Good Boy, Daddy Chapter 4
Under his stepdaughter's control, Garrett's shame and hunger build.
The next morning, the house felt like a crime scene. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the sound of Bryn’s breathing even and slow beside me, and tried to convince myself that last night had been some sort of fever dream. A break in the world’s logic, the way a computer will sometimes throw a random error and then fix itself with a simple restart. But my body said otherwise. My cock was raw and tender, my belly sticky with the residue of ruined orgasm. The memory of Kila’s hands, her words, the ruthless confidence in her eyes, haunted every breath.
I shuffled quietly out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt and the least suspicious pair of shorts I could find, and padded downstairs to start the coffee. The kitchen felt aggressively bright. Bryn’s mission to declutter the house had left the counters bare and exposed, every surface cold and impersonal. I moved through the steps of making coffee with mechanical precision, trying to ignore the thunder in my chest and the ache in my groin. I was desperate to believe that, with enough time and willpower, I could go back to being the man I’d been yesterday. Or at least pretend.
The clock on the microwave said it was barely seven. I let the carafe fill and stared out the window above the sink, watching the world try to make sense of itself. The yard was covered in dew. Somewhere beyond the fence, a dog barked, a sound so ordinary that it felt like a mockery. Normal life persisted, even as mine imploded. Then I heard the footsteps behind me. Soft, padded, not Bryn’s. The hairs on my arms went up like quills.
“Morning, Dad,” Kila sang out, voice a full octave higher than usual. I turned, and my heart cratered.
She wore pajamas, technically, but the word felt like a dare. The so-called “top” was a tank that had seen enough wash cycles to lose its shape, its weak armholes gaping as if they were made to frame the shadows of her breasts, the hem chopped so high it barely reached her ribs. The logo screamed faded collegiate nostalgia, some university I’d never visited in a town I’d never want to see. Below, she wore a pair of black boxer shorts, tight against her hips, cut so sinfully high that the bottom curve of her ass flashed with every step. They looked like they belonged to a different man—maybe the last one who’d thought he could tame her. Her legs, exposed all the way up, were a study in tension and relaxation as she glided barefoot across the tile. When she stretched, catlike, her arms overhead, I saw the whole taut ribbon of muscle and smooth skin along her flank, saw both the sudden arch of her breasts beneath the tissue-thin fabric and the subtle indent of her navel, a perfect target for a tongue. She wore no bra, of course. No armor, no apology. The nipples pressed against the cotton like a threat.
She said, “Morning, Dad,” and everything in her body language added, You have already failed.
Kila moved on past me to the fridge. She didn’t just pass; she brushed, her thigh grazing the back of my hand as I steadied myself on the counter. That same fragrance from last night, something that smelled of tropical beaches, coconut and lime, invaded my head. I forced my hands to go still, but it was too late; she’d seen, and she would remember. Her eyes flicked to mine as she yanked the fridge open, mouth pursed in an almost-smile, her posture slouching as if to say: This is all so casual. Her reflection in the stainless-steel door caught my gaze and wouldn’t let go. She bent to grab something from the bottom shelf, and the shorts rode up, baring more of her than I’d thought possible in daylight.
I willed myself not to look, but my treacherous body had other plans. My cock, still raw from last night’s abuse, lurched to attention. Desire and disgust rolled together in my gut, impossible to separate. I tried to focus on the coffee machine, on the familiar click and drip, on the world outside the window, but my attention kept slingshotting back to the girl who had, with a handful of words and a single look, upended the whole order of my life.
Kila lifted the orange juice, the jug heavy in her hand, and drank it straight from the lip. A thread of the liquid ran down her chin, and she licked it off, slow, like an animal. The deliberate obscenity of it made my mind jolt. My body remembered every second of last night: her voice edging into my thoughts, the rhythmic pressure of her palm, the way she’d bitten her own lip when she came. The raw heat at the core of me burned hotter, laced now with the acid of guilt. I wondered how she could be so unaffected, so blithe, as if all the boundaries she’d demolished had meant nothing at all.
She caught me staring, and this time she didn’t look away. Instead, she held out the juice as if offering it to me, her fingers sticky against the plastic. “Want some?” she asked, voice syrupy with fake innocence.
