Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 15

The morning light spilled into the kitchen, illuminating the quiet tension that lingered between them. Sydney sat at the small table, her fingers toying with the edge of her coffee mug, while her mother busied herself at the counter. Alan sat across from her, his movements slow and deliberate, like a man accustomed to keeping secrets.

They ate breakfast in silence, the occasional clink of cutlery the only sound breaking the stillness. Sydney avoided her mother's gaze entirely, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She wasn't ready to forgive-not yet. The betrayal she felt was still raw, the wound too fresh.

Her mother tried to bridge the gap, clearing her throat and offering a tentative, "Are you feeling better today,"

Sydney didn't respond. She stared at her plate, her appetite already waning. The tension was palpable, but she refused to give her mother the satisfaction of a response.

Alan, ever the enigma, said nothing. He simply sipped his coffee, his dark eyes flicking toward Sydney with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. When he was with her, it was as though he could see through every wall she tried to build, every lie she told herself. And yet, he respected her silences, never pressing when she wasn't ready to speak.

When breakfast was over, Sydney excused herself quickly, retreating to her room. Alan lingered for a moment, his gaze locking with her mother's, an unreadable expression on his face.

The next few days passed in a blur. Sydney spent most of her time in bed, resting and trying to regain a semblance of normalcy. Alan was a constant presence, his quiet strength grounding her in ways she hadn't realized she needed.

Despite the secrecy of their forbidden connection, their moments together felt electric, charged with a tension that neither dared to fully acknowledge. When he touched her-whether it was the brush of his fingers as he handed her a glass of water or the way his hand lingered on her shoulder-it was like a spark igniting something deep within her.

But he never crossed the line.

He was a paradox: fiercely protective, yet maddeningly restrained. His control was both infuriating and intoxicating, a tantalizing reminder of the depths of his desire for her, even as he held himself back.

On the fifth morning, Sydney decided she couldn't take the stagnation anymore. She needed to get back to work, to find a sense of purpose again.

"I'm going in today," she announced over breakfast, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her chest.

Alan, seated across from her as always, raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm.

"I have to be," she replied, her gaze unwavering.

Her mother started to protest, but Sydney silenced her with a sharp look. "I'll be fine," she said coldly, her words directed more at Alan than her mother.

The days that followed were a delicate dance, a careful balancing act between their public facades and the forbidden secret they shared. In the office, she was Nymeria-calm, composed, professional. But when the workday ended, and it was just the two of them, the walls crumbled.

Alan's presence was like a drug she couldn't quit, addictive and all-consuming. He treated her with a reverence that made her feel like she was the center of his universe, but there was always an edge to his tenderness, a fire smoldering beneath the surface.

Every look he gave her felt loaded, every touch deliberate. He was strict and cold in public, but when they were alone, he became something else entirely-a man who burned for her in silence, who walked the tightrope between restraint and passion.

Their stolen moments were both thrilling and torturous. A brush of his hand against hers. The way he'd lean in close to whisper something in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. The way his gaze lingered just a moment too long when she wasn't looking.

It was like poison-dangerous, intoxicating, and impossible to resist.

And though she knew it couldn't last, that their fragile balance would eventually tip, she couldn't bring herself to stop. Because for the first time in her life, she felt alive.

Alan, for all his control, wasn't immune. She saw it in the way his jaw clenched when their hands accidentally touched, in the way his eyes darkened when she smiled at him. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, but he kept himself in check, his self-restraint as maddening as it was admirable.

But there was something thrilling about the secrecy, about the danger of what they were doing. It wasn't just the forbidden nature of their connection-it was the way he made her feel. Like she mattered. Like she was worthy.

And for now, that was enough.

That night, the house was cloaked in silence. Euri had gone to bed early, her door firmly shut, leaving Sydney and Alan alone in the dimly lit living room. The air between them was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building all evening.

Sydney sat curled up on the couch, pretending to watch the muted television, but her focus kept drifting to Alan, who was seated at the other end of the room. He leaned against the armrest, his posture relaxed, though his dark eyes betrayed the storm within him whenever they flicked toward her.

Her fingers toyed nervously with the hem of her shirt. Every glance they exchanged felt like a spark, a risk, a temptation neither of them could resist.

"Are you tired?" he asked finally, his voice low and quiet, breaking the silence.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice to sound steady.

"Then maybe you should go to bed," he said, his tone gentle yet firm, though his gaze lingered on her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I don't think I can sleep," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The tension stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until she stood abruptly and headed toward her room without another word.

But when she closed the door behind her, she couldn't bring herself to lock it.

The minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, her heart pounding as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the door. She didn't know what she was waiting for-or if she even wanted it-but her breath hitched when she heard the soft creak of the floorboards outside.

The door opened slowly, and Alan stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I know," he said, his voice low and rough. But he didn't leave.

Instead, he crossed the room, his tall frame casting long shadows in the dim light. He stopped in front of her, towering over her as she sat frozen on the bed, her breath shallow and uneven.

"Why are you here, Alan?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Because I can't stay away," he admitted, his tone raw and unguarded.

The air between them was electric, every second that passed tightening the invisible thread that connected them.

His hand lifted slowly, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. The touch was light, barely there, but it ignited something deep inside her. She closed her eyes, leaning into his hand despite the voice in her head screaming at her to stop.

