Raymond & Raya: Forbidden Passion
Copyright© 2025 by R.R. Ryan
Chapter 8: Lessons of Love
Rayanna’s Tablet Diary
When we came home, I showered and put on a nightie. The bedroom was the coldest room in the house, no matter how high you set the thermostat. It was the north-facing windows, or the vents clogged with ninety-plus years of dust. However, I always thought it had more to do with what the room remembered. My mother’s death infested the room.
Their domain.
There were photos on the dresser, half hidden by bills and unread magazines. Every frame turned a little askew. Angled away from the bed. Wondering if it was on purpose or the slow migration of neglect. Holding it open for me, Dad stood inside the doorway, as if we’d checked into a hotel. Almost as if he saw it for the first time, Daddy’s eyes scanned the room, and it came up short.
Without hesitation, I stepped past him, toes curling on the cool wood, and stood by the end of the bed. The comforter lay balled up at the foot. In a mountain range of cheap polyester and faded paisley, I tried to imagine the six months of nights he’d slept under it, alone.
Standing still for a moment, he shut the door with a soft click. The sound seemed to pull all the air out of the room. For a long second, we stood there, neither of us willing to make the first move. The lamp by the bed glowed weakly, not enough to reach the corners. Despite my shadow, gigantic and uneven on the wall, I felt exposed.
Clearing his throat, the way he did before an important meeting or when he was about to announce bad news at dinner.
“You, uh ... you can sit,” Daddy said, nodding at the mattress.
Sitting perched at the edge, knees together, hands in my lap. After Daddy inspected me for a moment, he crossed the floor in three careful steps, and kneeled in front of me. It was so sudden, so gentle, it almost didn’t register.
This man, always so upright, dropped to his knees by the simple geometry of my sitting there. Heavy and warm, his hands rested on my thighs. Close enough that I saw the threadbare red in the whites of his eyes, our gazes locked. The wiry stubble on his chin. Even the scar above his left eyebrow.
Taking my hands in his, Dad cradled them like something rare. Rubbing his thumb in slow circles into my palm. Trembling a little, I realized Daddy’s touch made me vibrate with desire.
“Are you sure about this?” Low and trembling, his voice was sandpaper. Waiting for me to answer, he didn’t look away, didn’t flinch.
Nodding my head at him, my throat tightened.
“I’ve never been surer of anything.”
At that, Dad grinned. Not a wide smile, but the kind that said he believed me. Leaning in until our foreheads touched, his hands came up, one to my jaw, one to the side of my neck. Tinged with the last traces of whiskey, his breath was warm. Floating moment, we stayed there for a long time, not kissing, sharing the same air, the same space.
As he kissed me, it was so soft I barely felt it at first.
The barest brush of lips, the suggestion of pressure. I wanted to melt, to sink into the bed and take him with me. Sliding up to his hair, fingers weaved into the salt-and-pepper mess at his crown. More certain, his second kiss was firmer, and something inside me came unmoored. The world outside the room. The dishes in the sink, the leaky faucet, the friend who’d texted me an hour ago, fell away.
As the world disappeared, he kissed the corner of my mouth. Followed by the tip of my chin, the hollow below my ear. When his tongue flicked over the pulse there, I huffed, the sound sharp and needy. Making sure I was still there, he pulled back, eyes searching my face. Squeezing his hand in reply.
Slow as anything, he undid the buttons on my shirt.
Each time he worked one free, his fingers shook, and he glanced at me. Waiting for a nod, a smile, any sign I hadn’t changed my mind. By the time the third button opened, I breathed so hard my chest hurt. When I reached down to help, he caught my hand and brought it to his lips. Kissing the back of it before returning to his work.
When the shirt opened, his eyes widened, like he’d discovered a secret I’d been keeping from him. He traced the skin of my collarbone with a finger, leaned in to kiss it, his stubble scraping gently. Mouth open with my head tipped back, I heard myself make a noise I’d only ever made alone, in the dark. Those times when no one would hear me.
At that point, he slid the shirt off my shoulders, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. I was wearing a plain white bra, the only clean one I found, and suddenly it felt too bright, too white, a spotlight on my bare skin. He must have seen my discomfort, because he hesitated, hands hovering just above my ribs.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and I almost laughed. It sounded corny, a script stolen from an old movie, but when I stared at his face, I saw he meant it. He was in awe, like he’d never seen a girl before.
“Your turn,” I said, voice a notch higher than usual.
Sheepish, he grinned, and pulled his own shirt over his head. Hairy chest broken by pale skin and marked with scars and freckles. He had a beer belly—not obese, but noticeable—and for a second I wondered if he was self-conscious. But if he was, he didn’t show it. He leaned in and pressed his bare chest to mine, the hair tickling, the warmth immediate.
