I lean my cheek against his chest, breathing in the smell of him, and don’t let go. My breasts are pressed against him, it’s a tight, intimate hug, and once I’m in it I can’t pull away. It feels so good to be close to him, to smell him and be hugged by him, I can’t bring myself to break the embrace.
I don’t feel like he wants me to, either. He leans back against the counter, pulling me against him, and lifts a hand to cup my head, and kisses the top of my hair.
“I love you, Hazel-girl,” he murmurs.
“I love you too, Dad,” I whisper. I can feel his chest rising and falling against me as he breathes.
“And you’ll always be my little girl.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
It’s a weird thing to say when all I’m thinking about is how fucking good his body feels against mine, how I’d do anything to be in this embrace in a different context, but my feelings for Xavier are complex. I’m grappling with this growing, inappropriate attraction to him, but I still so love being his little girl.
I drag a hand slowly up his back, grazing his shirt with my nails in a frankly affectionate gesture, and he leans his head down and kisses my temple, smoothing my hair back with his hand like he’s petting me. “My baby,” he coos.
I tilt my face up, burying my nose in his neck and deeply inhaling his scent. I wish I could tilt my face all the way up, brushing my mouth against his and feeling his lips against mine. Xavier would be an amazing kisser, I know it.
He presses his mouth against my temple, which feels nice too, and rubs my back. It’s all so close, so physical, so intimate, I can feel my heart hammering in my chest and heat shimmering through my body.
I’m hyper aware of my own body, everywhere it’s pressed up against his, and as he runs his hand down over my back my nipples get hard. So hard I get self-conscious that he might feel them against his chest. I should pull away, but my body has a mind of its own. As if on instinct, I tilt my pelvis towards him so that the whole plane of my body is against his and that’s when I think I feel something.
Maybe…possibly…I’m not entirely sure, but I think I might feel…a bulge.
There’s a slight protrusion of some kind that meets my lower belly as I press myself against him, and just as my mind starts to process that, Xavier separates us, pulling himself back as he lifts me away.
“I have to go to the washroom,” he says nonchalantly. “Do the potatoes after the leeks, please.”
He walks out of the kitchen as if we haven’t just had the most intimate hug we’ve ever had and I try to focus on the vegetables, chopping them evenly and piling them into the little bowls he’s put out for them.
By the time he comes back, I’ve prepped everything and taken a seat at the kitchen island, distracted by my phone. Kye has sent me a text I don’t know how to respond to.
Sorry I was a jerk today, it reads.
I’m staring at it as Xavier returns to the kitchen, patting my back as he walks past me.
“Who’re you texting?” he asks casually.
“No one,” I answer quickly. “Christine.” I don’t know why, but it seems better to lie than admit it’s Kye. “What’s next?”
“Time to cook,” says my stepdad happily. “I’m going to teach you how to make a very good traditional Swiss papet vaudois.”
He’s in his element, walking me through the process as he measures out the wine and soup stock and shows me how to puncture the sausages. In the kitchen with Xavier, away from the rest of the world and free to just enjoy his company, I’m happier than I’ve been all day.