Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 12

Sydney should never have been there. Not at this hour, not when the entire house was cloaked in the stillness of sleep. But the moonlight called to her, a siren's song pulling her toward the sanctuary of the library, the only place where her thoughts could run wild, untamed, free from prying eyes. She eased the door open carefully, ensuring it didn't creak, only to freeze in her tracks when the sight that met her stopped her heart cold.

Alan stood there, leaning against the desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. A faint smirk danced across his lips, as if he'd been waiting for her. The room was thick with the scent of sandalwood and whiskey, a combination so intoxicating it seemed to cloud her judgment, to pull her deeper into the pull between them.

"You've been restless," he said, his voice deep and steady, breaking the silence. His gaze locked on hers as he set the glass down, slow and deliberate. "It's not hard to notice."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her throat constricting as she struggled to find her voice. "I didn't mean to disturb you," she managed, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper. She took a step back, but Alan's gaze held her in place, as if the very act of stepping away would be a betrayal.

"You're not disturbing me," he said, and there was a sharpness in his tone, something almost challenging, like he knew exactly what was happening between them. His gaze never wavered as he stepped closer, the moonlight catching in his hair, the way his shirt clung to his body. "Stay."

It wasn't a request. It was an order. The authority in his voice sent a shiver through her, and against every instinct to flee, she obeyed. She let the door fall shut behind her and took a hesitant step into the room, her pulse quickening with every breath. She should have turned and run. Every part of her screamed to turn away. But she couldn't.

"What is it, Sydney?" he asked softly, his voice a velvet murmur that only made the air between them feel heavier. "What are you so afraid of?"

Her breath hitched, her hands trembling at her sides as she tried to form an answer, but the words wouldn't come. The walls she had spent so long building began to crumble.

"I-" she stuttered, but before she could say anything, his hand reached out, brushing her chin with the softest touch. His fingers tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice low, intimate, dangerous. "What are you running from?"

Her breath caught, every thought scrambled in her mind. Fear, guilt, longing-so much she could not name. Her lips parted, but the confession that hovered on her tongue was swallowed by the tremor that racked her body. Instead, a broken sound escaped her throat.

Alan's gaze flicked to her lips, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade. The world narrowed to just the two of them. His breath, warm against her skin, was all she could feel. He leaned in, his hand slipping to her neck, his thumb brushing the hollow of her throat.

"You can't keep looking at me like that," he murmured, his voice barely audible, but the weight of it hit her like a blow. "Like you want something you're too afraid to take."

Her chest tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. Every fiber of her being screamed to move, to pull away, to stop this before it became something irreversible. But she couldn't. She didn't want to. And when his lips hovered inches from hers, she thought she might lose herself entirely.

"Sir..." The word slipped from her lips as a broken whisper, a plea and a warning all at once.

"Don't call me that," he whispered, his voice rough, commanding. "Use the word your Mommy wants you to call me."

The tension between them thickened. She couldn't stop herself, the word forced its way out of her mouth. "D-daddy."

A smile curled at the edges of Alan's lips, a dangerous thing. "Better," he murmured. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice ragged. "Tell me, and I will."

Her throat closed. She opened her mouth, ready to say the word, ready to pull back, to stop it before it went too far. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, her head tilted, her lips brushing his in the slightest, a touch so soft it might have been an accident.

But it wasn't.

The kiss-barely a kiss-was like a spark. A whisper of contact that sent a shock through her, tearing apart every carefully constructed thought in her head. It was innocent, yet devastating. A thousand forbidden desires in a single touch. But before she could decide what to do, before she could even breathe, the sharp sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

They broke apart instantly, the spell shattered. Sydney stumbled back, panic rushing through her veins, her chest rising and falling with every breath. Alan's expression darkened, his body tensing as he turned toward the door.

The footsteps grew louder, nearer. Sydney's heart seemed to stop as the doorknob began to turn.

"Quickly... hide!" he whispered urgently.

