How Does Mister Bennet Compare To Other Fathers In Literature?

Everyone seems to be in love but me. Why is that? Relationship after relationship, and nothing. I’m always the bridesmaid, but never the bride. It’s getting old. Fast. And just when I start to give up, he walks into my life. Sexy, strong, older. The father of one of my students. It’s against the rules to feel the way I do about him, but I can’t help myself. A single father with a sexy demeanor and deep pockets. But that’s not what gets me about him. It’s the way he looks at me. As if he already owns me. The relationship can be our little secret. Or can it?

Iris Caldwell marries Edward Ashcroft for money and security – and becomes a widow before the day is over. The marriage contract leaves her with nothing but dependency, silence, and a place in the house of Edward’s father, Thomas: decades older, controlled, and dangerously attentive. From the first charged look, their attraction is immediate and illicit. What begins as protection hardens into command, what begins as fear turns into surrender. Under Thomas’s rule, Iris finds safety in obedience and heat in restraint. Every boundary sharpens the desire neither of them should feel... and cannot stop. A Daddy Dom and his little girl sub; a forbidden age-gap romance; a power exchange born of grief. A love that knows it’s wrong... and wants it anyway.

I came to him broken at nineteen. He was my alpha, my guardian, forbidden in every way that mattered. Then I almost married his son. Almost. One betrayal. One ruined wedding. One night where Damien stopped being noble and started being mine. Now I know what those rough hands feel like wrapped around my throat. What that filthy mouth sounds like when he calls me good girl and means it in the dirtiest way possible. His son wanted a wife. His father wanted to own me. And God help me, I was always meant to be Daddy's.

It's wrong. It's forbidden. It's taboo. The man I married loves another, but I'm even worse, because I want his father. Tiptoeing around the house just to be with him is sinful. But, I don't see anything wrong with that, because what we have is beautiful. _________________________________________ Charlotte is my greatest temptation, but she also just might be my salvation. She might be Sebastian's wife, but really, she's was always meant to be mine.

His fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back and expose my throat to him. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Mr. Turner,” I breathed, my voice breaking on a gasp as he found a sensitive spot just beneath my ear and sucked lightly. His growl was low and primal, vibrating through my skin as he pressed his body against mine. I felt every hard line of him, his heat bleeding through my clothes. “Why not?” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need. I swallowed hard. “You’re… you’re my ex-fiancé’s father.” He paused. For a moment, everything stilled… his breath against my throat, the air between us, even the rain outside seemed to hesitate. Then he lifted his head, and our eyes locked. His were a stormy blue, intense and unwavering. “No one has to know, Catherine,” he said quietly, his voice was like a dark promise wrapped in silk. Then he leaned in with his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I can be your dirty secret.” A shiver ripped down my spine. His words settled deep in my gut, awakening something dangerous. I bit my lip. Every cell in my body screamed for me to walk away but I didn’t. Instead, I gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him hard. Desperately. He rumbled low in his chest, kissing me back with equal hunger, his hands roaming my body like he already knew every curve. When he finally broke the kiss, I was breathless. Then he dropped to his knees between my legs, with his eyes darker now. “I’m going to show you the world,” he said. “If you’d let me.”

My mother was my father’s sugar baby. Every year, he would hold her in his arms and promise, “Wait for me. Next year, I’ll marry you.” He said it for five years. In the end, he married a woman from his own social circle instead. My mother never got the wedding she dreamed of. After that, she became unstable and cruel. She used me as a way to get my father’s attention. “Go. Call your father and tell him you’re sick. Tell him to come see you.” But my father only frowned and yelled at me. “You’re already learning to lie from your mother at such a young age? Always haunting me like this. Disgusting.” They blamed all the anger they had for each other on me. Later, my father’s wife gave birth to a son. He became the perfect husband and father in everyone’s eyes. My mother only grew worse. She hit me harder and harder, all just to make my father come look at her once. When I was seven, I fell down the stairs and broke my leg. I begged my mother to take me to the hospital. She slapped me hard across the face. “What are you pretending for? You fall once and suddenly your leg is broken? You’re just like your irresponsible father. You were born to make me suffer.” My father rushed over, but he only shoved my mother to the floor in irritation. “If you use this little bastard to fake being sick and trick me again, don’t expect another cent from me.” Their screams and sobs tangled together. I lay on the cold floor, slowly losing consciousness. This time, could they finally stop fighting?