Daddy Luther, popped into my head, because his tone didn't leave any room for argument. But I couldn’t think of him as a father figure anymore, not after his reaction. In the same breath, why was he asking me to sit on his lap? I tugged my shirt down as far as it would go, barely covering my ass, and sat gingerly on the edge of his knee. He put his hand on my leg, his palm large enough to warm a good portion of my bare skin. His touch on my body, when I was still turned on from the events in the basement, was enough to send a new rush of warmth to my pussy. I was certain he could feel it, and I was too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“Why do you think I didn’t want to see you?” he whispered.

“You just seemed weirded out. I felt horrible.” I sighed, looking down at my knees.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Is that what you thought?”

His hand gripped my thigh reassuringly, and I nodded. “I guess I just…” For some reason, I felt the need to explain myself, to make sure he understood why I was doing what I did. “I needed something real to cling on to, you know? Everything I had taken for truth was snatched away the moment I stepped foot in here. But sex, sex is still real. Pleasure is still the same. It keeps me grounded.”

“What even is reality? Do you need something tangible for it to be real?” Luther’s hand released my thigh, and instead began stroking my skin in a hypnotic pattern. I leaned into his touch, only half listening when he continued. “I imagine just the thought of my hands on your skin while you dream at night feels pretty damn real to you.”

I sat up straight, but he clung to my legs. There was no way he was saying what I thought he was saying. Did Luther want me the way I wanted him? Had I misread the entire situation? There was only one way to find out.

I finally turned to face him, my knees resting against his taut stomach. “I was worried you didn’t want to be my friend anymore,” I murmured, watching his lips.

Luther’s mouth curled into a smile. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

He trailed his fingers up my leg, brushing against the edge of my T-shirt. My body was dynamite with a short fuse, and Luther held the match. I couldn’t breathe as his fingers inched higher. Maybe he was still just toying with me, all of this a big joke to him. He would laugh as I crumbled beneath his touch, and I’d never be able to look him in the eyes again.