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At the top of the stairs, Rey adjusts the straps of her backpack and casts a look over her shoulder.

She remembered to close the door to her bedroom this time, which is good—she didn’t feel like making the bed this morning, and Mom always gets irritable when she leaves things messy. But Rey doesn’t see the point. Why bother when she’s just going to climb back under the covers, like, ten hours from now and ruin it again? Adults make all these ridiculous rules and then act surprised when kids decide not to follow them.

“Pencil case, binder, hair bands,” she mumbles under her breath, descending the staircase. Sometimes Daddy makes her go to school when they’re done, although that’s been happening less and less lately. Ever since she mentioned—thoughtlessly and certainly without much expectation—that she likes to cuddle afterward, he’s been determined to cuddle her into an early grave.

Daddy, in blue jeans and a plain, collarless t-shirt, meets her by the front door, keys in hand. “Ready to go?”

She nods. Mom’s either in the shower or down in the laundry room folding the whites. He likes to leave while she’s distracted because then they can make a “clean getaway.” Dramatic, but hey, the subterfuge amuses him.

Rey thinks it's kind of funny, the idea of Mom noticing their new schedule. Even at sixteen she recognizes how involved Mom is with herself—Daddy calls her narcissistic. She doesn’t seem to care about anything outside her own little sphere. “Not very perceptive, that one,” Grandma Leia once muttered at a family dinner. (Unsurprisingly, Mom didn't notice the insult).

Daddy herds her outside, and she skips down the cobbled path to the driveway. It’s a beautiful spring morning, the kind filled with chirping birdsong and the soft hush of a warm breeze. Most of the trees have found their leaves again, and flowers are just beginning to bloom. She sees hints of pink and red petals in their neighbor’s flower beds, and the sight brings a smile to her face. Spring is her favorite season.

Humming, she tugs at the handle on the passenger side. “Daddy, open up.”

He leans against the driver’s side door, peering at her over the roof of the car, and smirks. "Someone’s eager this morning.”

A blush pinkens her cheeks, and she sticks out her tongue. “Maybe I just have things to do.”

“You certainly have one thing to do,” he says, and his smile widens into a grin when she blushes furiously and looks down. “I’m teasing, baby.”

He unlocks the doors of the Mercedes, and Rey practically throws herself into the passenger seat. “I know you are,” she mumbles, stuffing her backpack under the glove compartment.

The engine rumbles quietly to life, and Daddy absently strokes a hand over her hair. She’s never really been into hair maintenance, but she took care to brush out all the tangles this morning. He loves to run his hands through her short brown locks; gives him a weird sense of satisfaction, apparently. Whatever. She doesn’t question it.

Rey fiddles with the radio, hoping to find a Top 40 station. “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd, or “Golden” by Harry Styles, maybe. She was never a One Direction fan, but something about Harry’s voice is perfect for their early commute. Mom’s obsessed with him, which is kind of embarrassing for a thirty-whatever year old.

Daddy swats her hand away before she can find a good song and tugs the seatbelt across her chest.

“Safety first,” they say at the same time, Rey with an eye roll, Daddy with a little smile.

She's noticed recently that he takes almost a ridiculous amount of pleasure in doing these small things for her, and not just because they make him feel good. Like the hair stroking, he prefers to have a hand in everything she does, whether it's managing her appearance or selecting her weekend outfits.

Rey makes a face at the radio. “‘Old Town Road’?”

Daddy clicks her seatbelt into place and pulls at the strap. He fusses for a second when it stretches too far, and Rey tamps down her exasperation. “You don’t like Little Nas X?”

“Oh my god.” She stifles a giggle. “Lil Nas X, Dad.”

Finally satisfied with the belt, he leans back in his own seat. “Oh, well, forgive me. Lil.

“You’re showing your age.” She clicks over to a new station. Camilla Cabello’s latest hit is just fading to a soft close, which is perfect timing—Rey’s never been into her music. She finds the girl kind of annoying, actually. Havana, cabana, blah blah, whatever.

Daddy pretends to be offended as he maneuvers out of the driveway. “That’s harsh.”

She shrugs blithely. “Keep up with the times, old man.”

He reaches across the center console and grabs her bare thigh, making her squeal. “I’ll show you old man.”

“Daddy!” she squeaks, tugging at his fingers. “Hands on the wheel!”

He grumbles but, with one last squeeze, withdraws his hand and lets it dangle over the steering wheel instead. A month ago, she might've snapped at him for his invasive touches, but this kind of behavior has become routine. His number one priority, even above making her happy, is keeping her safe...and by his side.