I shook my head, retreating to the safety of the pour-over. I watched the dark stream fill my mug, wishing I could slip myself into that tight black tunnel and vanish. I heard her laugh and knew it was for my benefit. She leaned against the counter across from me, propping herself on her elbows, her torso angled to give me the perfect view of the soft undercurve of her breast. Her gaze was predatory, but not unkind. She looked at me like I was some fascinating insect she might crush or spare, depending on her mood.
I said, “You’re up early,” and hated how thin my voice sounded.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Kila replied, as if nothing unusual had happened in the universe. “Too wired. Guess I should do a run or something, but I figured you’d have coffee.” She pointed to the mug in my hand, then circled her finger in the air. “That’s the last of the good beans, by the way. Thought you’d want to know.”
I grunted, grateful for the cover of small talk, but it didn’t help. Every word from her felt loaded, aimed straight at the private theater of my memory. The guilt and shame and… longing, remained.
She stepped closer, her toes curling around the edge of the cold tile. “You look like shit,” she said, a note of genuine concern seeping through the mockery. “Did you sleep at all?”
I managed a laugh. “Not really. Busy night.”
She tilted her head, watching me. “Yeah? What’d you do? Lay next to my mother and think about fucking me?” Kila smiled. “Yes, that’s exactly what you did. Naughty, Daddy. Hot. But naughty.”
My face burned so hot I felt sweat drip. I tried lowering my eyes to avoid my stepdaughter’s gaze, but that only made me look at her amazing tits.
“Say it.”
My eyes closed. I shook my head the tiniest bit. Shook in fear of what my stepdaughter was about to do to me.
“Daddy.” She made the title seductive as she put her arms around my neck. Her hips pushed against mine. Staring up at me, lips parted. “Grab my ass. Both hands. Grab my ass and say what I want you to say.”
“Kila, please,” I whispered, barely audible.
She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “Please, what, Daddy?”
I flinched at the word, the way she wielded it like a knife. “Don’t… do this. Not now. Not ever again.”
She laughed, soft and mean. “I think you’re confused about who gets to say when things happen,” she said. Shrugged. “We can wait until Mom comes downstairs, if you want.”
The skin above her hips was soft and warm against my fingers. My heart hammered as they traced the curve of my stepdaughter’s butt. Squeezed. My mouth watered as Kila pulled my face down to hers for a kiss.
“Say it.”
“I want to fuck you,” I moaned, hating every syllable of the truth. Hating myself for making it true. “Is that what you want to hear, Kila? I want to fuck you.”
“That’s exactly what I want to hear,” she breathed. “Now, kiss me like you want to fuck me. Grab my ass like you want to bend me over the kitchen sink and slam your cock into my hot, slick, hungry pussy.”
Twenty-two years. That’s how long it had been since I kissed any woman other than Bryn. But my lips reached for Kila’s as if none of it mattered, because, in that second, none of it did. All that mattered was the woman in my arms. The woman whispering my darkest fantasies into reality.
Her lips were soft and warm. They sucked at mine, pushing my mouth open so my tongue could find hers. Sucked harder as she ground against me. Both hands holding my face.
God, I wanted to fuck her. More than anything in the world, I wanted to be inside of Kila. Wanted to feel her, hot and wet, quivering around the length of my cock as I brought her off. Needed to explode within her, emptying my balls into my stepdaughter with a feral, primal urgency.
“I want to fuck you,” I growled, my mouth finding her throat when she pulled her mouth away. “Kila, I want you. I want to fuck you. I’ll fuck you right now if you want. I’ll fuck you right here.”
She tilted her head to one side. Offered her throat for me to worship. Moaned soft and low.
“That’s a good Daddy,” she purred. “I can make you do anything I want, and you know it. Don’t you?”
I didn’t answer, but my body betrayed me. My cock was fully hard now, straining against the mesh. She felt it, of course. Her hand moved with deliberate slowness, fingertips grazing the outline, cupping it, squeezing. I gasped, a sharp intake of breath that sounded almost like a moan.
She smiled. “See? Easy as flipping a switch.” She pressed harder, thumb stroking the head through the fabric. I could feel myself leaking already, a hot pulse of shame and need that left me dizzy. “You can pretend all you want, but this…” she squeezed again, crueler this time, “says everything I need to know.”
The pipes overhead gurgled, the sound of the shower shutting off. Bryn would be downstairs in minutes. I tried to pull away, but Kila held me in place, her body flush against mine.
