He lifted the finger as I reached the tip and I pressed my palm against it, a moment later wrapping my fingers around it, squeezing gently, the action making us both moan.
“Sweetheart…”
I bit my lip, waiting only a few moments before easing my grip, then I slid my hand up his finger, a fraction of an inch, just enough to send a message. I squeezed again, firmer this time, then again I slid back down, squeezing again, praying he wouldn’t stop me.
I was under no delusions that he’d take me here, in their bed, but that didn’t stop me from trying. Tonight was the second time this week that I’d slipped into their bed; I’d come in last night, claiming a stomach ache.
“What are you doing, honey?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I squeezed him then released him. “Nothing, Daddy.” Again I slid my hand up his finger, stopping with nothing but the tip touching me, then I slid back down, feeling him throb against my back in response.
“Doesn’t feel like nothing.”
I didn’t answer, instead I squeezed him, brushing my thumb over the tip of his finger.
“You need to stop that, sweetheart. We need to go to sleep.”
Reluctantly, I released him, settling my hand between my legs, gripping my thigh. He sighed quietly, his body sagging, his hand squeezing my waist once.
“Night, sweetheart.”
“Night, Daddy.”
Within a few moments I could feel the hardness against my back begin to fade. I moved then, under the guise of getting more comfortable, higher on the bed, only an inch or two. But it had the desired effect; it placed his semi-rigid penis in the crack of my ass, the only thing between it and its destination, his thin silk boxers.
I pulled my hand up, allowing the tip of my finger to trail through my wet lips, gathering some of the moisture there and bringing it up to brush it over my clit. I shivered with the contact, my breath catching. I slipped the finger back into my folds, deeper this time, wetting it, feeling the magnetic pull, the wettest part of me demanding attention. I lifted my knee for room and teased the opening with the tip of my finger, moaning softly.
“Okay, baby?”
I nodded, pushing myself more fully into him, willing him to mold himself to me. I desperately wanted to reach behind me, to wrap my hand around him, to feel him hard in my hand, to stroke him. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself angling the meaty organ down between my thighs and rubbing it against my sex, coating him with my juices, aiming him, wiggling against him as he entered me, making me a woman. Making me his woman.
I moaned again as my finger pushed its way in, teasing my hole.
I felt his hand move off my waist, only to come to rest on my forearm, his fingers wrapping around it, pulling gently, my finger slipping out, over my lips, leaving a wet trail up my thigh and across my stomach. He held me there, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my leg slowly closing.
For several minutes I lay there, eyes wide open, listening to him breathe as he warmed my neck, listening to my mother’s quiet, even snoring, painfully aware of his shrinking penis.