And then the dream shifted, and it was as though everything fell away into shadow.

Sydney woke with a jolt, her breath ragged, her body still trembling. The remnants of the dream clung to Sydney like a second skin, each image, each sensation still burning vividly in her mind. Her body was drenched in a cold sweat, but despite the chill in the air, she felt unbearably hot, a flush rising to her cheeks. The tightness in her chest had only grown since waking, and a thirst gnawed at her, deep and unrelenting.

She couldn't shake the heat that lingered, so she pushed herself out of bed, her legs weak but determined. She needed water, something to cool the simmering ache that had settled inside her. The house was silent, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. She made her way toward the kitchen, her mind racing, her breath shallow.

When she reached the door, she paused. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room. Her eyes searched the space, her pulse quickening. And then she saw him-Alan.

He stood by the counter, leaning casually against it, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The same amber liquid, the same familiar sight. The sight that had haunted her in the dream. The heat in her body flared at the sight of him, and her throat tightened with an all-too-familiar hunger.

He didn't seem surprised to see her, as if he'd known she would come. The smirk was there again, just the faintest curve of his lips, but it was enough to make her heart race.

"You've been looking for something," he said, his voice low, a soft mockery hanging in the air. His eyes never left hers, and it felt as if the distance between them shrank with each passing second.

Sydney tried to ignore the way her skin flushed under his gaze. "I-I just needed water," she said, her voice thick, her hands trembling as she reached for the faucet. The cool metal felt foreign under her fingertips, but the relief of the water was immediate. She drank greedily, not thinking, just trying to calm the storm inside her.

But it didn't help. The ache only deepened, the desire bubbling up inside her, making her feel even more exposed, more vulnerable. She set the glass down with a soft clink, but before she could turn away, Alan's voice cut through the thick silence.

"Still thirsty?" he asked, his tone laced with something darker, something that made her skin prickle. He was closer now, his presence a weight she couldn't escape.

Sydney tried to swallow the knot in her throat, but the words wouldn't come. She didn't know if she could answer him. She didn't know if she even wanted to.

The room was spinning, and she was caught between the coolness of the water and the fire that blazed inside her. Every inch of her skin seemed to burn, her body taut with an unspoken tension. She could feel him watching her, could feel the air thickening with something unspoken, a force pulling her toward him.

Alan moved closer, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving hers. "You're still so hot," he murmured, the words sliding out with a soft, dangerous edge. "I can see it in your eyes. Your thirst isn't for water, is it?"

Sydney's breath hitched, her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to stop the tremor in her limbs. She was caught in his orbit, unable to resist the pull.

"Alan... you're drunk" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, as if saying his name could break the spell that had wrapped itself around her.

But it didn't break. Instead, his hand reached out, brushing her arm gently, a touch that felt like fire on her skin. The shock of it made her gasp, and her knees threatened to give way beneath her.

"I perfectly know what I'm doing..." he said sharply "You've been running from something, but you're still here," he said, his voice low and almost tender, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge in his words.

Sydney shook her head, the words stuck in her throat, the heat in her body making it harder to think straight. Every rational thought she had was swept away, leaving only the burning need, the overwhelming pull of desire.

Alan stepped even closer, the heat from his body radiating toward her. He was so close she could feel the brush of his breath against her skin, and the air seemed to hum with the intensity of it all. Her heart raced, her hands trembling as they rested at her sides, uncertain whether to pull away or to move forward, to fall deeper into the dark.

His gaze dropped to her lips, and Sydney knew, without a doubt, that he was waiting for her to make the next move. But she was trapped. Trapped in the desire, in the heat, in the silence that stretched between them like a thin thread ready to snap.

"Tell me what you want, Sydney," Alan whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Her chest tightened, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She wanted to say something, to scream at him to stop, to push him away. But the words were lost, drowned in the overwhelming pull she felt toward him.

Instead, she stood there, caught between the storm inside her and the quiet, dark intensity in his eyes, the thirst for something she didn't understand consuming her, driving her to the edge of a precipice she couldn't escape.