“Please, stop,” I begged, but it came out as a whisper, not a command. The hard edge of desire faded into the familiar ache of shame. “I want it. I can’t pretend I don’t. But we can’t do this.”
“I don’t want to hear that,” she whispered. Kila nipped my earlobe, her breath hot. “You know what I want you to say. Say it again, Daddy.”
I shook my head, desperation turning my voice ragged. “Not here. Not now.”
Her eyes glinted. “Say it, or I’ll call Mom in here and make you say it in front of her.”
That did it. I felt the panic surge through me, a wild animal trapped and thrashing. My cock ached. My mind was blank except for the terror and the hunger.
“Please don’t,” I whispered, voice breaking.
She grinned up at me. The ache in my fingers told me I still gripped her ass with both hands. Her eyelids lowered as she pressed her lips to my throat. “Then say it. One little sentence, Daddy. That’s all.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the world a blur of heat and shame. “I want to fuck you,” I hissed, barely more than a breath. “God help me, I want to fuck you.”
My stepdaughter let out a delighted gasp, her teeth flashing. “Good boy,” she purred. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She gave my cock one last, hard squeeze and stepped back, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “You’re learning,” she said. “Maybe I’ll let you touch me next time.”
Slumped against the counter, breath ragged, my body shook in the way of her storm. Kila sauntered to the table, practically flouncing into a chair. She pointed at her juice on the counter.
“Get your coffee and bring the juice to me.” She patted the seat next to her. “We’re going to chat a little.”
My wife walked across the room overhead as I obeyed. Like a man on death row, I carried my coffee and Kila’s juice to the table. Sat in the assigned chair, trying to shrink away from touching her.
“Closer, Daddy,” she said, her hand resting on this inside of my thigh. “I want you close enough that I can make you come in your pants again.” She giggled, working the heel of her hand at my cock. “You like coming for me, don’t you, Daddy?”
“No,” I groaned. “Yes, of course. But Kila, baby, we can’t be like this.”
“Like what?” She leaned back and shoved her hand into her shorts. Released a long, low moan as she fingered herself. “You hard and me wet? I think we can be like this for quite a while, Daddy. Do you want to find out how long I can keep you hard?”
“No. I really don’t.” I was sure it would be a long, torturous process. “I just want to be your Daddy again. And you to just be Kila.”
“I’m always Kila,” she said, pulling her hand out of her pajamas and rubbing her juices over my lips. I closed my eyes, helpless against the scent of her arousal. Her hand returned to my cock, slowly edging me towards danger. “And you are my Daddy. Not my father, my Daddy. And you want to fuck me. Say it.”
“I want to fuck you.” I ground the words between my teeth. What was the use denying it? She’d just up the ante until I broke. “I want to fuck you so hard you ache from it.”
“You want to fuck me right here, don’t you?” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Right on this table, with Mom upstairs. You want me to eat breakfast with your cum dripping out of me. Look into Mom’s eyes and tell her you love her after you cheated on her with her own daughter.” She made a disappointed sound and sipped her juice. “Is that what you want? Because it can happen. You won’t say no.” Kila turned my face towards her with one hand and touched her lips to mine. “Or you can beg me not to make you come this morning.”
My hands balled into fists. I tried to shift away, but her hand pressed even harder. Rubbed faster.
“Please, don’t make me come this morning,” I whispered. “Don’t make me destroy your mom.”
“I said to beg for it.” Her voice was tighter. More demanding. “Give me what I want, Daddy. Beg your little girl not to make you come in your pants.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please, Kila, don’t make me come. Not like this. Not here.” My eyes darted to the ceiling where I could hear Bryn moving around upstairs. “I’m begging you.”
Kila’s eyes glittered with triumph. Her hand continued its relentless rhythm against my cock, squeezing and releasing with practiced precision. I could feel myself getting closer, my body betraying me with every stroke.
“Look at you,” she purred. “So desperate. So pathetic.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “Say ‘I’m a pathetic daddy who wants to fuck his stepdaughter.’”
I swallowed hard, shame burning through me like acid. “I’m a pathetic daddy who wants to fuck his stepdaughter,” I repeated, the words bitter on my tongue.
She rewarded me with a squeeze that made my vision blur. “Good boy. Now, put your fingers in my pussy. Right now.”
