This is the first of three parts in the "A Daughter's Lust" short series.
This is the father/daughter version of a set of the "It Doesn't Count" series of three-part stories. All are basically the same with slightly different character relationships. "It Doesn't Count" involves a brother and sister, "A Mother's Lust" involves a mother and son, "It Doesn't Matter" involves an older woman and her daughter's young ex-boyfriend, while "It Shouldn't Matter" involves a young woman and her younger sister's ex-boyfriend. You can read any or all of them, according to your tastes, but the vast majority of all parts of all stories are the same.
This new, father/daughter version, "A Daughter's Lust," is a late addition to the original collection.
-- The Author
Don glanced down at Amy's slim, manicured hand. It rested just millimeters from his, with her long, delicate fingers beside his own, on the table between plates littered with the remnants of a moderately expensive lunch. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her, but her hand wasn't touching his. He looked up into her eyes, seeing a mischievous twinkle there. She'd placed her hand there, just that way, on purpose, as a subtle reminder.
Don had to look away. He felt a blush rising in his cheeks. A quick glance told him Amy was grinning, enjoying his discomfort. He didn't know why this was all so much easier for her. He was supposed to be the one in control. He was her father.
Of all of his children, Amy, the youngest, had always been the restrained, careful, planning one. She was the one that didn't take unnecessary risks. She was the one that played by the rules. She never cut in line. She never spoke out of turn. She never pocketed a bill that someone else had carelessly dropped. And Amy was the one that tried to make sure she had a royal flush before she made even a small bet.
He was in his mature, conservative fifties, and she in her wild twenties, yes, but he was still more daring. He knew he was more experienced, especially in affairs of the heart. Or, rather, especially when it came to sex. She thought he was a hound, acting up during his mid-life crisis. He thought he was well traveled, and doing pretty well since losing his wife, Amy's mother, so many years ago. It had been hard, at first, but now he enjoyed the role of sensual, casual lover instead of responsible husband and father.
Amy took her hand away to reach into her purse to pay the bill. Don felt a sudden sadness as she did so.
"Let me, today, Princess," Don offered. "I've been letting you pay too often."
Amy looked up at him with her sea green eyes, her hand at rest in the maw of the purse. She hesitated a moment before continuing to look in it for cash.
"No, honey, I've got it."
She had never called him honey before. It sounded strange, and a little unsettling. She'd been saying things like that throughout lunch.
"No, let me, come on," Don argued.
"It's the twenty first century, sweetie," she said, looking up at him with a smile. "Men don't have to pay for their dates anymore. Anyway, I have a job."
Don glared at her, letting his face harden into ice.
"It's not a date, Amy."
"Whatever you say, lover," she said, smiling, as she dropped some crumpled bills onto the check on the table. "I've gotta get back to work. I'm running late."
She rose from her seat, then walked around the table to pass him on the way to the exit. As she reached him she suddenly bent down to put her broad, full mouth to his, or almost to his. She stopped with her lips just a hair's breadth away. He felt one long, warm breath caress his lips.
She made a slow, soft kissing sound, then was up and off, never having touched him. Don watched her walk away with a motion that made him sit up straight. He felt something stirring in him. He tried his best to ignore it.
* * *
It had happened, or rather started, rather innocently. He'd stopped by to visit her at her apartment on Friday after work. She was getting ready to go out for the evening with friends. He just wanted to get back some CDs she'd borrowed.
As long as he was there, she'd said she wanted his opinion.
"Be honest. Brutally honest, if you can."
"About what?" Don asked, not really listening, as he sorted through her collection looking for anything that was his. She had far too many rap and hip hop albums. That stuff made his skin crawl. He'd thought she had more mature tastes than that. At least, she did with everything other than music.
"As a guy, not as my father, just as a guy."
The way she'd phrased that made him pause. He swiveled his head to look her in the eye.
"Yes?"
"As a guy, on a scale from, say, eight to ten... am I hot?"
"Eight? Eight to ten?"
"I'm feeling fragile today. You can't go lower than eight."
Don grunted as he turned back to selecting music. Amy always felt fragile. Or rather, she always felt insecure. He didn't know why. She was smart. She was fun. And she was a total knockout, and she knew it. Don had spent an embarrassingly large part of his life telling his friends that no, their sons couldn't date her, so let it go. Some of them had even hinted at wanting to take her out themselves.