She understands his reasoning, although that doesn’t mean it’s something she necessarily agrees with. Sometimes he gets a a little too involved with her safety—one might even say paranoid. Several times over the past few weeks, Mom’s given him curious looks when he forgets himself and goes a little off-the-rails when they're all together—whether that means buttoning up her coat from hem to collar when it rains or refusing to let her call an Uber to meet a friend at the mall because rideshares are dangerous.

Rey likes to pretend his attentiveness doesn’t affect her one way or the other—that, in fact, she doesn't even notice—but only because she knows her apparent indifference drives Daddy bonkers.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'll leave the bedroom he still shares with Mom and creep into Rey’s to make sure she’s okay. His intrusion usually wakes her up. She’ll whine and push him away, but only because her resistance seems to encourage him. Lately he’s been staying with her until her alarm goes off at the buttcrack of dawn, and then at breakfast he has to pretend like he didn’t have his hands shoved down her panties half the night.

It’s a game, of course. One of many.

On the expressway, traffic’s just beginning to slow. Classes start at the unholy hour of seven-fifteen, and usually Rey’s barely conscious on the ride to school. But on days like today, days when she and Daddy have alternate plans, she's wide awake. She feels electric, like she's consumed five cups of coffee, and maybe six additional shots of espresso. (Disclaimer: this is only her best guess since her parents have never allowed her to drink caffeine). Her legs jiggle, knees popping up and down like they’re on springs, and her eyes shine with poorly concealed anticipation.

Let’s go, she tells him with her eyes. Let’s go, let’s go!

When they started their affair, several weeks ago now, Rey was at first stricken with terror that Mom or someone else would somehow find out. Her worst nightmare was having Mom walk in on them while they were naked in bed—not because it would be embarrassing, but because they would be forced to stop.

And neither of them want that.

But over time, she’s come to trust Daddy. He plans everything so carefully. Now, at the thought of being discovered, she finds herself secretly kind of thrilled, and that’s partly because it’s so unlikely. All her fear and worry drained away when Daddy took her by the shoulders and reassured her with a rough, searing kiss that there’s absolutely no chance Mom will ever catch on. He installed a tracking app on her phone months ago, and it beeps whenever Mom gets within five-hundred feet of them beyond the perimeter of the house.

She won’t admit this to anyone else, but part of her wants Mom to find them together. Part of her—a vicious, jealous part that she often ignores—wants Mom to walk in on Daddy slamming her from behind so she can see with her own eyes how much more he loves his daughter.

I pick you, Rey—every time, he’ll tell her when they’re cuddling, and although she mostly believes him, well... Maybe one day she’ll find out for sure whether it’s true.

Fifteen minutes later, Daddy glides to a stop in a deserted parking lot. The Motel 6 is a low building with peeling paint and cracked stone. It’s ugly but cheap and out of the way. There’s no reason for Mom or anyone else they know to swing by this section of town. Daddy can afford much nicer, but then they run the risk of accidentally meeting one of his employees or a family friend.

“Did you text him?” she asks, adjusting the pleats of her skirt. She’ll need a whole new set before junior year. In the past few months she’s grown two inches, and none of the school uniforms fit like they should.

Daddy holds up his phone, winks, and rapidly types out a message. Rey watches him, admiring his face, her arms wrapped around the headrest to stretch out the kinks in her back. His furrowed brow, the strong jaw, the slope of his nose, the plush set of his lips. There’s a faint scar along the right side of his face, jagged and deep but faded now—a remnant from his days as a prominent drug dealer. The topic isn't a taboo secret in their family—he and Mom have always been super open about it.

“We all make mistakes when we’re young,” Mom told her when they sat down to formally discuss it. “It’s not until we’re older that we see what we did was wrong. Very wrong.”

She remembers feeling Daddy’s eyes on her face while Mom explained it to her, and that night in bed she had to persuade him that of course she didn’t care if he’d done bad things when he was young. That's part of being human. He was concerned that she would come to view their relationship in a bad light, that she would come to think of it as a mistake, but...well, she managed to convince him that wasn’t the case.

It was an easy challenge, all things considered. With her mouth wrapped snuggly around his cock, Daddy proved more than willing to take her word for it.

After sending the text, Daddy opens the car door and gestures for her to get out too. She leaps outside, breathing in the smell of gasoline and fried foods. With a big yawn, she stretches her arms high above her head. Last night, she was forced to stay conscious until sometime around two, when he was finally too exhausted to continue.