“What? No, I can’t—” I glanced frantically at the ceiling again. “Your mother could come down any second.”
“Then you better be quick, hadn’t you?” Her smile was razor-sharp. “Or I’ll make sure you’re still coming when she walks in.”
My hand moved without conscious thought, sliding under the table and beneath the elastic of her boxers. She was soaking wet, her pussy practically dripping as I slid two fingers inside her. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Finger-fuck me until I come,” she whispered. “And if Mom catches you, I’ll tell her you forced yourself on me.”
Terror and arousal twisted together in my gut. I worked my fingers inside her, feeling her clench around me. Her breathing quickened, and she spread her legs wider under the table, giving me better access.
“Deeper,” she commanded. “Curl your fingers. Find that spot.”
I obeyed, curling my fingers upward, searching for her g-spot. When I found it, her whole body tensed, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out. Her other hand stroked the side of my face.
“Fuck, Daddy,” she breathed. “Just like that.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made my blood freeze. I tried to pull my hand away, but Kila grabbed my wrist, keeping me in place. Her thighs pinched my hand.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she hissed. “Make me come before she gets here.”
Panic surged through me as I worked my fingers faster, harder. Kila’s eyes rolled back, her thighs trembling as she approached her climax. The footsteps were getting closer, and I could hear Bryn humming to herself.
Kila’s entire body tensed, every muscle locking up as if electrified, and for three heartbeats she went utterly silent. Then she seized my hand so hard it hurt, her thighs crushing my wrist, her pussy clamping down wet and ferocious around my fingers. She came, right there at the table, her face buried in the crook of my neck to muffle the sounds. But I felt it: the juddering shiver that rolled through her, the breathtaking violence of her release. My cock throbbed in sympathy, straining against my shorts.
Her teeth found my shoulder through my t-shirt and she bit down, not hard enough to bleed but enough to yank a gasp out of me. The sound of her breath, ragged, desperate, so full of need, drove the last of my resistance away. Beneath the table I kept moving my fingers, slow and deep, milking out every drop of her pleasure. My knuckles were slick with her hot, sweet wetness.
Kila’s hand clamped over mine, trapping me inside her as she rode the aftershocks. Her whole body shuddered in waves; I marveled at her restraint, the way she swallowed her cries, letting only a thin whimper escape her lips. She shuddered again, this time pressing her mouth to my ear, so close I could feel the humidity on my skin. “Fuck, Daddy,” she breathed. “You made me come so hard. Good boy, Daddy. Good fucking boy.”
“Oh, I forgot my watch!” Bryn’s voice carried from the stairs. “Sorry, be right back.”
Kila arched her back, stretching, and I caught the hint of bare pussy through the gap at the leg of her shorts. No underwear. Her hand gave me a few moments of relief as she stretched.
“Make me come again,” she whispered dreamily as she leaned back in her chair. “Hurry. It doesn’t take long to put on a watch.”
I sat frozen. The fear, the guilt, the insane charge of excitement. All of it whirled in my head like a tornado. My hand trembled as I pushed my fingers into Kila again. Pressed the spot that made her body jerk and tighten.
“So fucking easy,” she whispered. “I can make you do anything.” The smile on her face was almost drunken with power. “Don’t get us caught, Daddy. Make your little girl come before her mother catches you.”
Kila was beautiful. Achingly beautiful. Dark tangles of curls hanging to her shoulders. Full lips slightly parted. Midnight black eyes that told me she hadn’t even started running my life yet.
“I’m thinking about making you fuck me,” she said, as if she were discussing the weather. “That’s why I’m so wet. I want your cock, Daddy. And you want to give it to me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered feverishly. “You know I do.”
“Don’t get snippy,” she said, tapping the tip of my nose with her finger. “You want to know what I learned in college? Female supremacy. Women are naturally superior to men. That’s why it’s so easy for me to make you love doing something you hate yourself for.”
My fingers stilled and I stared at my stepdaughter. She was serious. Kila rolled her pelvis, grinding her pussy against my palm. My fingers worked at her again as I tried to discover the best way to make her come quickly.
“See?” Kila leaned back and closed her eyes. Kneaded her breasts through her tank top. “Biologically, the female developed before the male. During pregnancy, every child is female to a point.” Her half-lidded eyes watched my face. “Some of them are too weak to become girls,” she continued. “One of the chromosomes is deformed. It becomes a boy. Then a man. Then a man that wants to fuck his stepdaughter.”