"Sydney," he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

The air in the room was heavy, charged with the tension neither of them dared to speak aloud. Sydney's breaths were shallow, her pulse quickening as Alan's hands gently slid down her arms. He was so close-closer than he should be-and yet she didn't pull away. She couldn't. The pull between them was magnetic, undeniable, as though every inch of her was tuned to the way his presence set her alight.

"Tell me to stop," Alan murmured, his voice low and filled with restraint, though his dark eyes betrayed the fire simmering just beneath. His hands stilled at her sides, trembling slightly as he held himself back. "Sydney... if you don't want this-"

"I don't want you to stop," she interrupted, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her cheeks flushed as the words left her lips, but she couldn't take them back. She didn't want to.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as though he was waging a war with himself. "You don't know what you're asking for," he said, his voice hoarse. "This... you and me... it's dangerous."

"Then why are you still here?" she challenged, stepping closer, her courage fed by the pounding of her heart. "Why are you looking at me like that if it's so wrong?"

Alan's eyes snapped open, locking onto hers with an inipplety that stole her breath. "Because I can't stay away from you," he admitted, his voice raw, filled with equal parts anguish and desire. "I've tried, Sydney. I've tried to keep my distance, to do the right thing. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice-" He broke off, shaking his head as inipplewords were too much to bear.

She reached up, her fingers lightly grazing his jawline. He stilled under her touch, his eyes closing again as though he was savoring the moment. "Alan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please..."

That single word broke him.

He moved with sudden intensity, his hands framing her face as he kissed her. It wasn't gentle or hesitant-it was desperate, filled with the longing and frustration they had both been holding back for so long. Sydney's hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, her heart pounding wildly as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

Alan pulled away just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers. "Sydney..." he said her name like a prayer, his hands trailing down to her waist. "If we do this, I need to know you're sure. There's no going back."

Her answer came in the form of another kiss, softer this time but no less insistent. "I've never been more sure of anything," she whispered against his lips, her hands threading through his hair. "I want this. I want you."

The tension betweenipple snapped like a taut string, giving way to the storm of emotions they had been suppressing. Alan's restraint faltered as he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the edge of the bed. Their movements were a mix of hurried desperation and tender reverence, as though they were both afraid the moment might shatter if they moved too quickly or too slowly.

"Tell me if it's too much," Alan murmured, his voice strained as he ran his hands down her sides, his touch igniting her skin like fire. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me," she replied, her voice breathless.

Alan's lips found hers again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. The world outside their small bubble ceased to exist; there was only the heat of their connection, the sound of their ragged breaths, and the way they seemed to fit together perfectly, as though they were made for this.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word felt like an unspoken promise-one that neither of them was ready to break. Alan moved with a care and gentleclitorist belied the intensity of his desire, his focus entirely on her. And Sydney, for the first time in what felt like forever, let herself feel. She let herself give in to the moment, to him, to the sense of safety and passion that only Alan could provide.

His hand slid up to her lower back, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the thin fabric of her shirt. "Do you know what you're doing to me right now, Sydney?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but she didn't look away. "I'm not doing anything," she whispered, though even she didn't believe it. Every part of her was alive, buzzing with the unspoken tension that simmered between them.

Alan exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to her lips before returning to her eyes. "That's the problem," he muttered, his voice rough. "You don't even have to try, and I'm-" He broke off, his jaw clenching as though he was fighting to keep himself in check.

"You're what?" she asked, her voice barely audible, but the question hung in the air like a challenge.

He stared at her for a long moment, the struggle written all over his face. Then, slowly, his free hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin witclitoriserness that made her chest ache. "I'm burning for you," he admitted, his voice raw. "Every time I'm near you, it feels like I'm losing control. And I can't-" He stopped again, his forehead pressing against hers. "I can't keep pretending I don't want you."

The words sent a jolt through her, like an electric current sparking down her spine. Her hands, as though acting on their own, slid up to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. "Then don't pretend," she said, her voice trembling but resolute.

Something in him snapped. His lips were on hers in an instant, fierce and demanding, his hands pulling her closer as though he couldn't bear to have even an inch of space between them. The kiss was intoxicating, a heady mix of passion and desperation that left her dizzy. She clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair as he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until she couldn't think of anything but him.

Every touch and every movement felt like a spark igniting a flame. His hands roamed her back, skimming over the curve of her spine, his fingers pressing into her skin as though he was trying to memorize every inch of her. Sydney gasped as his lips trailed to her jawline, then down to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. The sensation was overwhelming, like fire spreading through her veins, and she arched into him, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Alan," she breathed, her voice a mix of need and uncertainty.

His name on her lips seemed to ground him. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I need you to tell me," he said, his voice hoarse. "If this is too much-if you want me to stop-"

"I don't want you to stop," she interrupted, her hands framing his face. Her eyes searched his, filled with a vulnerability that made her feel exposed but also undeniably alive. "I want this. I want you."

His expression softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he let out a shaky breath. "You're going to ruin me," he said, his voice low, almost reverent. Then, with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to the fire in his eyes, he kissed her again, his lips moving slowly, savoring every moment.

Sydney lost herself in him, in the way he touched her like she was something precious, something to be cherished. The world outside their small, forbidden bubble didn't exist-not the house, not the risks, not even the fragile line they were crossing. There was only Alan, only the way he made her feel alive in a way she'd never known before.

And as the night stretched on, neither of them cared about the consequences. All that mattered was the fire between them, burning brighter with every passing second.

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