“Still tired?” Daddy’s suddenly there, arms locking around her waist, and he pulls her up against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world to manhandle her in the open. She giggles and pats his cheek, and his smile deepens as he adds, “You know, I’m not sure you’re up to what I have in mind.”

“I’m probably more awake than you are,” she counters, swatting his shoulder teasingly. “Girls bounce back faster, anyway.”

“Oh, do they?” He ducks his head to kiss her throat, and she arcs up on the balls of her feet to give him better access.

“I’m—young, too,” she gasps, tugging the hair at the base of his neck. “Better stamina.”

“You’re gonna pay for all these old man jokes,” he growls into her neck, squeezing her bottom, fingers nudging between her cheeks.

She squeals and struggles to slip free before someone interrupts them. He lets her go, but only after nibbling on her neck. They dance around each other in the parking lot, laughing and making faces, until Rey trips on the curb. Without breaking stride, he snags her around the waist and hauls her over his shoulder.

Dad, put me—”

“You need to be careful,” he says gruffly, and smacks her ass with the flat of his palm. She kicks her feet, and he smacks her again. “I swear to god, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“No offense, but I’m pretty sure it’s your fault,” she says, panting. “You were chasing me!”

He doesn’t respond, and she fidgets as he strides for the motel room at the end of the block. They have an ongoing arrangement with the desk clerk—Daddy pays him triple the price for a standard room in exchange for plausible deniability. The man looks the other way whenever they visit, and Daddy basically pays his salary. Everybody wins.

“When is he—coming?” she says breathlessly as Daddy inserts the key to their room.

“He said half an hour, maybe sooner if he can avoid the traffic on 42.”

A thrill shoots through Rey. Of course she loves her alone time with Daddy—how could she not? He makes her feel like a princess, like the center of his world. But every now and then it’s fun to have someone else join in.

With restrictions in place, of course. Daddy wouldn't have it any other way.

He bulls through the creaky front door and slams it shut behind him. The motel room is familiar to her now—a single, queen-sized bed in the center, a wooden table with two matching chairs along one wall, as well as a small desk, a walk-in closet, and a tiny bathroom. The motel was renovated last year, so now there’s brand new carpet and light sconces on the walls. No more fluorescents—now a buttery yellow warmth suffuses the room. The glow makes it feel cozy and intimate.

Rey’s dumped on the bed like a sack of flour and bounces twice on impact. Giggling, she kicks off her nice white sneakers and flings her school cardigan to the floor. Daddy casts her a warning look.

“We’re not going to make a mess today, are we?” he scolds, picking up her shirt. “We have a visitor.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, wrinkling her nose. When they’re alone, it doesn’t matter how they do things or what the room looks like. But when his friend visits, Daddy prefers to present a clean, no-frills environment. Nothing on the floor, no haphazardly-tossed blankets or wrinkled sheets. Things tend to turn messy once they both get into it, but Daddy likes them to at least maintain the illusion of a nice space when they first start.

Predictably, Daddy checks the locks on the front and sliding glass doors, yanking hard to test their endurance. Then he flicks on all the lights and closes the bathroom door, sealing away the sight of the toilet and bath. They “detract from the atmosphere,” apparently, and Daddy prefers them out of sight.

Finished with his inspection, he leans against the desk and crosses his arms. Silent, watchful, expectant. Rey strips off her white undershirt and stands up on the bed, wobbling a little on the spongy mattress. Daddy tenses, but she waves him off and wiggles out of her skirt.

The fabric snags around one ankle, and she kicks it over to Daddy, who rolls his eyes and catches it in one hand. He shoves the skirt into a desk drawer with her cardigan, but wags a finger when she starts to unhook her bra.

“Let me.” He crooks the same finger, and she scrambles across to the foot of the mattress.

Kneeling in front of him, she dutifully keeps her hands by her sides. Daddy doesn’t like her to interfere when he’s undressing her because the act is—in his words—therapeutic. Which sounds weird, but there’s not much she can do about it. One day last month, when she refused to let him take his time just to see what would happen, Daddy got angry, shoved her facedown on the bed, and spanked her with an open palm until she cried. But the punishment ended up being kind of pointless—he still fucked her after.

But man, did her ass hurt.

With a thoughtful hum, Daddy maneuvers her until she’s facing the headboard, still on her knees. His fingers brush along the unwire of her bra, then slide around to the front. He cups her breasts and sighs into her hair. “Your period ended last week, didn’t it?”

“It did.”