“I’m not sure all of that is true.”
She shrugged. “You want to fuck me, though.” Her hand joined mine, guiding me. “There. Be a good inferior, Daddy. Learn to please me. This isn’t going to be a phase.” Her eyes were wide, and her face was deadly serious. “I’m going to wrap you around my finger and wear you like a ring. Forever.”
I started slow, feeling the pulse of her arousal grow with each hesitant stroke. Her pussy was slick and feverishly hot, my knuckles brushing the soft, shorn mound as I worked two fingers in and out. Fast. Faster. Until Kila’s breasts were heaving with her breath.
The table shook ever so gently with the rhythm of my hand. Kila’s tank top shifted with her breathing, the cotton stretching tight over her breasts. Her nipples were impossible to ignore, stiff peaks poking through the thin fabric, one of them nearly escaping the low scoop of the shirt as she leaned forward and shuddered.
“Lying on my back,” she whispered, painting her fantasy for me. “You begging to put your cock inside me. So close when I let you in that you almost lose it. I have to hold you and talk you down.” Her brow furrowed and I felt her pussy clench. “Whispering how much you love me. How much you’ve wanted to fuck me. The slow, deep kisses that leave your body pumping helplessly.”
I could feel her heartbeat through my fingers. Her hips rocked in silent counterpoint, humping against my hand, insistent and certain. Sweat prickled along her hairline, tiny beads glimmering above her brows.
Kila pressed down on my wrist, hard, forcing my fingers even deeper. Her thighs clamped around my forearm and she let out a low, animal moan that vibrated through her whole body. She was close.
“I want you to remember this,” Kila said. “I want you to remember, no matter what happens, you can always make me come. You can always do this for me.” Her voice was wet with urgency, her pelvis rolling shamelessly under the tablecloth. “You’ll never be completely useless as long as you obey me.”
I kept going, terrified and exhilarated, until her whole body tensed and she bit down so hard on her lip I thought she’d draw blood. My hand was locked in place, my eyes unable to look away. She was beautiful. Powerful. Regal.
Kila’s pussy snapped around my fingers so hard on the first pulse that I thought she might snap one of them. The clamp was brutal, all heat and wet and triumph, and it sent a jolt up my arm so powerful that for a second I forgot where I was, even who I was, lost in the feral urgency of her release. She didn’t just squeeze; she tried to grind my hand into paste, knees scissoring across my wrist, her hips bucking with a violence that threatened to topple the entire table. My knuckles jammed up against her pubic bone and in that instant I realized she was trying, literally, to keep any part of me that belonged to her from escaping. The velvet heat of her cunt was animal, greedy, dragging my body into its orbit and making it clear that I was nothing but a conduit for her pleasure. I was the instrument; she was the composer, and the music of her orgasm was long, brutal, and symphonic.
She made no sound for the first few seconds, just a rictus of blank astonishment, as if the violence of her climax had short-circuited her larynx. The only noise was my own strangled breathing, ragged and alive, and a wet, slapping sound as her thighs hammered at my trapped hand. Then Kila managed a single, desperate gasp, a rasping, wordless intake, and buried her face in the crook of her arm, shuddering so hard that the tableware rattled. I watched her hair jerk and sway with each tremor, the curls electrified by sweat and static. For a moment her whole body seemed to hover, suspended between collapse and flight, before she finally let herself go slack, slumping so far forward that her forehead nearly clanged against her plate.
The silence was so total I could hear the tick of the cheap wall clock and the fretful thump of my own heart. I was still inside her, fingers locked in the involuntary grip of her aftershocks, and I couldn’t move even if I’d wanted to. There was a raw, tinny taste in my mouth from holding my breath too long. I looked at Kila, completely ruined by her own climax: hair hanging over her face in wild fronds, tears or sweat streaming down her temples, arms limp at her sides, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as she panted. I waited for her to speak, to deliver some cutting remark, but she just shook with silent laughter, a feverish, unhinged giggle vibrating her ribs. My right hand, hidden under the table, was buried in her cunt to the knuckle, the whole length of it glazed in her slick. My other hand gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled and trembling.
