Don't Stop, Daddy

Chapter 8: The Weight Of His Touch

Sierra Blake sat at the edge of her bed, knees pulled tight against her chest, listening to the faint rhythm of rain against the window. Her room was dim, lit only by the glow of the small desk lamp, and yet every shadow seemed to stretch too long, too heavy. She felt restless, caught between guilt and a yearning that clawed at her ribs.

The events in Damien’s office earlier that afternoon still lived on her skin like a ghost. The way his fingers had tilted her chin, the low rasp of his voice when he told her to look at him, to answer him, to obey she had wanted to melt into the floor, but instead she had obeyed. And it scared her how much she had liked it.

“Stop thinking about it,” she whispered into the hollow silence of her room. But the words held no weight. She didn’t want to stop.

The door down the hall creaked open. Her heart froze. It was her mother’s voice, soft and sweet, drifting through the walls as she called out a goodnight to Damien. Sierra’s stomach twisted into a knot. Every night, Vanessa tucked herself against Damien’s chest, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just a few rooms away.

Sierra shut her eyes, pressing her palms into them until colors burst against the darkness. She didn’t want to imagine it, but she couldn’t stop: Damien in bed, holding her mother while thinking about her instead.

The thought alone left her breathless.

The next morning, Sierra descended the staircase slowly, every creak of the wood threatening to betray her racing heart. She found Vanessa in the kitchen, humming as she flipped through a recipe book. The scent of coffee drifted through the air. Damien was there, too, seated at the table with the newspaper spread out before him.

He looked up. Their eyes met.

Sierra’s breath caught in her throat.

There was nothing inappropriate in the way he regarded her, at least not in a way her mother could notice. His expression was calm and neutral. But to Sierra, it felt like an invisible rope pulled tight between them. She flushed, lowering her gaze quickly and muttering a small “Good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” Vanessa said warmly, pouring her daughter a cup of coffee. “Sleep well?”

Sierra nodded, but her throat was too tight for words. Damien folded his newspaper neatly and set it aside. His voice was casual, but his gaze lingered on Sierra for a second too long.

“You should join me in the study later,” he said. “I want to hear more about your classes. Maybe I can help you plan for the next semester.”

Her chest tightened. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Vanessa, oblivious, smiled. “That’s sweet of you, Damien. She could use your guidance.”

Sierra’s fingers curled tight around her mug. Guidance. If only her mother knew what kind of lessons Damien was teaching her.

The day dragged on, heavy with anticipation. Sierra tried to distract herself with her textbooks, but her concentration broke every time she imagined Damien calling her into his study again. Her body betrayed her her pulse quickened, her palms grew clammy, her thighs pressed together.

By the time the clock neared late afternoon, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She stood before her mirror, staring at her reflection.

Pretty. That was what she was. Pretty in a way that was harmless, unassuming. But when she thought of Damien’s eyes on her, she wanted to be more. She wanted to be beautiful. Desired. His.

She brushed her long dark hair until it gleamed. Choose a soft white sweater that clung to her frame and a skirt that ended just above her knees still modest, but enough to make her feel like she was stepping into dangerous territory. She bit her lip, cheeks flushing as she realized what she was doing. Dressing for him.

But she didn’t stop.

When she knocked on Damien’s study door, her knuckles trembled.

“Come in,” his voice called, steady and deep.

She pushed the door open, stepping into the warm glow of the study. Books lined the walls, leather bound and orderly, while Damien sat behind his desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked up, and the moment their eyes locked, Sierra’s knees went weak.

“Close the door,” he said.

Her breath caught. She hesitated for half a heartbeat, then obeyed. The click of the lock sliding into place echoed like thunder in her ears.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze traveling over her slowly, deliberately. “You dressed up.”

Her cheeks burned. “I just thought…”

“Don’t stammer.” His voice was low, commanding. “Stand up straight. Shoulders back.”

She straightened instinctively, her chest lifting with the motion. Heat pooled low in her belly.

“Better,” he murmured, setting his glass aside. He rose from his chair, every step toward her measured, predatory. When he stopped in front of her, she felt small, caged by his presence.

“You’re a fast learner,” he said, tilting her chin up just as he had before. “Do you know what that means?”

Sierra swallowed hard. “That I… listen?”

“That you belong to someone who knows how to teach you.” His thumb brushed lightly across her bottom lip, leaving her trembling. “Tell me, Sierra… do you want me to stop?”

Her body screamed no. Her mind screamed yes. But her lips parted, and what spilled out was a breathless whisper: “Don’t stop.”

The air between them tightened, heavy with unspoken sin. Damien’s lips hovered a fraction from hers, so close she could taste the whiskey on his breath. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, threatening to burst.

And then

The sharp sound of heels clicked against the hallway floor outside. Vanessa’s voice drifted closer, humming to herself.

Sierra froze, panic flashing across her face. Damien didn’t move. His hand cupped her chin, his mouth still a dangerous whisper away from hers. Only his eyes shifted, sharp and calculating, as though the interruption were nothing more than an inconvenience.

A knock at the door jolted Sierra’s nerves.

“Damien?” Vanessa’s voice called. “Are you busy in there?”

Sierra’s breath came in shallow gasps. She was trapped. If her mother opened the door if she would see them like this

Damien’s grip on her chin tightened slightly, forcing her to meet his eyes. His expression was calm, deliberate, and in control. “Not a sound,” he mouthed.

Her body obeyed before her mind could argue.

With his free hand, Damien slid his chair back into place, guiding Sierra quickly behind it, shielding her from view. Then, with a voice smooth as silk, he called out: “Just finishing up some work, love. Come in if you’d like.”

The door opened. Vanessa peeked inside, her smile soft and warm. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

Damien smiled back, the perfect husband. “We’ll be there soon.”

Her gaze swept briefly across the room, but she didn’t notice the trembling girl hidden in the shadow of Damien’s desk. “Alright, don’t work too hard,” she said lightly before retreating down the hall. The door clicked shut again.

Silence.

Sierra pressed a hand against her pounding chest, every nerve alive with adrenaline. Damien turned back toward her, his eyes gleaming with something darker than desire something closer to possession.

“Do you see what happens when you obey me?” he whispered, his voice low enough to make her knees buckle. “We don’t get caught. But if you disobey…” His thumb grazed her lip again, lingering. “Everything burns.”

Sierra’s lips parted, but no words came. She was caught between terror and a hunger that was swallowing her whole.

And when he finally stepped back, dismissing her with a simple, “Go upstairs,” she realized with a shiver that she wanted nothing more than to stay.