This is a redundant question, but he's always been the type of man to double-check. In fact, he started keeping a special calendar for her cycle because he sometimes gets in a "mood" and wants to take her while she’s menstruating. Personally, she thinks it’s a little gross—blood gets all over her thighs and tummy, and on the sheets too—but Daddy’s really into it and cleans her up nice after, so she can’t really complain.

“Hm. This bra is new.”

Rey perks up. “Yeah, Mom brought me to Victoria’s Secret yesterday. Told me to pick out a few. I got a red one and a blue one too.”

He frowns and pinches her nipples through the silky fabric. “Why’s that? Special occasion?”

She snorts. “No. Mom just said I need to look nice under my clothes for when boys, you know— For when I get a boyfriend.”

His hands tighten on her breasts, and she squeaks at the pressure. The bed creaks as he places one knee on the mattress, between her own. His mouth skates along the back of her neck, hot and close. “Oh, I see. You plan on finding a boyfriend soon, baby? A little teenage prick to make you feel all nice and full?”

Rey wavers. She knows Daddy gets jealous sometimes, especially when he picks her up from school and catches her talking with Mitaka or Finn about homework or whatever. But she thinks it’s only fair—he still sleeps in Mom’s bedroom, and even though he promises they haven’t had sex in months and months, there’s no way she can know that for sure, is there? It makes her angry, that he’s still so close to Mom.

So she wiggles her ass and says coyly, “Maybe.”

He barks a short laugh and roughly pulls her back into his chest, caressing her breasts. She whines, annoyed by the barrier of her bra, but he nips her earlobe. “Settle down, now. We’ll get there.” Then he pauses, and when he speaks next, his voice has a sly edge to it. “Or maybe we won’t. Maybe,” he stresses, “you’ll get dressed and I’ll drive you to school. Maybe you don’t want Daddy anymore.”

“No,” she says hastily, covering his hands with her own. “I still want you, Daddy. Of course I do.”

“‘Of course?’” he mocks, pressing his mouth to her ear. “Well, it’s not so obvious to me. If you want a boyfriend, all you have to do is tell me—”

“No, no, I don’t want one,” she insists, tugging on his hands. Crap. She definitely didn’t mean to make him this upset. “Please, Daddy, I—I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” He brushes away her hands and smooths rough, calloused palms down her sides, fingers pressing into her ribs. Her breath catches in her throat—he’s so big.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, holding herself still. “Don’t be mad.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy—really, really sorry.”

He unsnaps her bra with a vicious twist and pulls at her panties until it loosens on her hips. Her mouth pushes into a pout as the lacy fabric tears—those are expensive! Not that she paid for them, of course, but trips to Victoria’s Secret are rare, and she needs to fit in with all the other girls or they’ll laugh at her like they laugh at Kaydel and her dollar store granny panties.

Da-ddy,” she whines, squirming restlessly on her knees. He clearly has no respect for women's undergarments.

Unfazed, he plants a hand on her bare back and shoves her forward. Caught by surprise, she shrieks and bounces on the mattress. Reminds her of a belly flop, except not as painful.

“Don’t move,” he orders.

She grumbles but remains sprawled on her belly. Behind her, Daddy shoves her ruined undergarments in the desk drawer with her other clothes. She listens to him shut the drawer, and then there’s silence for a long minute. Rey grins into the comforter, sensing his eyes on her body. She arches her back, just enough to push her butt into the air, and Daddy sighs.

“You little tease.”

Her smile broadens. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh, I think you are.” Then: the sound of a buckle being drawn through belt loops. Rey’s breath catches.

“No-o,” she says cheerfully, “you’re wrong, Daddy.”

“You know what?” There’s a smile in his voice now as he edges closer. The bed trembles as his knees come up against the footboard. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I am?” The words shoot from her mouth without censure, and she curses herself. It’s just like her to walk right into a trap.

“Mhm.” He smooths a hand down her backside, and when he spreads her cheeks, she closes her eyes. “You’re not a tease, little girl. No, not that.”

Rey frowns uncertainly when she feels his fingers wrap around her upper arm, and then she’s being dragged around in a circle. She squeaks and resists a little, but in no time he’s pulled her a complete one-eighty. Blinking furiously, she waits for the room to stop spinning—then hastily swallows. Her face is even with his bulging crotch.


“Not a tease,” he repeats mildly, tossing his belt on the desk. It makes a loud clank as it hits the wood surface. She licks her lips and watches avidly as his fingers creep across his jeans. The only sound in the room is the slow rasp of his zipper.

