Love, Lust and Lies

Chapter One

Emily

My name was Emily Harper, and I was eighteen years old.

I had spent my entire life in that quiet suburban house, alone with my dad ever since Mom had left when I was little.

Dad—everyone called him Jake, but to me he was always just Dad—worked long hours as a mechanic, so the house was usually empty in the evenings until he got home around seven.

That gave me a lot of time alone in my room, time I had been using more and more lately to explore things I probably shouldn’t have.

That evening was one of those nights.

I had finished my homework early, showered, and slipped into my favorite oversized T-shirt and cotton panties.

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner.

I locked my door out of habit even though Dad wasn’t home yet, and crawled onto my bed with my phone in my hand.

I scrolled through the private browser tabs I kept hidden, videos and stories that made my skin flush the moment I started reading or watching.

I wasn’t proud of it, but I also couldn’t stop.

My body had been tingling all day, a painful ache between my legs that refused to go away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

I set the phone on the pillow beside me, propped up so I could see the screen, and let my hand slide under the hem of my shirt.

My fingers first stroked across my stomach, teasing, before wandering lower.

I was already wet; I felt it the second my fingertips brushed the soft fabric of my panties.

A small sigh escaped my lips as I pressed harder and rubbed slow circles over the damp spot.

In my head I wasn’t alone.

I never was during those moments.

The man in my fantasies wasn’t some random actor from a video or a boy from school.

He was older, strong, protective.

He knew exactly what I needed without me having to say a word. And lately—God, I hated even admitting it to myself—that man had started looking more and more like Dad.

It had started innocently enough. A few months earlier I had walked past the bathroom and seen him stepping out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his broad chest.

He hadn’t noticed me, but the image had burned itself into my brain. Ever since, his face had slipped into my thoughts every time I touched myself. His deep voice. The way his arms tensed when he fixed something around the house. The way he called me “Baby Girl” when he was proud of me.

I knew it was wrong. So wrong. But the guilt only made it hotter.

I pushed my panties aside and ran a finger along my slick folds, gasping at how sensitive I was that night.

My hips lifted a little off the bed as I circled my clit, slowly at first, then building the pressure.

On the screen the woman moaned loudly, but I barely heard her. My own soft whimpers filled the room as I added a second finger and rubbed faster.

“Daddy,” I whispered, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

My cheeks burned, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I imagined him standing at the foot of my bed, watching me with that intense look he sometimes got when he was focused.

I imagined him telling me how pretty I was, how much he wanted me.

My breathing quickened, and I spread my legs wider, knees bent, and pushed two fingers inside myself.

The stretch felt so fucking good.

I pumped them in and out, my palm grinding over my clit with every thrust.

My free hand shoved my shirt up to my neck, baring my breasts to the cool air. I pinched a nipple hard and imagined it was his mouth.

“Oh God,” I moaned, louder than I meant to.

My head thrashed on the pillow. I was already close, balancing right on the edge.

I curled my fingers inside myself, hitting the exact spot that made my thighs tremble.

My hips moved shamelessly, chasing the release I needed so badly.

“Please, Daddy,” I gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “Please—”

The door flew open.

My eyes widened at the exact moment the orgasm crashed over me.

Dad stood in the doorway, still in his work clothes—oil-stained jeans and a tight black T-shirt that clung to his muscular body. His dark hair was mussed from running his hands through it, and his blue eyes were wide with shock.

But I couldn’t stop. My body betrayed me completely.

The sight of him—real, here, staring at me while my legs were spread and my fingers were buried deep inside me—sent me over the edge.

A sharp cry tore from my throat as I came hard, waves of pleasure pulsing through me.

My walls clenched around my fingers, my clit throbbing under my palm. I shook uncontrollably, hips jerking, unable to hide any of it.

He saw everything.

The mortification hit the second the climax began to fade.

My face burned hotter than it ever had in my life. I yanked my hand away and scrambled to pull my shirt down, snapping my legs shut.

Tears stung my eyes as I curled into a ball on my side, turning away from him.

“Oh my God,” I choked out, voice small and broken. “Dad, I—I’m so sorry—”

I couldn’t look at him.

I wanted to disappear.

The room smelled like sex, my thighs were wet, and he had just watched me come while moaning his name. I was going to die of shame.

I heard his heavy footsteps as he crossed the room.

The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of the bed. I tensed, waiting for him to yell, storm out, say something that would shatter me.

Instead I felt the soft weight of my blanket being pulled over me, covering me up to my shoulders the way he used to when I had nightmares as a kid.

“Shhh, Baby Girl,” he said quietly, voice deep and gentle. “It’s okay.”

I risked a glance over my shoulder.

He wasn’t looking at my body anymore—his eyes were on my face, soft and concerned. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my damp cheek.

“I heard noises,” he continued, staying calm. “Moaning, like you were hurt or crying. I knocked twice but you didn’t answer. I got scared something was wrong, so I came in to check on you.”

His thumb lingered on my skin for a moment before he pulled his hand back.

“I didn’t mean to… see that,” he added, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry for barging in without waiting longer.”

I swallowed hard, still trembling from the aftershocks. “You… you heard me?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I was downstairs unloading the groceries. Thought maybe you’d fallen or something. Didn’t expect…” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Silence stretched between us. I clutched the blanket tighter, wishing I could disappear inside it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again. “I should have locked the door better. Or been quieter. I didn’t want you to—”

“Hey.” He cut me off gently. “You don’t have to apologize for that, Emily. You’re eighteen. It’s normal. Everyone does it.”

My stomach twisted.

Normal.

Right.

Except nothing about what had just happened felt normal.

He shifted a little, the bed creaking under his weight. “I just… worry about you, that’s all. Living alone with me, no mom around, no siblings. I know it’s not the same as having a woman to talk to about this stuff.”

I finally turned fully toward him, still buried under the blanket up to my chin. His expression was unreadable—concern mixed with something else I couldn’t name.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I said quietly. “Really. I just needed to… relax.”

He nodded slightly. “I get that. Long day at school?”

“Yeah. Exams coming up. Stress.”

He reached out again and laid his large hand on my shoulder over the blanket. The warmth sank through the fabric and grounded me a little.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” he said. “No matter what it is. I’m always here.”

I bit my lip and nodded. If only he knew.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

He stood slowly and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I’ll let you clean up and get dressed. Dinner’s in the fridge—I picked up Chinese on the way home. Your favorite, sesame chicken.”

My heart ached at the way he was trying to make everything normal. As if he hadn’t just watched his daughter orgasm while fantasizing about him.

“Okay,” I said, voice barely more than a whisper.

He paused at the door, hand on the knob. “The lock’s broken, by the way. That’s why it opened so easy. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

I managed a weak laugh. “Sure.”

He smiled faintly. “Night, Baby Girl. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I answered automatically.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I lay there a long time, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming from the memory of the release—and the memory of his eyes on me. Shame burned in my chest, but underneath it something darker stirred. Something that scared me deeply.

Because even now, minutes later, while he was downstairs pretending everything was fine, I couldn’t stop replaying the moment he had walked in.

The way his gaze had locked on me. The way my body had reacted to being caught.

I pulled the blanket over my head and groaned.

This was only going to get worse.