Daddy Helps When Husband’s Away Chapter 09
Ethan slipped the scarf off my eyes.
The sunlight stung. I blinked.
He walked over to a vintage turntable and, unhurried, set a record on it.
The low, tender voice of a female singer drifted through the study.
Ethan turned and crooked a finger at me — come here.
I stayed where I was.
Seconds ticked by.
His patience, finally, gave out.
He crossed the room in a single stride and pulled me flush against him.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
“I haven’t finished with you yet.”
There was a deep, dark satisfaction in that low voice.
“Shh. Don’t think. Just feel.”
He buried his face in the hollow of my neck.
That thing between family and forbidden — it destroyed the last shred of reason I had.
We didn’t come out of that so-called guest room for well over an hour.
Coming back downstairs, Mason was still dozing on the couch with Liam asleep against his chest.
Like a thief, cheeks burning, I walked over — casual, casual — and sat down next to him.
Mason cracked open his eyes, reached up, curled his arm around my shoulders, and kissed the top of my head.
“You okay, baby? Why are you so flushed?”
“…It’s stuffy upstairs.”
Ethan stood behind me and smoothly finished for me,
“Old house. The central air can never quite reach the second floor.”
So natural.
Nobody noticed a thing.
Mason actually stood up, grateful, and pulled Ethan into another firm hug.
“Man, thank you for today. Since you started doing these family brunches, Sophia’s been so much happier.”
Ethan gave a soft laugh.
Over Mason’s shoulder, he looked at me.
“Anytime, Mason. She’s family. It’s my pleasure.”
From then on, every family gathering became a slow torment of dread and thrill interlaced.
I belonged to my stepfather. My heart belonged to my stepfather.
Six months later, on a Tuesday afternoon, Mason flew out again — Singapore.
Gone the whole week.
Liam was napping. I was curled on the couch, flipping through the newest issue of a fashion magazine.
Click.
The sound of a metal key sliding into the lock at the entryway.
Ethan let himself into my apartment.
This time, no medical bag. No excuse. No pretense at all.
He just stood in the entryway.
“Sophia.”
And opened his arms.
And I walked, straight, into them.
No hesitation. No struggle.
He pulled me tight against him.
“Look at us, sweetheart.”
“In his home. Under that damn wedding photo of his.”
“And you still came running to me.”
I bit down on my lip. Tears slid from the corners of my eyes.
After a long moment, in a whisper only the two of us could hear, I said,
“Yes, Daddy. Yes.”
He held me tighter.
I stared at myself in the wedding photo on the wall.
The bride in that picture was laughing, carefree. Mason’s arm was around her waist.
Ethan followed my gaze to the photo. He gave a low, quiet laugh.
Then he caught my chin, turned my face back to him, and made me look at him.
“No, sweetheart. Not him. Me.”
I sagged, undone, against my stepfather.
Without thinking, my hand drifted to my belly.
My last period —
My fingers froze.
When was it?
— THE END —