Popping My Cherry in the Front Seat of a Car with Daddy

Excerpt

The older guy glances around, as if he’s looking for someone, and I can’t help but ask him. “Meeting someone?”

I wince at how dumb I sound. I’m just a freshman in college and he’s so much older than I am. He won’t have any interest in talking to me and he’s obviously looking for someone else.

He finally glances down at me, and my mouth drops open from shock as my face heats. Oh fuck, it’s my real father. The muscles of my legs go weak and it’s good that I’m sitting down. I was just lusting after my freaking father. How fucked up is that?

I haven’t seen him since I was a child, but I’ve studied enough pictures of him to know this is him. It’s just an older version of the pictures I poured over. The problem is that as the shock fades, it’s replaced with a forbidden thrill, especially since there’s no recognition in his eyes. I don’t think he knows who I am. The intensity of his eyes makes my pussy wet and I squirm for real.

“I thought I might get lucky tonight,” he says. His voice is deep and husky. “You look like you could use some good luck, too.”

His words send a shiver through me. Is he flirting with me? Does he find me attractive? I’m so going to hell for my reaction, and I’m not even religious.

It feels weird having my father talk to me without knowing me, but it’s also exciting. I keep my face neutral as I smile at him and say, “Thank you.”

He winks and asks, “What’re you drinking? I’ll buy you another.”

My eyes widen. What do I say? Should I tell him who I am? If do, he won’t buy me a drink because he’ll know my age. But I know nothing about wine or cocktails, and I’m not sure my fake ID will work if I’m carded.

I blurt out, “Whatever you’re having,” and hope that is an appropriate response.

He orders two glasses of red wine and leans closer to me. My skin tingles and my pussy gets even more wet. Oh God, is he going to kiss me?

He doesn’t.

I hold in my sigh as I try not to feel disappointed. This is beyond wrong and I’m so stupid. I’m sitting here wishing my dad would kiss me. Thank God no one can read my thoughts.

The bartender quickly brings us the wine, and my dad takes a sip and studies me for a few moments before asking, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Desire and shame burns a pit in my stomach while I also want to groan from how dumb the line is. It’s one of those cheesy pickup lines my friends and I joke about. His nearness makes me flush and I shake my head in a silent “no.” Someone needs to remind my body that I’m not here to fuck my father. He’s getting me all flustered. I also need to stop blushing. It only makes me look younger.

Did he miss my head shake? I answer him audibly. “No, I don’t.”

His lips turn up into a smile, and he holds his glass out toward me. I hold up mine and we clink them together. When we part, he says, “Neither do I.”

My dad is odd, but I kind of like it. He glances down at my chest and butterflies swirl in my stomach. Oh great, he’s noticing my lack of big boobs. I’m wearing a silver necklace with my nickname on it and I reach up and fiddle with it out of nervousness. When his eyes flicker lower for a moment, I realize he was looking at the necklace and not my boobs, though now I know he checked me out.

He lifts his eyebrows in a question. “… Rose?”

“Yes,” I breathe out loudly. “I’m Rose.”

I’m suddenly grateful that I don’t go by my given name. He doesn’t know me by Rose, so I can slink out of here once we’re done talking and no one needs to be any wiser. He won’t know that his daughter was a puddle of hormones and lust for him. My body needs to learn what’s appropriate and what’s not, but it doesn’t seem to care. All I can think about is those huge hands and what they could do to me.

He slips the bartender money for our drinks and then drains his glass before setting it on the bar. “It was nice meeting you, Rose.”

He steps away from the bar and turns to walk away. Uh, that’s it? He buys me a drink, finds out my name, and then leaves?

“Hey, wait!” I call out.

Oh God, why am I doing this? I should let him walk away. Now is my chance to hide my shameful behavior.

My mouth moves on its own and I continue, “Um, where are you going?”

He looks over his shoulder and says, “Home. My date seems to have stood me up.”

Something about his broad shoulders gets me, and I imagine his hands again. A shiver runs down my spine.

I try to look older than my 19 years and give him my best flirty look that I’ve practiced in the mirror a dozen times. I hear myself speak, and I can’t believe what I’m saying. “You’ve already bought me a drink. I could be your date.”

He laughs. “You’re way too young for me, babygirl. Go find a boy your own age to play with.”

My cheeks burn and I hope the lighting in the bar is dim enough to hide my embarrassment.

He starts to walk away again, and I blurt out, “That’s fine. I didn’t want to call you Daddy, anyway.”

He pauses.

When he turns around, I think he’s going to laugh at me. Instead, his expression changes and his glance turns sharp. Oh no, did he figure out who I am?