Chapter 86 - EIGHTY SIX

Chapter 86: Chapter EIGHTY SIX

ANGEL

"You’re not my father. My father is dead!" I slid the finger on his chest down.

Slowly.

Past his taunt abdomen.

It stopped against the front of his dark pants. One finger became two. And then three.

He was rock hard. I wrapped my fingers around the shape of him through fabric. He let out a low warning growl but I ignored it, feeling his cock throb against my palm.

"Fathers don’t get hard watching their daughters cum. Fathers don’t grind their cocks against their little girl’s ass in their sleep. You grabbed my ass that night," I held his stare, "What was going through your mind that night before you rushed to the bathroom?"

He grabbed my wrist. But he didn’t pull my hand away. Just held it there. Both of us feeling him throb.

"Fuck me, Daddy." I squeezed him through the fabric. "Or tomorrow night I find someone who will. And I won’t laugh at his cock. I’ll swallow it whole."

His grip on my wrist tightened.

"How many men?" I taunted in a voice meant to provoke. "How many faces can you break? How many dicks can you rip off before one of them gets inside your little girl? That man was right about one thing — Your daughter is a slut. She needs her daddy to treat her like one before someone else does!"

Something broke, in his stare. It became feral and starving. The last thread of whatever had been holding him together — the years of fatherhood, the guilt— it all snapped at once and what was underneath wasn’t a father at all.

His hand shot from my wrist to my throat. He pulled me off the couch until my toes barely touched the floor.

"You want to know what Daddy thinks about in those showers?" His voice was rough, hard.

"Yes," I breathed, my lips parting. "Tell me,"

"I think about pinning your face down on my bed and fucking you until you forget that dead boy’s name." His grip tightened, his mouth moved to my ear. Teeth grazed my earlobe, spreading a shudder through me.

"I think about shoving my fingers down your throat to shut that smart mouth up. I think about spreading your legs and eating your cunt until you scream my name so loud that fucker turns in his grave."

A moan escaped my mouth. My pussy clenched, I was soaked. Totally. Even through my undies, I could feel my wetness trickling down my thigh.

"I think about filling you up." His voice was lower. His gaze darker. "Pumping you so full of my cum it drips out of you for days. Making you walk around this house leaking me. Sitting at breakfast with it running down your thighs while you smile and say good morning, Daddy."

"Daddy—"

"I think about putting a baby in you, Angel." He said in almost a whisper now. "Watching your belly swell with it. Knowing what’s growing inside you is mine. That every inch of you — inside and out, every hole, every heartbeat — belongs to me. The way it always should have."

I couldn’t breathe. Not because of his hand. Rather my pussy was clenched so tight because of his words, I almost came from it.

"You poked the cage." His thumb pressed into the hollow of my throat. "You ground your wet little cunt on my cock every morning and pretend to sleep." His lips brushed my ear. "You wanted the animal out?"

"Yes."

"He’s out."

His mouth crashed into mine.

The kiss split my lip. His hand tightened on my throat and his tongue forced my mouth open and I tasted blood — his knuckles, my lip, both — and he kissed me like he was trying to devour me. Like he was punishing me and claiming me and destroying me all at once.

I kissed him back. Tasted him. He growled into my mouth and the kiss turned feral — teeth and tongues and fury.

Years of starvation poured into my mouth, and I drank every drop.

He pressed me further onto the couch and his weight came down on me. His hips landed between my thighs and I felt him — hard, straining, pressed against my soaked underwear through his pants.

And just when I was starting to get used to his taste, my mind already conditioning that I was getting fucked, he pulled back from the kiss.

I made a sound — needy, desperate — and reached for him.

He stood up abruptly, looking down at me.

"Don’t move." He commanded with the same dangerous calm I’d learned to recognize.

My hazy eyes followed him as he walked to the bar.

He ignored the impatience burning through me and poured himself a drink.

He took a sip with his back to me. Like he had all the time in the world. As if his daughter wasn’t lying on his couch with her legs open and her body shaking.

"Vincenzo—" I barely started.

"Did I say you could talk?"

I closed my mouth.

He took another sip. Set the glass down. Then he went around and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms like he was deciding what to do with me.

"Take the dress off."

My hands were trembling. I sat up and pulled what was left of the sundress over my head. Letting it drop to the floor.

"The rest."

I peeled my underwear off. Soaked. I dropped them on the floor and sat naked on his couch. Bare. Exposed. His eyes moved over me slowly, raking through every inch of my body like he was appraising property.

"Lie back. Angel."

I lay back, my chest heaving.

"Spread your legs. Angel."

I spread them.

He didn’t come closer. He stayed at the bar with his arms crossed and his eyes moving between my thighs. I was exposed in a way I’d never been. Not physically — I’d been naked before. This was Vincenzo — Daddy — making me wait. Making me lie open and aching like this while he stood across the room fully clothed and watched.

"Wider."