His serpent secret? FP Jones

Chapter four -aggravation

I awaken to the blaring noise of what sounds like music. There's only a hint of light outside which indicates it's the early hours of the morning. I wait, for what seems like hours, for the music to stop. But that's when I realise this sound of aggravation is coming from my lounge. I clench my fists beneath the sheets, creating tiny pink nail marks and a tiny bead of Crimson blood. I force myself out of bed, dreading to see what all of this racket is about.
When I enter the lounge the first thing that I notice, which is quite hard to miss, is FP Jones, dad dancing in a Santa hat. Empty beer bottles are scattered around the floor and somehow he manages to avoid stepping on them.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I squeal, stomping my foot like a child.
He turns to me, still dancing, and winks.
"Oh look, it's the girl that brings the hoe hoe hoe to our Christmas time." He smirks.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to slap him.
"Fuck you!" I snarl, I can feel my nostrils flaring. This time he stops dancing.
"You wanna what?" He performs a twisted smile which I gather is his attempt of a smirk. But before I can even respond, he collapses at my feet.
Not out of care, but out of the fact that I can't stand a drunken biker man sprawled out across my floor, I yank him up with all of my strength and manage to place him onto the couch. I remove his Santa hat, fuck knows where he got it from, to reveal a mop of dark hair with grey flecks which he surprisingly manages to pull off. As I go to leave him I feel a strong grip on my wrist.
"Did your dad ever tell you how damn sexy you are?" He slurs.
"Considering he's my dad, I'm gonna say no." I roll my eyes. He's drunk, ridiculously drunk.
"Come on, don't be so.. Boring." He snickers. His dark eyes scan me up and down, from my tight fitting tank top, which hugs my curves, to my tiny shorts that enhances my ridiculously long legs.
"Is that anyway to talk to your queen?" I raise both brows, cocking my head to one side and crossing my arms across my chest.
FP licks his chapped lips, before finally loosening his grip on my arm but making sure I'd remember his touch by brushing his thumb across my palm. It's rough against my soft skin, but I can't help but seek comfort in it. I slap myself for being so inappropriate. It's not even what I'd call morning yet, so I'm clearly not thinking straight.
"You may be a queen to all of them, but I just see you as daddy's little princess." He says,before adding, "and I'm not talking bout your daddy."