy needs to feel that you can be a good girl... even when things get heated under the collar."
He turned away, dismissing me.
I fled the room, my heart hammering, my face burning, and the image of his thick, tented c**k burned into my mind.
I was doomed. I was a sinner. And God help me, I wanted to be ruined.
—————-
I ran back to Hugh's suite about ten minutes later. Exactly ten minutes later because I’d be timing all through.
My heart was racing madly. I needed a tie clip, some stupid, silver thing he’d mentioned at breakfast, but it was also just an excuse to go back, to see him again, to feel that heavy, suffocating tension.
I am not looking at him, I kept telling myself, gripping the door handle. I am not thinking about what's under that suit. He is Daddy. He is my guardian. I am just fetching a clip.
I didn't knock. My hand was shaking too bad. I just pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
"Daddy? I forgot—"
The words died in my throat immediately. Because standing there was, Hugh who was standing by the window, the afternoon sun hitting him.
He was naked. Completely naked.
My eyes couldn’t help but trail th sprinkled with dark hair with a mix of grey that trailed down his stomach, past his navel, and into the thick thatch at his groin. And there... his hand was wrapped around his c**k.
I froze. My breath hitched so loud it echoed in the silent room. The heck?
He was stroking himself slowly. Up. Down. His large, calloused hand working the shaft with a rhythm that made my knees turn to water.
Hugh's eyes snapped open. He didn't cover himself. He didn't reach for a robe. He just stopped moving. His chest heaved.
He was a monster. There was no other word for it. His c**k jutted out from a nest of dark, salt-and-pepper curls, long and thick and terrifyingly beautiful. The shaft was a column of muscle, the veins standing out like cords, leading up to a bulbous head that was slick with moisture.
He gripped it tight, his large hand looking small by comparison.
As he stroked himself, a fresh wave of pre-c*m coated the tip, making it shine in the sunlight. It looked... intrusive. Violent. Like the kind of thing a Step-Dad uses to punish a bad girl who stares too long.
"Elara," he rumbled, my name sounding like a curse and a prayer on his lips.
"I... I'm sorry," I stammered, my eyes glued to the way his thumb swiped over the sensitive head of his c**k, smearing the wetness there. "The tie clip... I..."
"Shh," he cut me off, his voice dropping an octave. "You knocked, Elara. But you didn't wait."
He took a step toward me. The air in the room felt thin, charged with electricity.
"I told you to go fix your makeup," Hugh growled, his eyes locking onto mine, so dark and unreadable. "I told you to stay away. But you came back."
- Writer