I kept expecting her to let go, to push me away, to end the spell before Bryn returned. But Kila did not so much as twitch. If anything, she flexed her pelvic muscles, milking my fingers, savoring every pulse and spasm of her own body. For the first time in my life, I understood what total, abject surrender looked like, and it was not pretty. It was feral and needy and so honest it made my throat ache. I realized, in that moment, that I would do exactly as she commanded. No matter what.
I felt my cock throbbing, fully rigid and throbbing up against the underside of the table, a crimson flag of my own perversion. But nothing mattered. Nothing existed except Kila’s savage bliss and my utter inability to do anything but obey her. My hand was cramping, but I did not dare move. I could smell her, that tangy, musky sweetness that filled the air and settled on my tongue like a curse. I could taste her, too, from before, when she’d smeared her wetness across my lips. I’d thought that was the worst shame I’d ever experience. I was wrong. There was no shame here, only the sick, holy joy of devastation.
After what felt like hours but could not have been more than a minute her convulsions tapered off, replaced by a slow, rolling tide of aftershocks. She opened her eyes, black with dilation and smeared with tears, and fixed me with a look so naked and raw that I almost had to look away. She touched my cheek with her left hand, a gentle, trembling caress, and traced her thumb along my lower lip. She was still breathing in shallow pants, her chest heaving, but the violence was gone now, replaced by something closer to awe. I could feel her softening around my hand, the clinginess fading to a warm, syrupy grip.
She left my hand inside her for a long moment, velvet heat still twitching along my knuckles. I watched, helpless, as her eyes fluttered open and shut, her dark hair a static curtain across her face. She looked like she was about to weep, or maybe laugh, or both, and the ambiguity of it made my own eyes sting. I started to pull my hand away, but Kila’s fingers snapped out and caught my wrist. She squeezed, nails digging crescents into my skin, holding me there as she rode out aftershocks.
Eventually, she let go, breathing in a slow, steadying gulp, and slumped against the table like a broken marionette. I eased my fingers out, careful not to make a sound, and wiped them on my napkin beneath the shelter of the tablecloth. My hand shook so badly I nearly dropped the napkin on the floor. Kila’s legs stayed open, shameless, as she pressed her palm to her chest and steadied her heart. She shivered all over, her nipples hard as glass beneath the tank top, and for a second I thought she might faint.
But my stepdaughter was made of something invincible. She sucked in air, straightened her shoulders, and flicked the damp hair off her brow with a practiced gesture that would have looked right at home on a runway. She turned, slow and deliberate, to face me. Her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed, and her gaze burned with a ferocious, unguarded honesty that drove the breath out of my lungs.
She caught her breath, released my hand, and smoothed her hair back into place. The tip of her tongue darted out and licked the sweat from her upper lip. She glanced at the ceiling, then at me, her expression so open and raw that it hurt to look at her.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Don’t ever doubt that what I do is from anything but love. You need it, Daddy. You need me to run your life in ways Mom isn’t.” Sweat beaded at her hairline and across her forehead. “You’re inferior, Daddy. You can’t help it.”
My hand slipped from her shorts, job done. I used a napkin from the table to wipe it dry. It would still smell like Kila, I knew. I couldn’t touch Bryn until I washed.
“You’re a good man. You didn’t have to let me be your daughter. You could have just fucked my mom and let me live here as the price of access to her pussy.” Her eyes fluttered closed and a lazy grin pulled over her lips. “But you loved me. Made me your daughter. Became my Daddy.”
“I still love you,” I whispered. “It wasn’t a choice, baby. I couldn’t help but love you.”
She leaned against me, both arms holding me tight. Her head rested on my shoulder. A moment of panic hit me when Bryn walked into the kitchen and saw us. But my wife only stopped and clasped her hands, head tilted to one side.
“I’ve missed seeing you two together,” she said. She walked over and kissed me on the forehead. “I wish my father could have been everything you are. Thank you for loving my daughter so well.”
I sipped my coffee, letting it fill my mouth with the taste of ash. Nodded as Bryn moved away. I watched her pull ingredients from the cupboards and refrigerator as she set about making breakfast.
“Either she just said she wants to fuck Grampa,” Kila whispered in my ear. “Or she doesn’t know you want to fuck me. Which do you think it is?”
There was no need to answer. Kila’s wicked laugh was enough to stoke the fires of shame. And I had to hide in was a cup of coffee.