Daddy's secret Obsession

~Emma writes~

Jessy

I stormed out of the café, my heart beating like a drum in my chest, each beat echoing the betrayal that burned through me. How could he? After all those promises, all those sweet words whispered in the dark about waiting, about building something real without rushing into the physical. "I love you for who you are, Jessy," he'd said, his eyes so sincere I believed him. But today, over a half-eaten latte and a crumbling muffin, he'd shattered it all. "You don't respond to my touches," he accused, his voice laced with frustration. "It's like you're some kind of... Mother Virgin Mary or something. I can't do this anymore."

Mother Virgin Mary!

The words stung like a slap, reducing me to some frigid stereotype. I wasn't unresponsive; I just... didn't feel it. Not with him, anyway. In my twenty-two years, I'd never felt that spark everyone talked about, that electric pull that made your skin tingle and your breath hitch. Maybe I was broken,or maybe he was just wrong for me. Either way, the tears blurred my vision as I hurried down the street, the city lights flickering like mocking stars above.

My mind raced back to the life I'd pieced together after the accident. My parents—gone in a blink, victims of a fatal car crash that left me and my younger mom reeling. Wait, not younger mom; she was my mom's younger sister, but she'd stepped in as my guardian, insisting I call her Mom to keep things simple. She was only in her late thirties, vibrant and full of life, but we'd both been shattered. She told me often about the uncle I didn't know—the one who'd been quietly caring for us from afar, funding our lives without ever showing his face. "He's family, Jessy," she'd say with a mysterious smile. "Rich as sin, but private. One day, you'll meet him."

I was the breadwinner now, juggling college classes and a part-time job at a bookstore to cover what the mysterious uncle's money didn't. It wasn't much, but it kept us afloat. The house we lived in was proof of his wealth—a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of the city, with marble floors, high ceilings, and rooms that echoed with emptiness. I'd always wondered about him, this phantom benefactor. Who was he? Why the secrecy? But tonight, as anger and heartbreak churned inside me, those questions felt distant, buried under the weight of my ex's cruel words.

By the time I reached the front door, my feet ached from the long walk, and exhaustion clawed at me. I fumbled with my keys, pushing the heavy oak door open with a creak that seemed louder in the quiet night. The foyer was dimly lit, just a soft glow from a distant lamp, but I didn't bother turning on more lights. I was too drained to climb the grand staircase to my main room upstairs. Instead, as I often did when I came home tired, I headed straight for the first room before the stairs—a cozy sitting area that doubled as my crash spot. It had a plush couch, a small table, and enough privacy to let me unwind without disturbing Mom.

I closed the door behind me, the click of the latch sealing me in darkness. The room was pitch black, the curtains drawn tight against the world outside. I let out a shaky breath, ready to collapse onto the couch and cry it out. But as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, I froze. There, lounging on the couch like he owned the place—which, technically, he might—was a tall, figured man.

His silhouette was imposing, broad shoulders filling the space, and as the faint moonlight slipped through a crack in the curtains, I saw more. He was shirtless, wearing only boxer shorts that clung to his powerful thighs. His chest was broad and sculpted, glistening slightly as if oiled, every muscle defined under taut skin. Heat rushed through me unbidden—a strange, unfamiliar warmth pooling in my core. For the first time in my twenties, I felt it: desire, raw and insistent, making my pulse quicken and my skin flush.

Who was he? A stranger in my home? My mind screamed danger, but my body... my body betrayed me, drawn to the heat radiating from him.

"Come," his voice rumbled, deep and commanding, cutting through the silence like a whip. It wasn't a request; it was an order, laced with authority that sent shivers down my spine.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, afraid and confused. My heart hammered, a mix of fear and something else—something thrilling and forbidden. What was happening to me?

He shifted slightly, his eyes glinting in the dark as they locked onto mine. "Come over here. What are you waiting for?"

My legs moved before my brain could catch up, trembling as I took a hesitant step forward. The air between us crackled with tension, and up close, his presence was overwhelming—masculine, intoxicating. I stopped a few feet away, my breath coming in short gasps, unsure what to do next.

He tilted his head, studying me with a piercing gaze that seemed to strip away my defenses. Then, his expression shifted to one of shock, brows furrowing as if he'd just realized something. "How can a naive girl like you be into this hookup business?" he said, his voice low and edged with disbelief, like he couldn't quite believe I was standing there.

I blinked, my confusion deepening. Hookup business? What was he talking about? I'd never done anything like this—never even thought about it. My ex's words echoed in my head, calling me unresponsive, frigid. And now this stranger was assuming I was here for... what? Some casual encounter? The idea should have repelled me, but instead, a forbidden thrill coursed through my veins, making my cheeks burn. "I-I'm not... I don't know what you mean," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is my house. Who are you?",i murmered to myself in a confused manner.

He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that sent another wave of heat straight between my legs. His eyes roamed over me, taking in my disheveled hair, my tear-streaked face, the way my simple sundress clung to my curves from the evening humidity. "Why did you keep long after you lied that you will come by an uber? Oh, little girl, you have no idea." He leaned back slightly, his muscles flexing under that oiled skin, and before I could process what was happening, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid them down his hips, letting them pool at his feet.