Xavier
It’s Almost Seven A. m. when I wake up, the latest I’ve slept in since Melanie and I last went on vacation-whenever that was.
The blinds aren’t drawn, and the sun is full in my face. Beside me, my flame-haired girl is curled up on her side, her butt against my crotch, and I’m already hard for her.
I kiss her ear and wrap my arm around her to pull her in closer. She squirms against me like a kitten, making a small mewling sound as she wriggles herself in.
Not for the first time, I fight back powerful thoughts about what it would be like to be inside of her, to fuck my little stepdaughter, and soon I’m grinding my full erection against her. She presses back harder against me, sleepy but willing, and with a great effort of will, I force myself to roll over and sit up.
I’m in a permanent state of breathless need, but, for the first time in a long time, I realize, I’m happy. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. As I head downstairs to make coffee, I catch myself whistling.
What’s happening with Hazel…I know it isn’t right. There’s a constant nagging worry in the back of my mind: if things keep escalating, how far will they go? But there’s no denying the simple fact that getting closer to Hazel-this teasing, flirtatious exploration-feels completely right. My love for her is so big it encompasses all our roles. Even the forbidden one: Daddy-the kink I never even realized I had until she came back home.
I always had a rapacious sexual appetite. When I was younger it was about having sex a lot. As I got older it became more and more about finding the things that turned me on. With Melanie I had explored BDSM and discovered my dominant tendencies. What’s developing with Hazel feels like a natural extension of that.
Except that it’s wrong on every conceivable level.
But for now, as long as it’s kept in the privacy of our own home, with nobody who knows except us, it couldn’t feel more right.
“You’re cheerful today,” observes Bob, giving me a scrutinizing look as he pours cream into his coffee.
I lift my eyebrows innocently. “What makes you say that?”
“You were whistling.”
“I was?” The revelation surprises me. “Huh. Well, the concept approvals for the bank on West Fourth have finally gone through, so I guess I’m glad about that,” I venture. One of our biggest clients, a national bank, are notoriously critical of our early design concepts. It was Bob who brought the client in but now I work with them almost exclusively.
“That’s good. Only took, what? Six months?” he cracks. “That must be a record.”
I slide a mug under the coffee machine and move out of the way as a busy intern bustles in, grabbing a coffee carafe and a carton of milk before bustling back out. Bob grins at me.
“I think you’ve been happier since Hazel’s been back,” he suggests.
“Sure,” I reply. “Yeah. It’s nice having her around. And I’m relieved knowing she’s safe.”
He nods grimly, pressing his lips together. “Any word from Mel?” Bob’s known Melanie since day one, from the first day I confessed I met someone special at a party, to the first time she ran off, right up to the end, when I’d finally had enough. Other than Hazel, no one has lived through my ups and downs with Melanie more than Bob.
I shake my head. “M. I. A. To be honest, I was expecting to hear from her. I cut off her allowance.”
He pinches his eyebrows together. “Any chance she’s missing for real this time?”
“I don’t know.” The thought had occurred to me. In the past she’d run off for four or five days, tops. Never longer than that. Never two months. If something’s happened to her, if her body’s found somewhere, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t know how Hazel would handle it.
I know that, on some level, her absence has to be resolved one way or the other. Irrationally, I wish it could just stay like this. Melanie just not in the picture. Mommy simply absent.
Bob looks troubled. “I know a P. I. if you want one,” he offers, in a way that makes my heart sink. Maybe I’ve been naive to not take action sooner. “If cutting off her money doesn’t flush her out…” He shrugs. “Hard on the kid to go through that, though.”
“Yes,” I stir my coffee and take a sip. “But she’s a tough one, Hazel.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing her at the wedding.”
The clicking of her stiletto heels down the hall announces Cynthia’s arrival before she walks in. She’s wearing a form-fitting red dress, and her long, straight hair is swinging down her back. Her almond-shaped eyes flick between us as she walks to the fridge. Her stride doesn’t falter for a second.
“Gentlemen,” she says smoothly, pulling out a bottle of kombucha.
“Cynthia.” I give her a nod.
“Hello,” says Bob.