The air between them thickened, electric, and charged, as Sydney stood there, her skin burning beneath his gaze. She could feel the tension radiating from him, a pressure in the room that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. Alan wasn't just close anymore-he was right there, his body a furnace, his presence overwhelming. It wasn't just his touch; it was the heat of him, the weight of his gaze, the way he looked at her as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

She tried to step back, but she was rooted to the spot, caught in the pull of something she couldn't escape. Alan's eyes were dark, the amber glow of the whiskey in his hand catching the light in a way that made everything about him seem sharper, more intense. The scent of alcohol on his breath only added to the intensity of the moment, blurring the lines between desire and restraint.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, but there was no mirth in it. Only hunger.

"You don't know what you're doing to me, do you?" Alan's voice was rough, strained like a man barely holding onto his sanity. He was drunk, yes, but the madness in his eyes was far beyond the effects of alcohol. It was a raw, primal-desire in its purest, most dangerous form.

Sydney felt a shiver race down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. "I didn't mean-" she started, but the words caught in her throat. She didn't know what she was trying to say. She didn't know how to make him understand, how to make this stop before it all spiraled beyond her control.

But Alan wasn't listening. His fingers reached for her again, this time pulling her closer with a force that made her gasp. She could feel the heat of his body, the frantic pulse beneath his skin, and it wasn't just the alcohol. It was something more. Something far more dangerous.

"I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you," he admitted, his voice low, almost savage. "I've been losing control ever since. Every time you look at me like that, every time you get close... it drives me mad, Sydney. Mad with need."

The confession hit her like a wave. It was raw, unfiltered, and completely honest. He wasn't just drawn to her. He was consumed by her. He was losing himself in the very thought of her. The revelation should have made her pull away, should have made her feel guilty, but it didn't. Instead, the words stirred something deep inside her, something dark and dangerous that she had been trying to ignore.

Alan's breath was hot against her skin as he leaned in, his lips grazing the side of her neck, sending a thrill through her that made her pulse race. "I can't stop," he whispered, his voice trembling with the force of his desire. "I can't keep pretending I don't want you. Don't want this."

Sydney's breath hitched. She felt his hand slide down her back, his fingers trailing across the curve of her spine, and the sensation sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. She had tried to resist him, had told herself it was wrong, that this was a line they couldn't cross. But every time he touched her, every time he spoke to her like that, it became harder to remember why.

"I didn't... I didn't mean for any of this to happen," she said, though even she knew how weak the words sounded. She was lying to herself. She had felt it too. The pull. The heat. The longing.

Alan's hands tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer, his body pressing against hers in a way that left no room for doubt. "I know," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver through her. "But it's happening now. And I'm not going to stop. Not when I need you like this. Not when I'm so damn close to losing it completely."

His words were the final push. The dam that had held back all of her resistance, all of her self-control, crumbled. She could feel it. The desire. The guilt. The confusion. They were all mixed together in a storm that she couldn't outrun.

And then, with a swift motion, Alan's lips crushed against hers. It was urgent. Desperate. A kiss that tasted of whiskey, of regret, of something more dangerous than either of them could comprehend. His hands roamed, claiming her, marking her as his, as though he was afraid someone-or something-would take her away.

At that moment, the world stopped spinning. There was only Alan and the fevered pulse of her own heart. There was only the heat between them, the madness of their tangled emotions, and the undeniable truth that neither of them could escape this. Not now. Not ever.

"I can't stop thinking about you," Alan murmured against her lips, his voice strained with the weight of his need. "You've driven me insane. And I don't think I can let go now."

Sydney closed her eyes, her body trembling under the intensity of it all, the heat of the moment consuming her. She knew she should walk away. She knew she should pull herself back from the edge. But every part of her, every inch of her body, was begging her to stay. To let it happen. To let him take control.

But it was too late to stop. Too late to pretend she didn't want him just as badly.