I take out the steel box and place it in front of me, unlocking it with the combination only I know, flipping open the lid to take out a pair of her panties. Cost me hundreds to have these taken from her things in juvie, but they’re the only thing that’s been getting me by without her.
Pressing the lacy black underthings to my nose, I inhale deeply, my dick already at full mast from her lavender scent. I’ve never had a hard-on like this. My breaths echoing in the quiet office, I unbutton my jeans, tear down the zipper and shove her panties inside the opening, raking them up and down my rigid cock.
“Oh, fuck, baby. You like rubbing your pretty cunt on Daddy?”
In my head, I can see her as she was earlier in the gym. Flushed and wide eyed, scared to feel the pleasure we were generating, titties bouncing. Thighs open for Daddy. Now, she answers me in a whiny voice: “Yes. I love it. Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t. I’ll never stop.” I drag the lace over and between my balls, winding the material around my erection and jacking myself off. With my free hand, I open my phone and pull up the video. The one of me squatting with London wrapped around me in the gym. Biting down on my bottom lip to muffle a groan, I watch my hand slide into her shorts and take hold of that hot, young ass. I watch myself fuck her through our clothing, her thighs clinging to me even as they shake, our mouths raking each other’s bare skin hungrily.
Her breathy voice fills my office and I lean back, beating off with my teeth clenched, praying for the end. Imagining she’s straddling me now, my cock buried deep between her legs, her hips working up and back, her pussy hot and drenched around my flesh, releasing it and impaling herself on it again, again, again, her oncoming climax making her clumsy.
“I’m going to blow, little girl. Take it deep and grind. Grind down on that dick hard. Pout that little lip out at me. Make me come so good.”
On my phone, I’ve tugged down her shorts to spank her and now there’s no way my balls can hold back. Not at a beautiful sight like that. They drain with such force, I strain the muscles of my throat trying to contain the shout. Her lacy black panties catch the majority of my spend, but some of it seeps out and rolls down my knuckles. And I just keep jacking, jacking, trying to get the kind of relief I need, but it’s never enough. God knows, masturbating is better than I could have imagined now that I can picture the girl of my dreams, but it’s never good enough when I know she exists out there with that little wet hole between her legs.
Waiting for Daddy to claim it.
Finally, the last drop of semen ekes out and I shudder, my fist dropping to my side, my cock still half-hard where it protrudes from my lap.
I take a moment to clean myself off and open a different app on my phone. The one that connects to the camera system in my house.
There she is.
My heart thrums at the perfect vision she makes in my home. Lying in the bedclothes I picked out for her. She’s sprawled out, looking at the screen of my laptop, graceful fingers tapping at the keys, still wearing those indecent shorts that don’t cover half of her ass cheeks.
No shirt or bra.
That smooth slope of her back is on display, right down to the top of her backside.
Underneath my desk, my cock starts to harden again, but I ignore it and focus on what she’s doing. Zooming in, I can see that she’s filling out the application and I breathe a sigh of relief. When I left the house, I worried I came on too strong.
Hell, I did come on too strong.
Spanking her. Speaking to her the way that I did.
Urging her to call me Daddy.
It’s just that I’ve been waiting so long to have this chance with London. Seems like forever I’ve been waiting for her to be discharged from the juvenile offenders' program. To be home with me where she belongs. Under my watchful eye, being cared for. The good kind of caring she’s been deprived of for far too long—that’s what I’ll give, day in and day out.
God knows I’m a pushy bastard. My means aren’t ethical. But I know this girl. I’ve read her transcripts with her juvenile hall therapist. I’ve watched every video of her on Kelli’s phone, several times. I’ve read through her diaries and notebooks and watched her on juvie surveillance cameras. Her exterior is tough, but on the inside, she’s aching. Her soul is that of an angel. She wants to be loved and accepted, but she’s scared. Pushing her is my only option. Pushing her to follow her dreams so I can support her and prove I believe in her, until she’s strong enough to believe in herself.
Getting physical wasn’t supposed to happen quite so soon. After all, I’m her stepfather. If she knew I’d orchestrated the whole marriage just to get close to her, it could scare her away. Is there a hope in hell of reigning in my lust now that I’ve felt her legs around my waist, though?
On the screen of my phone, she rolls over on the bed and presents her tits, arms raised over her head. She sighs and stretches, forcing me to wrap my hand around my stiffening dick, stroking it tightly and thoroughly. “Baby wants to play again?” I say, my breath quickening. “Open your legs and rub that beautiful clit. Show me where it aches.”
Instead of obeying my will, however, London sighs and bounds off the bed, crossing to her dresser and taking out a jean skirt, shucking her shorts and pulling the denim on hastily, followed by a T-shirt and flip-flops. Where is she going?
Instantly on alert, I shove my throbbing cock back into my jeans and zip up, following her progress from room to room around my house. And when I see the stubborn set to her chin and desperation in her eyes, dread invades my stomach. She might have followed through on her promise to complete the application, but she’s onto her own agenda now—and it’s up to me to stop her before she does something destructive.
I once asked Kelli why she gave her daughter the name London.
Because she’s meant for grander things than me! And doesn’t London sound grand?
That was one of the only things Kelli was ever right about. London is meant for more. She’s wily and intelligent. Funny. Beautiful. Creative. Some of the sketches in her notebooks look like they could have been done by professionals. But after a lifetime of being left in her mother’s dust, she doesn’t realize how much she deserves better. How capable she is of achieving it. And if she continues to follow the pattern she’s been on, London is probably going to do her best to get locked up again so she doesn’t have to try—and face the disappointment. It’s easier to her than failing. She’s protecting herself.
But she doesn’t have to do that anymore.
She has me.
I’m not letting her fall.
Coming to my feet, I watch the dot moving on the screen, letting me know she’s on the move, thanks to the tracking device I put in her phone last night when she finally fell asleep.
When I realize where she’s headed, I mutter a curse and snatch up my keys, running for the door.
4
London
The Devil’s Den is the place to go in town when you’re looking for trouble.
I should know, since most of my youth was spent in there, beneath the freeway overpass. From a distance, I can see that it’s the same old characters leaned up against a beat up Chrysler, passing around cigarettes and something stronger. My most recent stint in juvenile hall was six months after helping fence some stolen iPhones, so I haven’t seen these idiots in a while.