All Chapters of ALL YOURS, DADDY: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

I masturbated three times between our first and second session.Once in the shower the morning after, water cascading over me while I imagined it was his hands. Once in my bed at 2 AM when I couldn't sleep, my vibrator pressed against my clit while I pictured him watching. And once in my car in the parking lot of his building, twenty minutes before our appointment, because I needed to take the edge off or I was going to do something stupid.Like climb into his lap the second I walked through that door.I'd spent the entire week thinking about him. About the way he'd looked at me—or tried not to look at me. About that tan line where his wedding ring used to be. About his voice saying my name, careful and measured, like he was testing the weight of it.Sloane.I'd driven past his office three times. Once on Monday night around eight, when the building was mostly dark except for one light on the third floor. His floor. I'd sat in my car for twenty minutes, wondering what he was doing up

SLOANE;The words hang in the air.He stands up suddenly, creating distance between us. Walks to the window, his back to me."I think we need to take a step back," he says, his voice tight. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're testing boundaries. Seeing how far you can push. And I need you to understand that there's a line, Sloane. A very clear line. And we can't cross it."I stand up too. Walk toward him."Sloane—" he says, warning in his voice. But he doesn't turn around."Tell me you don't think about me," I say to his back.His shoulders tense."Tell me you don't notice what I wear. Or the way I look at you. Tell me I'm imagining it.""This isn't appropriate—""That's not an answer."He turns then, and his face is a mess of emotions. Frustration. Conflict. And underneath it all, desire."What do you want me to say?" he asks, his voice rough. "That you're attractive? That you're intelligent and charismatic and you know exactly how to get under someone's skin? Fine. Yes.

The door closes behind us, and suddenly I'm sobbing. Really sobbing. The kind of crying that's ugly and snotty and completely humiliating."I'm sorry," I gasp out. "I'm sorry, I don't know why—""It's okay," he says, and his voice is so kind it makes me cry harder. "It's okay to cry here, Sloane. This is a safe space."He guides me to the couch—not our usual chairs, but the leather couch against the wall—and sits beside me. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth of him."I'm such a mess," I say through tears. "I'm sorry, this is so stupid—""It's not stupid," he says firmly. "Talk to me. What happened?"So I do.I tell him about my mom. About the credit card and the allowance and the job. About how I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough for them. About how suffocating it is to be constantly monitored and judged and controlled."I just feel so alone," I say, my voice breaking. "Like no one actually sees me. They see what they want me to be. Perfect daughter, pe

I didn't show up last Thursday.Skipped my session entirely. Didn't call. Didn't text. Just... ghosted.And I know—I know—it made him worry. Made him wonder if I was okay, if something had happened, if maybe I'd finally listened to his speech about boundaries and decided to transfer to another therapist.Good.Let him worry. Let him wonder. Let him feel even a fraction of what I've been feeling for the past three weeks.Because here's the thing about wanting someone you can't have—it makes you a little bit insane. Makes you do things you wouldn't normally do. Like skip therapy just to see how he'll react. Like show up unannounced at his office on a Thursday night a week later, when you know his last client will be leaving and he'll be alone.Like I said. Insane.It's 7:15 PM when I park in front of his building. I know his schedule now—memorized it from the appointment cards, from watching the pattern of people coming and going. His last appointment is always at six. Fifty minutes. Wh

The elevator ride up to the eighth floor is silent and charged. We stand on opposite sides, not touching, but I can feel the electricity between us like a physical thing.When the doors open, he leads me down a carpeted hallway to a door marked 8C. His hands are shaking slightly as he unlocks it."This is—" he starts as we step inside.But I don't let him finish. I drop my bag, turn, and pull him down into another kiss.This time, there's no hesitation. He kisses me back immediately, kicking the door closed behind us and pressing me against it.His hands slide down to my thighs, and he lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping at the friction of his hard cock pressing against exactly where I need it."Bedroom," I manage between kisses."Can't," he groans, grinding against me. "Can't wait that long.""Then don't," I say, and that's all the permission he needs.He carries me—actually carries me—to the couch, laying me down and covering my body with his. The weight