"It feels like I'm your Daddy's girl again," Cat said, as we walked back to the beach house after lunch, along the trail up to the top of the bluff.
Cat squeezed my hand and I felt, or perhaps imagined, her finger move up toward my wrist, tracing the crease in my palm, vividly reminding me of the way I followed the outline of her labia most intimately, only moments earlier.
With her scent still fresh on the back of my hand, I reconsidered the temptation to revisit where we both left off, in the prohibited and forbidden nature of our father-daughter relationship, and the possibility of more teasing, flirtation, and touching to come.
Cat released my hand and led the way, charging up the last few steps to the front door, giving me yet another sneak-a-peep moment, or the slightly too close look at her inviting ass and the way it squeezed out from below her hemline, with each muscular stride.
"Daddy, I'm going to take you up on your offer to share the bathtub, if you wouldn't mind."
From the sun-drenched corner sofa, I watched Cat climb the stairs to my bedroom, heard the bathroom door close, and the freestanding tub begin to fill.
My imagination ran wild, at the image of her naked, leaning over the edge of the tub, testing the warmth of the water, swirling the bubbles, the sight, as she settled down into the warm water, her neck, knees and nipples just above the foam.
"Daddy, unless you have a disposable razor, please bring up one of mine. It's in with the cosmetics; check the outside pocket of my carry-on.