LOGINWarning: This context is strictly prohibited for young teens. Parental Guidance Advices. This is a play of forbidden lust and intense intimacy. It is intended for mature audiences only. You have been warned. Welcome to the world of forbidden estacy. Millie Jones has resented her stepfather Richard for years, not until a last-minute cancellation by her cheating mother forces the two of them to end up all alone on a long-planned lakeside camping trip. What begins as tense silence and old grudges slowly ignites into forbidden desire neither can resist. In the close quarters of a shared tent and the isolating beauty of the wilderness, guilt wars with raw lust began to surface as they risk everything for stolen touches, desperate nights, and a dangerous addiction that threatens to consume them both. “Ouch…Daddy” I breathed out, as he clashed my mouth with his tongue. His scent was so irresistible. His hands moved gently against my skin. He was caressing my neck bone and arms, I felt his hands cupping my breast, squeezing them gently and ignoring me with a soft burning sweet sensation. He roamed his hands towards my nipples and pinched my nipples like he wanted suck on them. His lips came down to my neck slowly, licking and leaving love bites. The adrenaline in me was becoming pleasurable. As my fingers scratched against his hair. Pulling him closer. I didn't know what I wanted. “D…Daddy…” “Shhh… baby girl… just get ready for what I'm about to do to you,” his voice sent chills against ear. Read to feel if you dare.
View MoreMillie POVI watched her from the upstairs window for forty-five minutes.Forty-five minutes of a woman watering her own garden in her own front yard in her own town at six in the evening on a Tuesday when she had supposedly already dropped by. She had been watering the hostas. The hostas did not need watering. I knew because my mother had hosted a Halbrook cocktail party every spring for nine years, and I had learned, through endurance more than interest, that hostas should never be watered in the evening because the wet leaves invited rot, and the Halbrooks had lost three of theirs to rot in 2019, and Mrs. Halbrook had written a small column about it in the “Garden & Grounds” newsletter she self-published.Mrs. Halbrook knew better. Mrs. Halbrook was watering her hostas at six in the evening because Mrs. Halbrook was watching my house. I sat on the window seat in Richard's shirt with my knees pulled to my chest, and I looked at her across the street through the gap in the blinds. Th
Richard POVMrs. Halbrook has a casserole I did not ask for and a knock I did not want. She uses the knocker three times, in a row, in that way women of a certain generation do when they are not knocking on a door so much as announcing themselves to the house at large. The knocker is the brass pineapple. Adrianna hates the pineapple. I have opinions about the pineapple but I have not voiced them in years and I am not going to start. Millie is in my shirt. This is the first problem. The second problem is that Millie and I have not been out of the upstairs hallway for the better part of forty minutes and we are both flushed in a way that would be obvious to any woman over sixty who has ever once in her life lived in a house. The third problem is that Mrs. Halbrook has a casserole which means she has been cooking it in her own kitchen and walking it across the street, and Mrs. Halbrook does not cook and walk things across the street lightly. Mrs. Halbrook cooks and walks things across th
Millie POVHe used the wrong word. I keep coming back to this. I keep chewing on the corner of my thumbnail in the upstairs bathroom of my own house, looking at my own face in the mirror, and I keep coming back to this. He said should. He said “this is what it should be.” Should. As if the life we have been stealing in garages and pantries and kitchen counters and on the grass of a lake we don't own was the correct arrangement of the universe, and my mother, three hundred miles south, was the incorrect one. I want to be wrong about what he meant. I want the sentence to mean something smaller than what I think it means. I want it to mean I like today I want it to mean this is what I would have wanted a Tuesday to look like. I want it to mean nothing I have to do anything about. But I watched his face when he said it, and his face was not a face that is saying something small. His face was the same face that said this is my house now when his hand lifted me onto the counter this morning
Richard POVShe made coffee naked on the third morning. I want to be precise about this because the memory is a thing I want to keep. I will not write sexy because I'm not twenty-three anymore. I will write mine. Millie made coffee naked on the third morning of five days I had to myself, and I sat in the doorway of the kitchen and watched her do it without her knowing. She couldn't know I was watching because there was a particular thing she did when she thought no one was in the room. A kind of small, settled occupancy of her own body, like she was finally, briefly, alone in a way that didn't cost her anything. I have been watching this lady for three years learn how to be alone, and it has been the longest slow-motion grief of my life. I did not make a sound.She reached for the kettle with both hands. The kettle was the lever-arm kind, the one with the hollow handle you have to grip from above. She gripped it with both palms, the water in it thicker than water, the steam rising aro






Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.
reviews