"Come on, Dad. Okay, have it your way, on a scale from five to ten, how hot am I?"
"Are we talking hot as in simply attractive, or hot as in getting a guy to try to get into your lonely pants?"
Don had said it without looking up. His bored, tired tone of voice said he wasn't looking up, in case she didn't notice. It was an awkward thing to say to his own daughter, even if she was "all grown up." He felt a bit uncomfortable as soon as he'd said it, wishing he could take the words back.
"Into your pants hot," she answered, ignoring the inappropriateness of his comment, including the "lonely" part.
Don sighed loudly, realizing that this wasn't going to stop until he gave it his full attention. Fine, if that was the way she wanted it.
He stood up to look her over. Only now did he notice that she was dressed to kill. It was funny that he hadn't even noticed that she'd changed since he'd arrived. If she weren't his own daughter, he was sure it would have hit him like a whole bottle of tequila. He wondered now which friends she was going out with, and who she was actually going after. He fought down a surge of inappropriate jealousy.
She wore a tight fitting, short, black dress. It was almost too low cut, showing too much of his little gir's cleavage in a way that made Don a bit uncomfortable. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra. High heels, makeup, lipstick, dangly earrings, she had everything she needed to get any guy that wasn't gay to do anything she wanted, for, with, or to her.
"Turn around," he ordered.
Amy looked him in the eye, hesitating, as if she were suddenly too shy to model for her father. She slowly spun in place, spinning her head to keep him in her sight the whole time. Her long, straight, pale blond hair flew around her as she whipped her chin from one shoulder to the other, taking her eyes from his only in that instant, but looking right back into his as soon as she could.
Don silently whistled in his own head. He didn't really need Amy to spin around to know what her curves looked like. She would have looked hot in flannel pajamas. It had been driving him crazy since she'd grown into a mature woman, one that he couldn't think of that way, yet she was built so that no man could do otherwise.
He'd gotten used to it by now. He'd numbed himself, over time, to his daughter's amazing sex appeal. But when he stopped to look at her, to really look at her, his blood started pumping faster. Bodies like hers didn't come along very often. Faces like hers didn't come along very often. Finding them together, on one sweet, warm, intelligent woman, simply didn't happen, ever.
Don knew that for a fact. He'd been searching for years now for one woman that was half of what Amy was, and no one he'd met had ever come close. She thought he was a rogue because he never dated the same woman more than three times. She'd never know that it was because he knew he was never going to meet a girl as unbelievable as the one he'd raised, the one that he could never have. She herself had set the bar too high for him.
"Well? How long is this going to take?" she asked, growing impatient. He sensed that she was afraid that he wouldn't give her a ten.
"Nine and a half," he said, out of spite.
She wrinkled the corner of her lip at him, demonstrating a mix of disappointment and irritation.
"You lose a half a point because you're my daughter," he explained quickly, feeling guilty about hurting her feelings, no matter how slight the insult was. She really was too sensitive. "A half a point because I can't do any of the things the sight of you brings to mind."
She immediately broke into a warm smile, which had its usual effect on Don. He suddenly felt warm himself. It was mostly a contented warmth, the result of making her happy. It was also a slow burning, surging warmth, the inevitable result of seeing a beautiful, sexy woman smile at him lovingly.
* * *
Amy loved getting compliments from her father, more than from any other man. She shouldn't, she knew. He was her daddy, but that was what made his words special. If she could get him aroused, she knew she'd gotten it right. If she could send her own father into heat, she knew she was a hot bitch.
It helped that he was sexy himself, a ten on her own personal scale, father or not. She generally liked guys that were different from her. She liked them dark and Mediterranean looking, and her own age. Older guys, and blond, clean-cut guys were a turn off, except for Don. He had sandy blondish hair, a color that naturally hid a growing amount of gray, with clean facial features that were too even, too symmetrical. But he also had a strong cut to his jaw and his cheek bones, with dirty blond and gray facial hair that he only shaved every few days. It made him look more rugged, and careworn, and authoritative, and he knew it.
He usually wore a bit of a scowl, or at best a serious, thoughtful look. The contrast between that stern, harsh, manly demeanor and the brightness of his wide smile was knee weakening. Whenever he switched from one to the other, Amy's heart jumped.