This is one of her favorite parts.

Daddy pulls his swollen cock from out his tight black briefs, and her mouth goes dry. It’s already slick with pre-cum, and when he grabs the base, the plush head brushes her chin. His cock is long and thick and the biggest she’s ever seen—bigger even than the ones in those graphic porn videos he plays on the living room TV sometimes.

Earlier in the week, he went down on her while Mom was cooking lasagna in the kitchen and while two very naked and very lubed up people writhed around on the big flat screen. They were on mute, of course. Mom checked on them once or twice, but Daddy was hidden from view by the back of the sofa, and Rey's job was to switch the channel to something less...wet. Mom still has no idea those noises weren’t the death cries of a zombie but moans from her daughter’s mouth.

Eager now, Rey’s lips brush the soaked head of his cock, and Daddy tips his head back on a groan. "A brat, Rey. That’s what you are. A goddamn little brat.

She hums, unbothered by the name-calling, and sucks him into her mouth. He tastes like sweat, stickiness, and a purely masculine essence—heat and musk and a faint trace of spice. His hips jerk, and she gags a little when his cock slides down her throat.

“You wanna be a brat? Hm?” Daddy strokes his fingers through her hair, tender and slow, and then without warning wraps her hair around his big fist. He tightens his grip until her neck is bent back at a harsh angle. “Fine. Then Daddy’s gonna treat you like one.”

For the briefest of moments, he hesitates. Recognizing her cue, Rey sticks out her tongue to lick his dripping shaft. “Please, Daddy,” she mewls between licks. “I’m sorry.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a rough thrust, his cock slips past her lips and so deep down her throat she doesn’t have time to gag. She gurgles, and he slams in again, and again, and a third time, and then his hips are pumping, and her feet are drumming against the mattress, and his grip on her hair tightens until he’s shoving her head into each thrust.

The sloppy, wet glide of his cock burrowing down her throat fills the quiet motel room, and at some point she chokes, and Daddy withdraws, but only for a second, only long enough to catch a glimpse of her reddened eyes, her swollen lips, the drool smeared on her chin, and then he’s ramming home again, and this time when she chokes, he doesn’t stop—he goes faster. And now both hands are on the back of her head, guiding her forward, pressing down when she tries to pull back, and she gasps and gurgles, and Daddy’s groaning with such volume she thinks maybe the walls are shaking, maybe the building is about to fall down on top of them, and even if the walls crumble and the ceiling cracks, Daddy will still be thrusting into her mouth with this desperate, vicious need.

And just as the corners of her vision begin to dim, just as the wet rasp of her choking fades to a low hum and black spots swarm her eyes, Daddy throws his head back and bellows, and a great gush of his steaming seed pours down her throat, and she swallows reflexively, again and again, keeping up with the flow until it tapers to a dribble. Still, Rey sucks, even with his cock jammed so deep it might as well be in her stomach—she licks up his shaft, nuzzling his lower belly with her nose, breathing in the cloying scent of his arousal. She licks until Daddy shudders and loosens his hold on her head, and only when his fingers untangle from her hair does she realize the crown of her head is sore to the touch.

And still, she licks, making desperate, mewling little noises to appease him.

“Thank you, Daddy” she gasps, swirling her tongue over the blunt tip. “Oh, thank you—thank you, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, breathing heavily. He tenderly tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Good girl, Rey. Lick Daddy clean.”

Eventually, after she’s licked him from base to head, after he’s grown hard as a rock again, Rey sits up on her knees. She immediately loses her balance, and Daddy laughs when she clumsily falls to the side. She must’ve cum too at some point because there’s a noticeable stickiness between her legs.

“And what’s this?”

Of course he sees.

Daddy lifts one of her legs by the ankle, exposing her wet pussy. She doesn’t try to shy away. Instead, she spreads her other leg, widening the space between her thighs so he has a clear, unobstructed view.

“I’m all wet,” she pouts, fingers stroking the mussed bedcovers.

Daddy sighs and shakes his head. “That’s a shame, isn’t it?”

Rey screws up her face, pretending to be upset. Her eyes are already red and swollen, which adds to the effect. “Can you make it clean again? Please?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, but he releases her ankle and steps back with a sorrowful look. “I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job, baby.”

“Why not?” she demands, startled by his refusal. Irritation simmers just beneath her skin like a thin layer of heat.

“Well—” he starts, reaching for her calf, but she kicks her foot. She must catch him by surprise, because it connects with his wrist.

