Page 20 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)

OLIVER

I ’ve been watching Harper for a long time, more than the last year since her father’s died, but my intent shifted the moment he was gone. Became more. And I’ve seen a lot of her. Every piece and problem. Every shift in emotion and playful moment.

Yet, there’s something more about watching her in my home. From the floor below.

The way she teased and tested Grant before crawling into bed tweaked a smile at the corner of my mouth. There’s something about Harper and her attitude—her willingness to test her boundaries—that draws me to her.

She’s the bright beacon in my dark room as I sprawl out in my computer chair to watch her sleep. It’s the only way I can get any rest, knowing she’s safe. That someone is looking out for her. Especially when that someone is me.

My obsession complicates things. I know this. That doesn’t mean I can change it.

And I’ve kept myself from taking it too far. Depending on who you ask.

I’m sure the four cameras set up around her room say otherwise, but the protectiveness, the curiosity, it’s all built into something I’m not sure how to break.

Harper stirs on my screens, her gaze locking with one of the cameras hidden in a small figurine meant for spying.

She crawls out of bed and picks it up, cocking her head to the side and smirking as she confirms her suspicions.

I pinch my chin, waiting for her to bury it or throw it out the window, but she saunters over to the desk in the corner of her room, the one place the moon light creates stripes across the floor, and sets it in the corner.

It faces her as she props herself on the other corner, rubbing her pajama-clad pussy on the corner and looking right into the lens. The small noises she makes redirects blood to my cock, making it swell until it’s fighting against my slacks.

Fuck.

After a few minutes, she withdraws, bending down to strip those shorts off before pressing herself over that corner again. This time, her moan is louder.

Better yet, she stares right into the camera. She knows I’m watching her. It’s evident from the glint in her eye and the sly smirk she gives me.

It takes real effort to drag my gaze down to her bare pussy and the way she grinds it against the desk. Low, slick sounds reach me as she bites her lip, but she’s not rushing through this like I’ve seen her do so many times before.

Because I’m a pig. I’ve never once turned away from her intimate moments, drawn in by her lack of filters. The way her walls fall down when she’s seeking pleasure. When she’s coming.

Gods be damned, this is all for me.

If he ever touches me, I won’t survive it. I don’t want to survive it.

The fantasies in her journal haunt me. She likes the idea of me watching. Of me wanting her so badly that I can’t help but touch myself as she pleases herself.

Well, Harper, you dirty little girl, you’re getting your wish today. I may not be in the room with you, hiding in the shadows of the corner, but I am here, watching you. Wanting you.

My hand grazes over my throbbing erection. I’ve never touched myself to satiate that burning desire for her. Never while I had her in my viewfinder. On my screen. So close to me that I could touch if I wanted to.

The zap of pleasure as I glide my palm over myself through the fabric has me pulling in a slow, shuttering breath.

Then she slowly, teasingly, strips the straps of her top off her shoulders, but the fabric is still tight over her breasts. Until she pulls each out, letting them swing with her small thrusts.

Her rosy nipples are hard and drawn tight, begging to be touched, to be sucked on, to be pinched.

“ Fuck .”

Her moan this time has me tipping forward, activating the small speaker by her television.

“Don’t come until I say.”

My voice is rough, dark, and the way her eyes brighten as she looks into the camera as I stroke myself with more purpose over the fabric.

She nods.

Each view of her in that room is intoxicating. From behind, the sides, and the perfect angle in front of her.

I can see the bruises on her ass, handprints from Grant spanking her this morning. I doubt either of them know I got the entire show.

Squeezing my length in my hand, I’m mesmerized by the way her tits swing. They’re big without being cartoonish, teardrop shaped, and I bet they’d fit perfectly in my hand. In my mouth.

“Pinch your nipples.”

A shudder runs through her, mouth open on a groan before she shifts back, pussy lips perfectly splayed around the wood, as she cups herself in both hands.

Massaging her breasts for a few seconds before her fingers draw down to lock both nipples between her fingers.

She pinches hard, tugging as her hips gyrate. Back arching, she lets her head fall back for a second as she repeats the move.

Then, she plucks at them quickly a half dozen times.

Heat draws up my middle, and my hand is absently stroking my rigid length.

Her hips move a little faster, and I remind her, “Don’t come yet.”

Harper nods, releasing her nipples and slowing her movements.

“Hands on the desk.”

She obeys, leaning forward and framing her breasts between her elbows as they swing. Below them, she’s angled just right to show off the swell of her hips and the splaying of her pussy.

“Slower.”

Her whimpering moan as she slows has my cock jumping hard. I finally unzip and release it into my hand. This is what she wants.

What I want.

And I have no shame in letting us both have it.

“Shorter.”

She nods, and the movements of her hips shorten, small hard pumps that make her curves jiggle and jump. Her whines come at the same cadence.

The squelch of her pussy grinding against the wood is loud, unforgiving—each thrust dragging her swollen clit along the corner like she wants to bruise it. She is soaked. Deliberate. Putting on a fucking show.

My breath grows ragged, my cock twitches in my fist, aching with the need to join her, to feel that mess firsthand.

Without direction, her moves start to pick up speed, and the glazed look in her eyes says she’s building, getting closer. My own strokes match her cadence, squeezing up toward the tip.

Beating my own meat has never been something I particularly enjoy. A means to an end, yes. A relief of stress and pressure, sure. But this…

My hips start to move with hers as I tell her again. “Don’t come yet.”

Her teeth press into her bottom lip, and she slows again.

“Arms behind your head.” Because I want the full view of her body again, to watch as her muscles move as her clit peaks out at me after it grinds over that corner.

She lifts them, elongating your body and giving me the perfect shot.

My legs spread wider, my fist slamming down over my cock. In the back of my brain somewhere I’m imaging myself inside of her, watching her ride me, even if this isn’t about that.

“Say my name.”

Her little whimper is accompanied by my name. Soft. Tender. Begging.

After another few breaths, she says it again, “ Oliver . God, please.”

Harper’s fingers tangle in her own hair, head tipped to the side as she trembles. Fuck, she’s so close. Those obscenely wet grinding noises getting louder. Wetter.

When I don’t respond, she repeats my name, over and over in her soft voice, occasionally broken up with please and I’m so close.

My shaft grows more rigid, and I know as soon as I give her permission, I won’t be far behind.

Still, I let her dangle, letting her mantra curl around my cock and tighten my grip.

Finally, I say, “Come for me, you dirty girl.”

Her mouth falls open, her hips moving wildly as she crests and jerks and slows again. Her hands find the desk as she rubs herself through her own aftershocks.

“Mmm, Oliver. Fuck.”

It’s my last straw. I pulse in my hand before my own release follows. I swear small sparks light up behind my eyes. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

When my mind refocuses, she smiles dreamily at the camera before she picks it up and carries it back to where she found it.

“Good night, Daddy,” she says with her mouth close to the camera as if giving me a kiss.

Harper retrieves her shorts and bends to give me such a great view of her ass and soaking wet pussy as she pulls them back on. I barely think to clean myself up with a nearby t-shirt as she crawls into bed.

I don’t move until I see her breathing even out and know she’s finally asleep.

Watching her sleep peacefully brings me as much joy as watching her come.

I tuck myself away.

What the fuck was that? And why is there this tender spot in my chest that screams to be beside her instead of in a different room?

Why did that feel like so much more than mutual satisfaction and sex?

I take a few deep, calming breaths. But the protective instinct that’s latched itself onto me over these last twelve months is intensifying with the reality of Harper wanting me back.

And I don’t know what scares me more—how badly I want her, or how I’m starting to care.