He turned off the shower, then transformed me into a slobbery mess as we kissed. I found it hard to think or be upset as his tongue explored every corner of my mouth. His hands traversed my body and awakened goosebumps as his fingers found their way to my anus. I shivered as a fingertip pressed steadily against all resistance to gain entry. The foreign feeling was terribly naughty, but I fought against nature to relax and accept the desperate intrusion. My father would not rattle me. Regardless of how embarrassing or terribly dirty the act would be, I would neither fret nor make a scene.
He seemed to have satisfied his curiosity and withdrew. He continued to confound me. Our kissing eventually slowed enough for him to carry me into the tub. I was further unsettled. Did I somehow fail him? I was open to any sexual experience with him. Perhaps my body was still underdeveloped. He would know best when I was ready enough to accommodate him.
I was plagued as I sat on my throne, the space between his legs. My lower lip disappeared between my teeth while my father braided my hair. I chewed as I pondered. He only learned the skill for the sake of his daughters, but as a navy man he proved adept with his hands. Once finished, I turned to face him. I pressed my thumb to his lips and looked deep into his eyes. I must know.
I gathered my resolve and asked, “When will you enter me? I love you and I want to be fully yours.” My blue flame had yet to fully form, and I imagined this was why. He left me feeling insecure.
He looked me in the eye, then used his free hand to collect my own. His eyes were clear and honest as he replaced my question with his own, “How many times must I fall in love with you? The first, was the moment I held you as a baby. Ever since, I have been left bewildered, swooning over your beauty and astonished by your tenacity. You insist on crossing every bridge. I fear I will fall again, the moment you become my woman.”
I pouted as my selfishness bubbled up. His face became tired, his expression weary, so he closed his eyes and sighed. After a long drink, he ran his hand down my long plait. He reached the end, and I felt the water become unsettled as his fingers began to twist.
My head was suddenly tilted upwards as my father abruptly tugged. A gasp escaped my lips and our eyes met again as he opened his own. He wanted to scare me. Frighten me with his strength. He continued wrapping my braid around his fist, but I calmed my heart and continued to flood him with desire. I was not my mother. He was free to fulfill his every desire and I would still love him. I was his daughter.
He caressed my cheek in consideration, “I’m stuck in a paradox Veztia, where time is moving so slowly and yet passing by too fast. Are you sure you want to shed the remains of your childhood? What of the consequences? This is something that can only be given once, and the repercussions might not be felt until you least expect it.”
I only knew that I loved him and wanted all of him. He was of course married, and my father, but I was apprehensive. The war could never end, and he had duties that sent him far away from me. I knew my time by his side was limited and I must accept the future that was prepared for me. One day I would leave: either sent off as a wife or sworn to the self-sacrifice of war. Even if we could never wear matching rings, I wanted my father to have all of me. As flesh of his flesh, I accepted there was no man greater than him.
My stance was unyielding, “You are my beloved and I belong to you. Every precious first belongs to you. I will, however, acquiesce.”
He kissed me in response, and I deepened the contact. I licked his tongue, and we began a game of chase within our mouths. We were bonded by our arousal and held together by the need to catch and suck on lips, cheeks, ears… any free patch of flesh that elicited a moan or sigh, until we were breathless and interrupted by a knock at the door. It was always so hard to part, so we chose not to. I recall reaching for his glass as he caught my nipple between his teeth, and I quivered.
The pain was welcome, and I loved feeling the sharp tingle that travelled my spine in response. I would rather him pierce my nipples, than my nose. I did not want a Nath and I never needed to become a bride. Only he needed to see me as a woman.
My next yelp became a mischievous grin. Both of my nipples stung, so he grabbed my hands to pull me close again. Face-to-face, he soon caught my tongue again with his. One hand travelled to my back as the other intertwined its fingers with my own. It was sweet, until my mother opened the door. There was no need to separate, but we pressed our foreheads together and looked her way in tandem. His hands clenched into fists before loosening to free me completely.