Daddy Issues

Steve returns home early

Aleks drifted off with the pillow still between her thighs, the faint hum of afterglow lulling her into a deep, heavy sleep. The air in the bedroom was warm and still, the only sound the slow, even rhythm of her breathing.

The front door clicked open earlier than it should have.

Steve stepped inside quietly, setting his keys on the counter. He called her name softly but got no answer. Something about the silence drew him down the hallway. He pushed the bedroom door open just enough to look inside.

She was there - still curled around the Dutchman’s wife pillow, her bare leg hooked high over it, silk shorts rucked up enough to show the curve of her hip. One arm was thrown over the pillow’s length, her face pressed into it, lips parted slightly in sleep. Her hair was tousled, her breathing slow… but there was something in her posture - tight thighs, that faint flush on her skin - that made heat stir low in his stomach.

He stepped inside, moving quietly until he was at the side of the bed. For a moment, he just looked. Her shorts were creased, twisted like she’d been moving against something.

His voice was low when he spoke.
“Aleks…”

Her eyes fluttered open. Confusion, then surprise, then a flush that crept over her cheeks.

“Daddy…? You’re home early.”

“I am,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to where her leg still clung to the pillow. “Looks like I missed something.”

Her breath caught. “I was just…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Just?” he prompted, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening on the pillow as though it could shield her from his eyes. “I… missed you,” she said softly.

“Missed me so much you had to… improvise?” His eyes flicked to the pillow again, slow and knowing.

Her cheeks burned. “Maybe.”

He leaned closer, bracing one hand on the mattress, his voice dropping to a low gravel she could feel in her chest. “Tell me what you did, Aleks.”

Her throat tightened. She looked away, but his hand came to her chin, coaxing her gaze back to his. She swallowed hard. “I… pretended it was you. I… held it. Moved against it. Like you were here.”

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “And then?”

She exhaled shakily. “I touched myself. Until I...”

The words dissolved into a whisper, but he heard them.

For a long moment, he just looked at her - like he was imagining every second of it in detail. Then he smiled, slow and deliberate.

“Get rid of the pillow,” he said. “We’re going to do that again. But this time… with me instead.”

Steve straightened, his gaze locked on hers, and reached down to tug the long pillow from between her legs. She let it go reluctantly, feeling strangely exposed without it.

“Lie back,” he said, his voice low but certain.

She sank deeper into the mattress, heart thudding, the heat between her thighs blooming again under the weight of his attention. He climbed onto the bed, one knee pressing into the mattress beside her hip, his hand braced on the other side of her head.

“You’re going to show me exactly what you did,” he murmured. “Every movement. Every sound. But this time…” his hand slid slowly down her side, resting on her bare thigh, “…you’ll have me.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned down, brushing his mouth along her jaw, his stubble scraping her skin just the way she’d imagined earlier. She shivered. His lips lingered at her ear.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

She obeyed, silk shorts riding higher as her calves hooked behind him. The solid press of his body between her thighs made her pulse jump.

“Now,” he whispered, his hips pressing forward just enough for her to feel him hard against her, “show me.”

Her hands gripped his shoulders. She rolled her hips, slow at first, the friction delicious, the movement bringing back every sensation she’d chased earlier with the pillow. Only now it was him - warm, real, breathing against her neck.

“That’s it,” he breathed, his own hips following her rhythm. His hand slipped beneath the hem of her vest, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast, teasing but not quite touching fully.

She gasped, her hips moving a little faster. He kissed the hollow of her throat, then lower, letting his lips barely graze her skin.

“Did you say my name?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, heat climbing in her cheeks.

“Say it now.”

“Daddy…”

He rewarded her with his hand sliding under her shorts, his palm warm and firm against her. She jolted, the contact making her breath stutter.

“You’re already wet,” he murmured, his fingers stroking lazily. “So ready for me… all because of that pillow?”

She gave a small, breathless laugh. “Because of you.”

His mouth claimed hers then, slow and deep, while his fingers circled her with maddening patience. Her hips kept rolling, chasing him, every nerve lit and aching.

When he finally slid inside her, it was unhurried, his weight settling over her, filling the space she’d longed for all afternoon. She clung to him, moving with him in the same rhythm she’d found alone, only now every thrust was met with his breath in her ear, his hands gripping her like he’d never let go.

Every movement, every sigh, every shiver of pleasure intertwined. Her hips rolled against him, his hands guiding, holding, urging her on. The slow, intoxicating friction, the heat, the intimacy of their closeness - it all built relentlessly.

“Daddy… I…” she gasped, voice breaking with need.

“Shh… me too,” he whispered, and the confession in their eyes said it all.

Then, together, with slow, teasing waves of pleasure crashing through them, they tumbled over the edge. Bodies clenched, breathless cries mingling, hearts racing, as they climaxed, utterly lost in each other, writhing, trembling, and finally collapsing together, completely spent, every nerve singing from the exquisite release.