"Dad?"
"Hm?"
"Have you even been
listening
to me?"
"Of course I have."
Rob glanced uncomfortably at his daughter, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with arms folded beneath her rather lewdly displayed chest. She was looking sinfully curvy in a sapphire scoop necked top and a snug pair of jeans, with a distractingly shiny silver looped belt slung low on her broad hips. She was also looking severely unimpressed, leveling him with a highly dubious expression.
"And...?"
"Of course. Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want," he said, just as quickly tearing his eyes away from her. It had been weeks since the incident in the living room, and aside from his inability to look even in her general direction for more than two seconds at a time, things were starting to get back to normal. His meeting with the headmaster, at least, had ended well. Mr. Creeley had been reluctant to show more leniency to Ava at first, but eventually folded after two hours of begging. Yes, he had
begged
the headmaster to let his daughter stay in that school. No other school would even enroll Ava; if St. Magdalene's wouldn't keep her, the only alternative was home school.
While direct eye contact was unthinkiable, or difficult at the least, the thought of spending hours with her each day, knees nearly touching under the kitchen table, their heads bent close over a book, was utterly preposterous. In the end, the only way the school would allow Ava to remain enrolled was to strictly forbid her from any contact with the other pupil, Roxanne Stefanson. The girls had three classes together, so Ava's class schedule had been changed to meet that requirement. They were not allowed to socialize during free periods or in the hallway; the parents were expected to make sure the girls did not associate outside of school.
Rob had been all too happy to bow to the stipulations. Because he was worried she might say she was going to one friend's house and hang out with Roxanne instead, she was grounded to the house until she graduated. It was a brilliant idea, really. What he
hadn't
thought through was that this meant Ava was spending a lot more time at home with him.
All
of her spare time. And Jesus, was it an awkward arrangement. Even now, she was making him uncomfortable, and all she was doing was
looking
at him. Looking and smirking, her perfectly shaped mouth twisted with wry amusement. "What?"
"Whatever I want? Seriously, Dad, I just spent five minutes telling you about my day, and then I asked what the heck that poor potato ever did to you."
"Huh..? Oh."
"Yeah, '
Oh
,'" she mocked, rolling her eyes.
"Whatever. Am I still under house arrest?"
"Dressed like that? Damn right you are."
For a second, Rob thought she was going to hiss at him. Instead, she gave him one long, mutinous look and stalked out of the kitchen, muttering under her breath. Chagrined that he had been caught not paying attention and flustered with her attitude, Rob put down his paring knife (as well as the potato he had been whittling into oblivion) and wiped off his hands, tugging open the fridge.
"Dinner's off, Ava. Call in a pizza, and then take that attitude straight to your room!"
"
Fine
!"
Gripping the handle on the fridge door tightly, Rob stared into the contents of it's frigid belly as he listened to his daughter storm into the office to do as told. There was a half finished case of Coors on the bottom shelf. He pulled out two and sat heavily at the kitchen table, gulping the first hurriedly even though the biting cold assaulted his throat.
Crumpling the can in a futile display of his frustration, he tossed the can towards the trash can (grumbling when he missed), and then folded his arms on the table, resting his forehead in the space between.
He had never been much of a drinker. In college, when most of his friends and dorm-mates were doing beer bongs and keg stands, he was attending lectures from guest speakers and whipping up new recipes to try on his future wife. Throughout a marriage as riddled as anyone else's with fiery spats and stupid, illogical fights, and all through the long, heart breaking months that lead up to Mary Anne's death (or even in the three years that followed), Rob had never turned to the bottle.
No, it apparently took one afternoon between his sleeping daughter's legs and a punishment gone horribly wrong to do
that
.
The problem was, he couldn't stop thinking about it. About
her
. Not as his daughter, but as a woman. A woman he lusted after, a woman who was invariably out of his reach. At work, he found himself daydreaming about her, the way she tasted, the musky, earthy scent of her, the way her glistening pussy contracted before his very eyes. Of those wicked red stripes that screamed out at him from the smoothly flaring curve of her ass.
No matter how hard he tried, when he looked at her now, he didn't see his daughter. He saw the rawly sensuous creature that she was beneath the mask of youth and relation; he saw a mouthy, willful beast that needed to have some sense savagely fucked into her. And for the life of him, he couldn't tell which was the reason that kept him up at night; that he wanted her so badly it made his teeth hurt, or that he couldn't in good conscience give her the god-awful fucking she so rightly deserved.
