“Ssh, princess… allow Daddy to go for his trip, okay?”
He said it again—voice soft and coaxing—his fingers loosening around my neck, thumbs stroking the frantic pulse there like he could calm it with gentleness.
Like he could still talk his way out of the locked door, the flushed key, the fact that Mom was waiting and he was here, c**k throbbing against my stomach, begging his stepdaughter not to ruin him completely.
I turned my face—cheek sliding against his palm—until my lips brushed his ear.
“But the key is flushed eighth underground,” I whispered back, breath hot and vodka-sweet.
“So Daddy isn’t going.”
“Please…”
He said in a pathetic low manner as his hands shook my throat.
Eyes glassy, pleading, like a man staring down the barrel of his own destruction.
I nearly fel
