I hate adding notes but just in case: This is a complete work of fiction. Any similarities to people living or dead is completely coincidental.
*****
I sat on the sofa next to my mother watching the news while holding my five-year-old son, Clinton, thinking this would be one of the last times it would happen before I completely moved out after I got married in three days. For years it had been our ritual to catch the national evening broadcast as delivered by the man on the screen. Since I was eighteen, by the time the hour-long show was over, I was always wet with arousal.
Now in his mid-forties, the anchor had become well known as a reporter covering a hurricane early in his career. He leveraged the recognition into jobs subbing for other anchors on the network before getting his own show then was finally tapped to anchor the flagship news program. With a square jaw from which issued a deep, steady, calming voice, and steel blue eyes, he was classically handsome. If you looked closely, you could see that his straw colored hair was greying slightly at the temples. Despite his age, he had a solid body beneath his tailored suit that my mother and I knew well. She called him her husband, I called him dad and I often wondered if he still had the same effect on her as he did on me.
After the program was over, he arrived home just over an hour later and greeted us with hugs and kisses. We sat down and had a late dinner together as a family then I put Clinton down and retreated to my room to send some emails and call my fiance before going to bed.
The next morning while waiting for Clinton to wake, I went to the kitchen and saw my father at the table. He held a newspaper open in front of him—real paper, not an e-version—with his reading glasses perched on his nose. His thin lips were pressed together tightly. Most people saw it as a frown, but I knew it was just his serious, thinking face and that it could relax into a genuine smile at any moment. An empty bowl of oatmeal and mostly empty cup of cold coffee were on the table in front of him. In the sink I saw another set of dirty dishes that must have been used by my mom. I poured a bowl of cereal and glass of juice for myself and a new cup of coffee for him before going to the table. We didn't say much beyond greeting each other while I ate. He, as usual, was focused on reading about the previous day's events and the commentary from the print journalists.
After I cleared our dishes I checked on Clinton who had always been a late sleeper then returned to my dad. I removed his hand that was closest to me from the paper so I could sit across his legs.
"Good morning, princess," he said with a smile as his free hand rested on my bare leg and the thumb began tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
"Morning, Daddy," I said. With a shy smile, I leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the lips. "Mom already leave?"
He released the paper from his other hand and moved it to my back. "She did. She said she had to run an errand before meeting you at the dress shop."
I was only wearing a pair of men's boxers—one of the many stolen from him—and a bra and his hands were hot on my skin. Hearing my mom was gone, I leaned into him and again touched his lips with mine. This time our kiss was deep and passionate. His tongue easily conquered mine and I moaned against him. My hand moved to the boxers he was wearing and found the slit of his fly. I pushed the fingers of one hand inside and felt his flesh already stiffening as I pulled it out into the open to stroke while my other hand moved across his bare chest. A decent forest of greying blonde hair covered it and I loved the soft yet scratchy feel of it. Beneath the hair was a broad chest that had been tighter a few years ago but was still nice to look at.
While I was doing that, I felt a pair of his long, thick fingers slide into the fly of my shorts and unerringly find my slit. With gentle determination, he pushed them inside me and pressed his palm against my hidden nub. He immediately began to finger fuck me with a lazy rhythm as he said, "You're going to be late and you know how your mother gets."
I sighed heavily against his lips. "I know. But I have just enough time to thank you for watching Clinton while we're out."
"You don't have to thank me. I'm happy to do it. I don't get to spend enough time with the rug rat." His tone was simultaneously paternal and teasing.
"I know, but it's also been a while since we've had some time alone." Even I heard the needy tone in my voice.
"But you know that's not what we agreed to," he said even as he continued to work his fingers inside me.
"I know," I said with disappointment. After starting college a year late due to the pregnancy then failing my morning class my first semester, my mother had gone ballistic. She did not understand why I kept missing class or why my father had not helped me with Clinton since he was home at the time. He and I had then talked and agreed that we had to be smarter about our encounters. Ever since, we managed our time better. And with my impending wedding that upcoming weekend, we seriously dialed everything back as family and friends appeared without warning. "You're right."
We sat in silence for a moment. His fingers continued to move through me while mine stroked him and we shared a few more quick kisses.
"Promise me that if I give in this time, you won't try this again," he said seriously. "At least not until after the wedding."
"I won't," I said quickly. "I promise."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Liar."
My father watched intently as I stood to lower my shorts before I straddled his lap facing him. His lips parted slightly as he sucked in a breath and I moaned as I sank onto his length sticking out of his shorts. As his thickness moved deeper into me, it reminded me of the first time he entered me...
It was a few days after my eighteenth birthday and I had just been dumped by a guy because I wouldn't put out. At the time I was a virgin and while I was eager to have sex, I wasn't into the guy enough for him to be my first.
"No more moping, baby girl," my father said as he entered my room and sat on the edge of the bed.
