Daddy's Good Girl

Rebecca's POV

The summer heat was suffocating. I was twenty-two, fresh out of college, and stuck living back in my childhood home for the summer while I figured out my next move. My parents had thrown a small dinner party to celebrate my graduation with just a few close family friends.

But there was only one guest I cared about.

Mark.

My dad’s best friend since high school. He was forty-four, ruggedly handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair and a broad chest that his tailored shirts struggled to contain. He owned a construction company, had a deep, gravelly voice, and moved through the world like he owned it. I had known him my entire life. He was "Uncle Mark" to me, but tonight, something was different.

My parents were bickering in the kitchen over the dishes and I had excused myself, needing a moment of air. I walked out onto the back patio, the night breeze barely cooling my flushed skin. I was wearing a simple black sundress, thin straps, hem brushing my mid-thigh. I was leaning against the railing, staring at the stars, when I heard the sliding door open.

"You're hiding from the party?"

His voice sent a shiver down my spine. I turned and Mark stepped out, closing the door behind him. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand, and his tie was loosened.

"Just needed air," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

He walked up beside me, close. Too close that i could smell his expensive masculine cologne. He stared out at the dark lawn, but his posture was stiff. "You've grown up," he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly thumping in my throat. "I've been grown up for a while, Mark."

He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The air between us crackled. The familiar mask he usually wore was completely gone and in its place was something predatory, hungry.

"I know," he rasped. "I've been watching you all night."

My breath hitched. I should probably go back inside, make an excuse and pretended I hadn't heard him. But I didn't. I stayed rooted to the spot, frozen under his gaze. We stood there for a long minute, silent and the tension was suffocating. Then, he finished his whiskey, set the glass down on the patio table, and took a step toward me.

"Come inside," he said. Not a question, an order.

I didn't argue.

I followed him through the dark hallway, my feet moving on their own accord. He didn't lead me to the living room, instead he led me to the guest bedroom at the end of the hall, the one my parents kept for visitors. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and turned to face me.

I hovered on the threshold, my heart racing.

"What are we doing?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me inside. The door clicked shut behind me. Before I could even gasp, his body was against mine, pinning me to the cold wood of the door. His hands were on my hips, his mouth hovering an inch from my ear and i could feel the friction of his arousal against the ache between my thighs.

"Something we should have done years ago," he growled.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It was fierce and desperate, the kiss of a man who had been starving. My hands flew up to his chest, gripping his shirt and I melted into him. Every thought of my dad, the party and the consequences, they all disappeared. All that was left was his rough hands and his hot breath.

He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me. He studied my face, my trembling lips, my wide eyes. He unclipped the strap of my dress with a flick of his fingers, letting it fall to my waist.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice ragged. "Tell me to stop, and I will. I'll walk out that door, and we'll never speak of this."

I looked into his eyes. The man who had ruffled my hair when I was a kid and ttaught me how to cast a fishing rod, was the same man now looking at me like he wanted to devour me.

I shook my head slowly. "Don't stop."

That was all the permission he needed. He grabbed the hem of my dress, ripped it up over my head, and threw me onto the guest bed. The mattress creaked under my weight. He loomed over me, undoing his belt with impatient, rough hands. His erection sprang forth, heavy and veined, the tip glistening of pre-cum that made my mouth water.

He was magnificent, older and experienced while I laid there bare, vulnerable and absolutely aching for him.

I looked up at him, my body buzzing with anticipation. This was it. This was the line I knew I shouldn't cross and I was sprinting straight over it. I used my free hands to shove my skirt up my thighs exposing my under garments and i guided his hands downwards, pressing his finger against the soaked fabric.

Two fingers plunged inside me,

“Mark, please….” I begged, it was not a plea, but a command, my hands gripping his shirt to emphasize my intent. He withdrew his finger only to replace them with a blunt head of his erection. He positioned himself at my entrace, teasing my clit with shallow dips, then he surged forward in one powerful thrust, a devastating stroke that tore a cry from my throat.

"Uh...ahh" my moan echoed through the guest room.

"So tight…. and perfect" Mark growled, tighting his grip around my waist.

I cried out and arched my back wanting for more, I couldn't get enough of this pleasure. He rocked his hips back and forth, thrusting harder into me.

"Now come for daddy" he ordered softly. I exploded around him. "Good girl", He said giving my clit feathery strokes.