I never planned for it to happen, but once it started I couldn't stop. My dad had always been the strong, quiet type, the kind of man who fixed things around the house and kept his feelings locked away. I was twenty-two, home from college for the summer, and the house felt smaller than I remembered. Mom was working late shifts at the hospital again, leaving the two of us alone most nights.
It began with small touches. He'd brush past me in the kitchen and his hand would linger on my lower back a second too long. One humid evening I wore a thin tank top and shorts, and I caught him staring. Instead of looking away he held my gaze and said, "You've grown up, haven't you?"
I should have laughed it off. Instead I stepped closer. "You noticed."
That night the air between us changed. We sat on the couch watching some mindless movie, the only light coming from the screen. His thigh pressed against mine. I didn't move away. When his fingers slid onto my leg, I covered his hand with mine and guided it higher. The touch turned possessive fast.
"Lock the door," he said, voice low and rough.
I did. When I came back he was standing, and the look in his eyes was no longer fatherly. He pulled me against him, hands gripping my ass, mouth crashing onto mine. The kiss was hungry, years of restraint breaking at once. His tongue pushed deep while his fingers yanked my shorts down. I kicked them off, already wet.
He spun me around and bent me over the arm of the couch. "You've been teasing me for weeks," he growled. Two thick fingers slid inside me without warning. I gasped, pushing back against his hand. He pumped them hard, thumb circling my clit until my legs shook.
"Fuck me," I begged. "Please, Daddy."
He freed his cock and drove in deep on the first thrust. The stretch burned in the best way. He didn't go slow; he fucked me like he'd been waiting forever, hips slapping hard against my ass. Each thrust knocked the breath from my lungs. I reached down and rubbed my clit, coming hard around him, walls pulsing.
He pulled out, flipped me onto my back on the floor, and spread my legs wide. "Look at me while I fuck you," he ordered. I watched his face as he sank back inside, eyes dark with lust. He pinned my wrists above my head and pounded into me, the wet sounds of our bodies filling the room. Sweat slicked our skin. I came again, crying out his name.
Afterward he didn't pull away. He stayed buried inside me, breathing hard. "This is wrong," he muttered, but his hips rolled again, already getting hard once more.
We moved to his bed that night. He took me on my back, then on my knees, then with my legs over his shoulders so he could go deeper than anyone ever had. Every time I came he told me how tight I felt, how good my pussy was for him.
By morning we were both sore and marked with each other's teeth and fingerprints.
We kept it going all summer. Quickies in the shower while Mom napped, long sessions after she left for work, even risky moments in the garage with the door half open. He taught me exactly how he liked to be sucked, and I learned how to ride him until he lost control and filled me. The taboo only made it hotter; every time he called me his little girl while his cock was buried inside me, I clenched harder.
By the end of August we both knew it couldn't last, but neither of us wanted to stop. The final night before I went back to school he took his time, kissing every inch of me, eating me until I begged, then sliding in slow and deep. We came together, bodies locked tight, whispering filthy promises we both knew we'd keep whenever I came home.
Some lines aren't meant to be crossed, but once you do, there's no going back. And I didn't want to.