Rob had a feeling he would go crazy ten times over before he ever came to terms with it.
Giving in to the increasingly familiar state of annoyance, disgust and lust that was constantly trying to settle over him, he pulled himself upright in the chair and cracked open his second beer, nearly spilling it on himself when Ava burst into the kitchen, a flurry of movement and dark hair.
"I called in the damn pizza," she snarled, her wide set green eyes overly bright in the harsh fluorescent. "And I'm going to my room now,
massah
." Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she took two steps towards the door and then spun around again, one hand grabbing the frame for balance. "Oh, and just so you know, there is
nothing wrong
with the way I'm dressed!"
Rob could only stare after her, irritated, amused, and more than just a little baffled at her sudden outburst and immediate departure. He wasn't entirely surprised to hear her distant sobs as she flung herself up the stairs, even found himself counting the seconds until he heard her door slam shut in petulant rage.
"What the hell..?"
Grunting, he slouched his shoulders forward and swilled deep from the can, picking at a dried speck of food on the table with a broad, flat thumbnail. "Of
course
there's nothing wrong with the way you're dressed," he muttered in belated response to her outburst, before belching into the back of his hand. "All the sluts are dressing like that these days."
* * *
"Aaagh!"
Making a strangled sound in her throat that was a cross between a grunt and a heavily censored scream, Ava slammed her bedroom door and just stood there for a moment, her chest and shoulders heaving with each gasp that fueled her furious sobs.
Her dad was a complete and utter warden! And he was
ruining
her life!
Sucking in a great hitch of air, she wiped at her streaming eyes and then began yanking off her clothes, throwing them on the bed. She'd been playing the good girl lately, showing up for all of her classes, composing herself demurely around the Sisters and even turning in her assignments. She'd even managed to bring up some of her D's to C's. Her dad was a complete pushover -- and aside from that, he'd seemed even weaker since the ... thing ... that happened in the living room. She'd been absolutely certain that he'd lift the ban on her freedom and let her out for a little while tonight.
For God's sake, she was
eighteen years old
. She wasn't some brat in ruffled socks and pigtails anymore!
Still crying bitterly, she tugged on a pair of plaid lounge pants and a sleep shirt, allowing herself to think to the real reason she was so upset.
Ava hadn't had any real sexual gratification since her spectacular solo performance the night her dad... yeah. When he'd finally stopped sobbing on her shoulder, clutching her like she had life support written all over her, he'd taken her to her room and tucked her in, then just kind of stood there dejectedly, looking seven shades of lost and broken.
Ava had barely been able to keep her itching fingers out of her soaking pussy long enough for him to stammer a bewildered apology and bid her goodnight. The moment the door closed behind him, she dove headlong into an aria of unrequited passion, shoving her guilt and disgust behind the curtain as she skillfully brought herself to peak again and again. Unfortunately, each subsequent crescendo of lust was more dissonant than the last, until she found herself curled into a tight little ball, sobbing her heart out in a brace of pillows.
Physically, emotionally, mentally... it was all just too much for her. Her body was all too happy to sing its tune of need and desire, but she couldn't wrap her mind around that song being played for her own
father
.
And ever since that night, every time she dipped a probing finger between her legs, her guilty mind started with a flash of memory; the savage bite of leather contrasted by the unhurried caress of his hand. The force of his heaving sobs as he clung to her for comfort and forgiveness.
Her mood swings and violent unpredictability were worse than she had ever before experienced, and she held him entirely at fault.
Making matters worse, she wasn't even allowed to speak with Roxie anymore. When the two of them passed each other in the hallway, they were painfully aware of the ever watchful eyes of the Sisters or the headmaster on them. All they could do was lift their eyebrows at each other and move their shoulders in tiny shrugs -- a "what can you do?" gesture of defeat.
Ava didn't just miss the sex -- although it was definitely one of the biggest perks of the friendship -- she was starting to realize just how much Roxie meant to her as a friend and confidant. Her dry, warped sense of humor, her husky yet soothing voice; the way she rolled her eyes skywards and expelled Ava's name despairingly along with a cloud of smoke. The sex had even brought them closer, in a way, than any other friendship Ava had ever had. When someone knew your body as intimately as they knew each others, it was easier to purge the junk that cluttered the soul.
