The Painter’s Daughter Read Online Margot Scott

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Insta-Love, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
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Everything I wanted to do to my father, I did.

Finally, I reached his belt buckle. With feigned confidence, I freed the leather strap from the metal enclosure and unfastened his jeans.

He sucked in a breath as I eased his cock through the hole in his boxers. I encircled him with all five fingers, my hand warmed by the blood-hot burn of his skin. He watched intently, his eyes crescent moons and his chest heaving. I slid my fist along his length. Such silkiness, on top of all that pressure.

After a few more test strokes, he shuddered and angled his pelvis toward me. I wrapped both hands around him, one above the other, and stroked downward. He inhaled sharply.

“Was that good or bad?”

He chuckled breathlessly. “That was very good, sweetheart.”

A smile consumed my face. He cradled my pussy with his whole hand, a simple gesture that made me feel cared for, comforted. He showed me how to round the head of his cock with every pass, how tight to squeeze the shaft without hurting him. I studied his reactions and adjusted my technique accordingly, captivated by how good I could make him feel using just my hands.

A cry bubbled up from my chest as he pushed a finger inside me.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

I winced. The pain was brief, but sharp and unexpected. “A little.”

He stilled his hand and looked at me—really looked at me. “Paige, have you done anything like this before?”

Was my lack of experience that obvious? I shook my head, letting my hair fall over my face. How was it possible to feel both eight and eighteen in the exact same moment?

My father sighed and pressed his forehead to mine. “I really wish you’d told me. I would’ve slowed things down, checked in more.”

But I didn’t want to slow down. Slowing down meant thinking, and thinking meant overthinking. Second-guessing. “Does this mean we have to stop?”

He planted a kiss between my eyebrows and said nothing for a long moment. I tensed.

“Only if you want to,” he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief and kissed a line from his mouth to his earlobe. “I don’t want to stop. I want to make you come.”

A deep, throaty growl rose from his chest. He kissed my neck and began sliding his finger in and out of me. His hands were big, his fingers thicker and longer than mine, allowing him to reach the tender places I couldn’t.

The pad of his thumb circled my clit. I humped his hand in tandem with pumping his cock. I couldn’t help myself. It felt too damn good not to. He added a second finger and I flinched at the sting, stroking him faster to distract myself.

After a moment, the pain subsided and all I could feel was the tension and pleasure as he moved inside me, his thumb strumming my clit.

I tucked my face into the angle of his neck. He was going to make me come. My own father was going to make me come. The thought had my thighs shaking, my hands faltering in their rhythm.

“Are you close?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Are you?”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I could come just from listening to you.”

He wrapped his other hand around mine on his cock. I let him glide my fist along his length and closed my eyes to concentrate on what he was doing to me. Clutching his shoulders, I pressed my nose to the skin of his throat. He smelled the same, like sandalwood and home.

Eyes squeezed shut, I could almost see my orgasm waiting for me over the horizon.

“Don’t stop,” I rasped. “Don’t…”

“Not a chance, baby.”

Baby. The epithet swaddled me like a security blanket. His baby. I felt warm all over, flushed from head to toe.

It suddenly struck me as a cruel joke that the father I’d been seeking would also be the man who made me feel this good. The only man I was forbidden from touching, who could make me feel so wanted, so treasured, so precious to another person. Now that I had found him, I refused to let him go.

I met his thrusts with my own, rocking my hips in time with his fingers.

“Dad,” I said, breathless. “Promise you’ll stay this time... Promise you won’t make me go.”

“Neither of us are going anywhere.” He kissed my jaw and neck, all the while fucking into our joined fists. “You’re mine, Paige, and I’m going to take care of you.”

Lights and colors burst behind my eyelids as I came.

I whined, my muscles flexing around his fingers and my clit pulsing under his thumb. His hand tightened over my fist as wet heat splashed onto my stomach, coating our hands and the undersides of my breasts.

The sound of our heavy breathing filled the room. He palmed my swollen folds and kissed my temple. I felt dizzy and rooted, like I’d float away if I wasn’t holding on to him. Finally, I straightened so I could reach his lips. We kissed sweetly, like shy teenagers skipping class to go make out under the bleachers.



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