“Then you should have been home and in bed when your curfew hit. Now pull down your jeans. Let me see the pussy that’s going to bring me to heaven tonight.”

The air feels electric as I push down my jeans. Nerves make my movements jerky. It’s like this is the first time he’s seeing me naked. Especially when I stumble out of the denim and into his lap. He gropes me in a hard, possessive way that makes me gasp.

There’s a low laugh around us. Him. It’s him. He moves my legs to straddle him.

He puts the notch of his cock against my sex. “Down,” he murmurs.

“I can’t,” I moan.

It would be so easy for him to push his hips up. Or for him to hold my hips down. But he wants me to do it. He wants me to take the final step, so I push down, feeling my tender flesh stretch around his girth. I’m already wet, but it still burns. He’s big enough that I have to pause in the middle to catch my breath. And then I slide the rest of the way, my body flush against his.

There’s a hard catch in his breath. It’s gratifying to know that despite his calm demeanor, he’s affected by this. His hands grip my hips so hard there will probably be bruises.

He slaps my ass. “Ride me.”

I’ve always been awkward on top, but in this particular game it makes sense. I move in ungainly strides, forward and back, not quite hitting the right angle, the right rhythm. It takes longer to reach the pinnacle, but he doesn’t help me. He just plays with my breasts, leaving my clit to rub against his groin on every downward stroke.

And then he takes mercy on me.

He slides his hand down my stomach to the small thatch of dark curls. He finds my clit with unerring accuracy. One circular stroke. Two. Three.

Climax hits me like a tidal wave, and I choke out my surprise, my denial. He lets out a groan as his own orgasm follows. His cock pulses inside me in a long reward.

We pant in the aftermath.

I rest my head against his chest. “Was that wrong?”

He doesn’t have to ask what I mean. The game. The role-play. Pretending that he’s my daddy. “Nothing’s wrong if it makes you feel good, sweetheart. Did it feel good?”

My body still thrums with the aftershocks of orgasm. “Yes.”

He puts a finger beneath my chin and lifts. His dark eyes study mine. “The things that are between us? They’re only for us to understand. No one else.”

That’s the heart of my worry. “I don’t want to be a cliché. The girl with daddy issues, because my father died. Because the bastard in my foster home—”