“If you don’t want me, just say so.” Rey scoots back on the bed, leaving a slick trail of cum in her wake, and draws her knees up to her chest. She’s pouting, and there are real tears in her eyes, but her nerves are on fire with anticipation.

This is yet another game they play with each other.

Refusing, resisting, rejecting. Sometimes it’s Daddy, but more often it’s Rey. She enjoys spurning him, and he enjoys convincing her to take him back. He can be very persuasive.

Sure enough, Daddy’s eyes darken. He grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head. She’s momentarily distracted by the planes of his chest, the broad width of his massive shoulders, and the thin line of hair pointing like an arrow to what waits beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Rey licks her lips and returns her attention to his face, but Daddy’s seen her admiration and wears a smirk.

“See something you like, baby?” he asks in a low voice.

She shakes her head primly and angles away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him tuck his cock back inside his briefs and readjust his jeans on his hips. But he doesn’t zipper them up, doesn't seal it away, and she nearly breaks out into a smile.

But that would give away her very slim advantage, so instead she huffs and crosses her arms.

“Re-ey,” he cajoles softly, placing one knee on the bed. “Why don’t you come a little closer.”

No,” she snaps, and scoots back some more. But Daddy follows, prowling across the mattress like a lion on the hunt. Trying to distract him, she blurts, “W-what time is it?”

“...Does it matter?”

“I’ll be late for school.” She pushes her lower lip out, acting like this is an extraordinary inconvenience. As if she’s not already late for school four times a week. Soon, she surmises, it’ll be five.

“Don’t you want to stay here with Daddy?” He’s close now, close enough for his fingers to graze her knees. She shivers despite herself, and his eyes go completely black.

“No,” she says again, jaw clenched mulishly. “I don’t.”

Smirking, he clamps a hand on her ankle and, with an abrupt jerk of his arm, drags her across the bed. Rey squeals and kicks. Shoving aside her knees, he lies flat on the mattress between her open legs and rests his chin on her lower belly.

“I thought you wanted Daddy to make you clean.” His brow furrows with faux confusion.

“You said no,” she reminds him, wiggling futilely on the mattress like a bug flipped on its shell. “You don’t want to, and I’m not going to make you—”

“Oh, hush,” he demands, and licks a broad, wet stripe up her creamy slit. She yelps and twists, but he has his arms hooked under her legs, and there’s nowhere she can go to escape. “Mm. How does that feel?”

Rey gasps, breasts heaving, and stares at the ceiling. Maybe it’s too early, but she—she’s definitely on the verge of another orgasm. Gosh, he’s so good at this.

“Baby girl?” He licks her again, feigning concern. “Rey? Tell me how it feels.”

Her voice is several octaves higher than normal when she says, “I—I’m— It feels—”

Daddy flicks his tongue over her swollen little nub, and her spine arches off the bed. White sparks fly across her vision.


“Your pussy is so pink and puffy for Daddy,” he coos, licking lazily through her folds. “My pretty little girl.”

She gasps soundlessly. Her fingers twist the bedsheets into knots, and she rolls her hips against Daddy’s mouth. Everything is suddenly too sharp—the yellow light from the wall sconces, the scratchy feel of the comforter on her skin, the sweep of his tongue on her clit, the musky aroma of sex in the air. She whines and writhes, trying to stave off the orgasm as it grows more intense, more uncontainable.

Daddy lays a palm flat on her belly and sucks on her clit. He ignores her wild sob and adjusts her thighs so they’re clamped around his head. The friction is unbearable, and she cries his name.

“None of that.” He slaps the outside of her thigh. “There’s no Ben here. Just Daddy.”

“Don’t—don’t—” Her hips jerk against his rolling tongue.

“Hey now,” he murmurs between licks. His chin drips with her arousal. She doesn’t think she’s ever been wetter. “You’re not supposed to cum, baby. How is Daddy going to make you clean when—” His finger suddenly probes her asshole, and she screams and cums.

She fades away for a while, floating, disconnected, and when she finally jolts back to reality, she finds Daddy still between her legs, his mouth covering her pussy. He’s suckling her folds, his tongue lapping up her cream, and she rests her head back on the mattress with a tortured groan. He’s going to drive her mad.

“There she is,” he croons, lightly tapping her belly. “You’re making quite a mess today.”

Daddy,” she moans, senseless with pleasure. “Daddy—too much—”

He growls against her pussy, the vibration sending shockwaves through her entire body, and just as she slides her fingers through his hair to guide him back to her clit, the motel door swings open—

And Poe Dameron strides into the room.