Harder, Daddy

I never should’ve said yes to staying the weekend.

Chloe’s house always felt too quiet when she wasn’t around. Too big. Too clean. And her dad… he made the air feel thicker somehow. Like the second he walked into a room, everything else got smaller.

I was sitting on the edge of the guest bed in just an oversized T-shirt and panties, scrolling through my phone without really seeing anything. Chloe had gone out with some guy she met last week and texted me she’d “probably crash at his place.” Classic. Which left me alone in her house with her father.

Elias Kane.

Forty-seven. Tall. Broad shoulders that filled out every shirt he wore. Dark hair with a little silver at the temples. The kind of man who didn’t smile much, but when he did it felt like a secret. I’d known him since I was sixteen. Used to call him Mr. Kane. Now I just thought about the way his eyes lingered a second too long whenever I came over.

I heard the front door open downstairs. My stomach flipped.

He was home early.

I stayed still, listening to his keys hit the counter, the fridge opening, the low sound of him pouring something. Probably that expensive whiskey he liked. The same one that always made his voice a little rougher.

I should’ve stayed in the room. Put on real clothes. Acted normal.

Instead I stood up, tugged the hem of the T-shirt down, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

He was in the kitchen, leaning against the island with a glass in his hand. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tie gone. Top two buttons of his shirt undone. He looked up when I walked in, and something in his expression shifted. Not surprise. More like he’d been waiting.

“Chloe’s not back,” I said, stupidly.

“I know.” His voice was low. Calm. “She texted.”

Silence stretched between us. I crossed my arms under my chest without thinking, and his gaze dropped for half a second before coming back up.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

I shook my head.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving mine. “Then why’d you come downstairs, Riley?”

The way he said my name made heat crawl up my neck. I swallowed.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

He set the glass down. The sound of it hitting the marble was soft, but it felt loud. He didn’t move closer. Just watched me like he already knew every filthy thought I’d ever had about him.

I should’ve gone back upstairs. I should’ve laughed it off. Instead I stayed right there, heart hammering, the cool air from the AC brushing against my bare thighs.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“So are you.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. Something darker. “You always this honest when my daughter isn’t around?”

My cheeks burned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He pushed off the counter and took one step toward me. Then another. Close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath and the faint scent of his cologne. Close enough that if I reached out, I could touch him.

“You do,” he said. “You’ve been looking at me like that for months.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, then lower, to where the T-shirt barely covered the tops of my thighs. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher.

“Go back upstairs, Riley.”

I didn’t move.

He exhaled through his nose, slow, like he was holding something back. “I’m serious. If you stay standing there looking at me like that… I’m not going to keep pretending this is innocent.”

The words hit me right between the legs. My pulse was everywhere. I could feel how wet I already was, and he hadn’t even touched me.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve been good.

Instead I lifted my chin and met his eyes.

“What if I don’t want to be innocent?”

Something dangerous flashed across his face. For a second I thought he might actually grab me. Push me against the counter. Make me take back every word.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at me for a long, heavy moment, jaw tight, then stepped back.

“Last chance,” he said, voice low. “Go upstairs. Lock the door. Pretend this never happened.”

I didn’t move.

He stared at me one more second. Then he turned, picked up his glass, and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

I stood there shaking, thighs pressed together, the ache between them almost painful.

Upstairs, I closed the guest room door and leaned against it, breathing hard.

I didn’t lock it.