Chapter 3

Something flickered in Jonas' eyes. He gulped and looked towards the door as if scared his wife would barge in and demand to know what he was doing to their daughter. “Are you sure?”

Ocean nodded. “I've never been more certain of anything in my life.”

He knew he should talk her out of this. Fingering and letting her hump him were nothing compared to sex. Sex would cross that line they weren't supposed to cross forever, and none of them could return to how they were before.

But he was far gone in the madness to think rationally. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her hard, as if he were trying to pour eighteen years of restraint into one moment. She kissed him back, her tongue sliding against his, and let him lower her to the bed.

He followed her down, his body covering hers. His cock was hard against her thigh, and she reached between them to guide him to her entrance.

He paused there, the head of his dick pressing against her slick folds. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice breaking. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

As if he wanted her to say it. He was literally begging her with his eyes not to ask him to stop because he knew he wouldn't be able to do that.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him forward.

He entered her slowly, inch by inch, stretching her in a way that made her gasp. She was so tight, she felt every inch as he sank deeper and filled her. When he bottomed out, he stilled, looking at her like he couldn't believe they were in such a position.

“You feel—” He couldn't finish. He just shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, as if the sensation was too much.

She moved first, rolling her hips like she'd seen the women in p**n do, and he groaned. She did it again, and again, until he moved with her, thrusting in a rhythm that almost sent her head flying to the headboard.

His face hovered above hers as she watched her father take her. The man who'd taught her to ride a bike and read her bedtime stories and held her when she cried was now inside her, moving with a desperation that made her feel like the most powerful woman in the world.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he breathed against her mouth. “I love you so much, it terrifies me.”

And he didn't mean as a father. He loves her just like a man loves a lover.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs squeezed his waist, pulling him deeper.

“I'm close,” he warned in a strained voice. “Ocean, I'm so close—”

“Cum inside me," she whispered. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

Just like he has been doing since she sat on his thighs, he ignored the rational part of his brain that was screaming for him to stop the madness and not give in to her. He did just like she asked, even though he knew it was risky, and she might get pregnant from this.

A roar tore from his throat and he drove into her one last time, his body locking as he emptied himself into her. His cum shot into her hard, and the sensation was enough to push her over the edge, her climax ripping through her in waves that left her gasping.

He collapsed on top of her, and she held him against her chest.

After a long moment, he lifted his head and smiled at her. “We should probably talk about this,” he said.

She traced the line of his jaw with her finger. “Tomorrow.”

“What about your mother?”

“Tomorrow.” She pulled his mouth down to hers. “Let me enjoy this tonight. We'll do the talking tomorrow.”

He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around her waist. His hand rested on her stomach, and his thumb traced lazy circles on her skin.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still hold me in the morning?”

His arm tightened around her. “I'll hold you every morning,” he said. “For as long as you'll let me.”

She grinned. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She placed a kiss on his forehead and moved away from her. “I need to go,” she said when he raised a brow. She added, “Mum always checks on me every morning, and I don't want her to find me here, naked, in your bed. We need to avoid that drama.”

And she, right there, was the only one who at least used half her brain.

She got down from the bed and reached for her skirt, which had fallen on the floor. She pulled it on without underwear. The skirt hitched high on her thighs, and she didn't bother adjusting it.

He watched her dress in the dim light, eighteen years of fatherhood screaming at him to look away, but he couldn't.

She caught him looking and smiled. Then she crossed to the bed, bent down, and pressed her lips to his forehead. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Good night.”

Grinning, she rushed out of the room and closed the door gently behind him, leaving Jonas with his thoughts as that rational part of him overcame the daring part.

….

Jonas had a rough night and still got woken up by his wife, so he could keep her company in the kitchen, just like they had always done. It was a Saturday tradition in the family. Ocean was still sleeping, so neither bothered to disturb her.

May stood at the counter in her reading glasses, making breakfast. She poured batter into a frying-pan, and the smell of pancakes filled the air.

Jonas sat at the kitchen table with a coffee mug in hand and watched his wife move. She hummed along to something on the radio with her back to him. Every time she glanced over her shoulder and smiled, something twisted in his chest.

“You're quiet this morning,” she said, sliding a pancake onto a plate. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You?”

“Mm. I woke up around 1 to use the bathroom and thought I heard Ocean moving around.” She added another pancake to the stack. “She's been sleeping in lately. Must be nice, being eighteen.”

Jonas took a sip of his coffee, and it burned his tongue, but he didn't wince. The guilt was eating on him so much, he was regretting everything that had happened.

He spent the entire night telling himself he wouldn't give in to Ocean. It wasn't too late to set everything right.

The stairs creaked, and both of them looked up as Ocean appeared in the kitchen doorway. The second he saw his daughter, Jonas' hand tightened around his mug until his knuckles went white.

She was wearing another skimpy skirt, pink this time, hemmed so high it barely covered the tops of her thighs. She wasn't wearing tights or leggings, as if she were trying to show off her long legs that went on forever. She wore a simple white t-shirt that didn't hide her boobs at all. They seemed to clap together as she walked. Her hair was still damp from a shower.

“Morning,” she greeted her parents as she crossed to the coffee pot. Jonas couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips, and the way the fabric of that skirt shifted with each step. He knew what was under it. He knew the exact texture of her skin, the way she gasped when he —

Stop.

He forced his gaze down to his coffee, to stop his mind from going down the rabbit hole he knew it might never escape from.

“Baby, are you hungry?” May asked, sliding a plate toward her. “I made extra.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Ocean took the plate, but instead of sitting in the empty chair next to her mother, she walked around the table to her father.

She didn't ask. She just settled onto his lap, one leg on each side of his thighs, her skirt riding up as she sat. The fabric bunched at her hips and her bare thighs pressed against his jeans. And beneath her, pressed against him, there was nothing.

Jonas' hand froze halfway to his coffee when he realised she wasn't wearing underwear. She had come downstairs to have breakfast with her mother, poured herself coffee, and settled onto her father's lap without underwear.

“Ocean.” His voice came out strangled. “You —”

“Having breakfast with you guys is nice,” Ocean said sweetly, reaching for a piece of pancake with her fingers. She bit into it, chewed, and swallowed. “These are good, Mum.”

May smiled from the stove. “Thanks, honey.”

Jonas's hands hovered at his sides, uncertain of what to do. He couldn't push her off, as that would draw May's attention, and he couldn't adjust her position .

He just sat there, rigid, while his daughter ate breakfast on his lap like she'd done a thousand times before, except that she was eighteen now, and naked under that skirt, and he knew exactly how she tasted.