All Chapters of Touch Me, Daddy: Chapter 61 - Chapter 67

4 years later…I stand in the kitchen making lunch when Mariselle comes in. She laughs as she waddles into the room. She’s nine months pregnant. Her belly is so big, but she looks even more beautiful when she’s pregnant. She glows with happiness and pride as she rubs her tummy and snags a Goldfish Cracker from the plate.“You’re going to steal your daughter’s snacks?” I tease, going over to her and wrapping my arms around her.“Sadie is a little thief. She ate all the ones I had for a snack earlier.”I press my face to her neck and kiss the soft skin there, breathing in her scent. Our little red-headed almost-five-year-old is sneaky like her mom.“I wonder where she gets that from,” I say, nibbling on her earlobe.“She’s just like you.”I bite her ear, making Mariselle giggle as Sadie walks into the kitchen.“Eww. You guys are kissing again,” she says and moves between us.I reach down and pick her up, placing a kiss on her cheek. “There. Feel better?”“Yes. Now it’s time for you both

“Camillia.”All around the studio, reflections of me jerk in the mirror. Madame Ophelia stands at my elbow, watching me run through the warm-up exercises with her mouth pursed.“Yes, Madame?” I murmur, trying not to move my lips. Monsieur Paris watches us from the front of the room, his arms folded over his broad chest. Even under his long-sleeved black t-shirt, the shift and rise of his sculpted muscles is clear.Madame Ophelia starts to say something, then gusts out a sigh. It’s not like her to hold back criticism, and I risk glancing in her direction.Her eyes darken instantly.“Face forward, fool,” she snaps. “Did I tell you to break form?”“No, Madame.”Monsieur Paris watches us, his expression tight. Am I messing up so badly? All around us, legs bend and raise. Limbs float through the air, the movement made to look effortless while we sweat and ache and tremble.“Why so wooden? Let those joints flex!” Her harsh words cut through the music. The tips of my ears burn, but I keep da

Why the fuck is he here?Alain Paris could be in any room of the art world. He could watch the star dancers of the biggest companies rehearse in their studios, casting a judgmental eye over their technique. He could attend galas and red carpets; he could judge competitions and give interviews.So, what is he doing here?This academy is great. One of the best in the country, despite its small size. But it’s still a class of students, far below Monsieur Paris’s pay grade.His dark eyes land on me again.I shiver.He seems different today. More agitated, like he didn’t sleep well. He can join the club—I went home last night, ranted to my roommates, then locked myself into my bedroom and tossed and turned until dawn.I even tried to soothe myself. To run my palms over my heated skin; to touch myself in those forbidden places.It didn’t help. The sensations built, fast and hard, but they left me hollow afterwards. Still wanting.Seeing Monsieur Paris again this morning… those thrumming, ti

“You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have danced with me that way in front of everyone.”Her voice is quiet in the empty studio. It’s risky for her to sneak back after class, and I scan the windows quickly before striding to shut the door. Camillia stands in the center of the studio, her arms wrapped around her middle as her satchel hangs limp off her shoulder. A full day’s dancing has made her skin flushed and dewy, and her poor muscles must ache.I remember that. The pain of a day’s training.I miss it badly sometimes, but not right now.Right now, I’m too busy devouring Camillia with my eyes. Taking in every flushed, trembling inch of her.“What about alone?”“Huh?” She blinks, confused. Gives her head a little shake, like she got caught up daydreaming the same way I did. “What do you mean?”“You said I shouldn’t dance with you that way in front of everyone. What about alone, angel?”Her chest heaves under her baggy sweatshirt. All ballerinas do this—swamp their delicate fr