We kissed again, deeper this time. Gentle but insistent, Daddy’s hands ran up and down my back. With tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Dad worked the clasp on my bra with a surgeon’s focus. When it came undone, he drew back to look at me, eyes soft and worshipful. Cupping my breasts in his hands, thumbs brushing over the nipples, I shivered so hard I thought I might rattle apart.
“Is this okay?” he asked, always asking.
I nodded, barely able to speak.
“Perfect,” I said, and Dad rewarded me with another kiss, this one slow and melting, like a promise.
Just like that, his mouth found its way to my neck, down to my chest. Kissing me between my breasts, along the curve, over the nipple, licking and sucking. Until I whimpered and arched into his mouth. His hands explored every millimeter of exposed skin. Always gentle, always reverent. Weightless, suspended above the bed, floating on the sensations of him touching me.
Pausing at my belly button, he kissed his way down past my stomach. His hands settled on my hips, fingers splayed, as if to claim me. Waiting for permission, he glanced up.
And I nodded, heart hammering, and he unbuttoned my jeans.
The denim was tight, and for a moment, we both laughed at the awkwardness of getting them off. I lifted my hips, and Daddy tugged, careful not to pull too hard. When they finally slid free, leaving me in just my underwear. Even they seemed too much. Slow and deliberate, he ran his hands over my thighs, up and down.
Every nerve ending exploded from his electric touch.
Kissing the inside of my knee, up my thigh, Daddy stopped short of where I desired him most. Breathing in the scent of my skin, he rested his cheek against my leg. I tried to beg him to keep going, but I bit my lip. Waiting to see what he’d do next.
With his eyes dark and shining, Dad gazed at me.
“If you want me to stop, just say so.”
I shook my head. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, and I saw the relief flood his face.
Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of my panties, he kissed higher. Hesitating, giving me one last chance to call it off. Lifting my hips again, Dad pulled them down, deliberate and cautious, revealing me inch by inch. When I was finally naked, he gawked at me, drinking it in, as if memorizing every detail.
He kissed my hipbone. The crease of my thigh, lower still. Stroking me, his hands touched everywhere, squeezed, never too hard, never too soft. Exposed and adored, I became a goddess in the light of his devotion.
When he finally touched me between my legs, I gasped. The sensation, so sharp and sudden I almost came. Watching my face for every reaction, he circled his finger over my clit, gentle, and patient. Writhing under his touch, I moaned and twisted, needing more and less at the same time.
Slow and careful, he slid a finger inside me. I clenched around him, body greedy for more. When he added a second finger, curled them, and I saw stars. With my nails digging into his skin, I clung to his shoulders as he worked me closer and closer to the edge.
As if trying to anchor me to the earth, Dad kept his eyes on mine the whole time. When I came, it was with a violence that surprised us both. My body convulsed, legs locking around his waist, and I cried out, loud and desperate.
Kissing my face, my neck, my shoulders, he held me through it. Telling me how beautiful I was, how proud he was, how much he loved me.
When I finally came down, I shook, tears streaming down my face. At that time, Daddy gathered me into his arms, held me close, and rocked me back and forth until my breathing evened out.
I looked at him, really saw, and recognized the fear and hope battling behind his eyes. I kissed him, slow and deep, pouring all my gratitude and love into the touch.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.
“I’ve never been better,” I said, and meant it.
Tangled together on the bed, we stayed like that, neither willing to let go. The room was still cold, but I was warm everywhere Daddy touched me. For the first time in ages, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Breathing each other in, we lay there for a long time. Until the rest of the world faded to a dull, unimportant blur.
Every nerve in my body begged for more, but I should’ve had enough. Dad must’ve sensed it, he always did, like he had an extra sense reserved for other people’s hunger. Both of us caught our breath as we stayed tangled on the edge of the bed for a minute.
My skin buzzed. Like my body came back wrong. Too porous, every inch of me alive and reaching for Daddy.
Stroking my hair, his motion was slow and hypnotic. When he kissed my forehead, it was almost parental. A benediction, a promise that he’d still be there when I opened my eyes. For a second, I closed them, and when I peered again, I found him watching my face. Reading every flicker of thought.
“You okay?” Hand on my cheek, his thumb painted arcs across my cheekbone.
“Yeah. I ... it was wonderful.”
He grinned, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“That’s just the beginning.”
I shivered. Wrapping his arms around me, Dad eased me onto my back, my head sinking into the musty pillow. The mattress was so old it remembered shapes, and I molded to the impression he’d left over months of lonely sleep. Kneeling beside me, Dad’s hands braced on either side of my ribs, gazed at me.
Part embarrassment, part heat, I flushed.
“Beautiful,” he said again, and this time it landed differently. Not a compliment, but a fact.
Soft at first, Daddy kissed me, deeper, tongue warm and insistent.