It had been three weeks since Dad came back from his fishing trip. Three weeks of pretending. Three weeks of stolen glances across the dinner table, Sophia’s foot teasing my c**k under the table while Dad talked about work, and quick, desperate touches when he wasn’t looking.
But we couldn’t stay away.
Dad had an early flight for a conference and left the house at 5 a.m. The second his car pulled out, Sophia texted me:
My room. Now.
I was there in ten seconds.
She was waiting on the bed wearing nothing but one of Dad’s white dress shirts, unbuttoned, her full breasts spilling out and her smooth p***y already glistening. The sight made my c**k instantly hard.
“No time to be gentle,” she whispered, pulling me onto the bed. “f**k me like you hate me for being his.”
I didn’t hold back.
