Chapter 11: Disembarkation

She woke before I meant to let her, some shift in my breathing giving me away, and felt her go still against my side the way she always did those first few seconds — running the quick private inventory of where she was and who she was next to before she let herself actually be awake. Then, instead of the usual careful unstacking of herself off me, she turned toward me instead. Reached down between us on her own. No asking. No waiting to see if I’d start it for her.

“I want to.” Quiet, like she was getting ahead of whatever question I might’ve asked. “Before we get off. I don’t want the last one to be something you did to me while I was asleep.”

Three words I’d never let myself hope for out of that mouth, and she handed them over on the one morning I hadn’t even asked. She wanted this one to be hers — to do it, not have it done to her. That was the whole of what she was reaching for, and I knew it.

I let her get as far as climbing up over me, a knee either side of my hips, before I took it back out of her hands. She’d taken me on top before — I’d put her there myself more than once these last nights, my hands on her hips walking her down onto me right where I wanted her — but she’d never once done the lining-up herself. That was the part she was reaching for now, fumbling at the angle a little because she’d never had to find it on her own before, and I could have let her. I knew it was the whole of what she’d actually asked me for. I took hold of her hips and moved her anyway, walked her down slow onto me until she sat exactly where I wanted her, because a whole trip of running this had left me unable to hand her the wheel even the once — even now, even when she’d finally worked up the nerve to reach for it.

“There.” Low. “That’s how you do it right. Not by feel. By where I put you.”

She flushed at that and didn’t argue it.

I brought her down to me before she could start moving on her own, a hand at the back of her neck, and kissed her the way I’d been wanting to since somewhere around the tub with Charles — slow, deliberate, my tongue working past her lips before she’d fully decided whether to let it, catching once on the wire of her braces and staying there a beat, tasting the metal of it the same as I tasted the rest of her mouth. She went rigid half a second. Then, careful, tentative, she kissed me back — a clumsy, learning thing, following where I led instead of finding her own way, the way she did everything now.

“Good girl.” Against her mouth. “Just like that. You’ll get better at it. Plenty of practice left.”

I started her moving over me once I had the angle set, one hand flat against the small of her back to keep her from drifting off it, the other splayed wide over her hip. “You know what this is, don’t you.” Not really a question. “Last one before we’re off this boat and back in a world with walls between us and a whole lot more to lose.” A beat, still moving her slow. “Say what you are to me, Val. Out loud.”

She hesitated. I felt the hesitation in her hips too — a stutter in the rhythm.

“I don’t — I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Yes you do.” Patient. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Say it anyway.”

“ ... Yours.” Barely audible. “I’m yours.”

“That’s a start. What else.” I pressed her down harder onto me, seating myself deeper, felt her stretch to take the extra inch of it, a small pained sound catching in her throat that had nothing pretend in it. “What’s Daddy trying to put in you, every single time he does this.”

She didn’t answer right away. I let her sit in it, working her hips in small, deliberate circles that kept the head of me pressed against the soft dead-end of her cunt, deep enough that every motion found the same spot.

“A baby.” Barely a whisper, wrecked.

“That’s my girl. My good little breeder.” Something in her flinched at the word, and then, a second later, didn’t fight it. “Every time I fill you up from here on out, that’s what you are to me. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Your body’s not the same shape it was a few days ago, either.” Still moving her, slow. “Something my size doesn’t go through a girl your age and leave her the same as it found her. You’re stretched out permanently. You’ll walk different whether you like it or not — and it’s not stopping once we’re home either. Mornings before school. Nights after. Whenever your mother’s not around to hear it.”

“Dad — “ Her face had gone past red into something closer to fever.

“Some days you’ll walk in wet through your panties by second period. Worse days, a mark showing right through your jeans, running down the inside of your thigh where anybody sitting behind you could catch it if they looked twice.” She spasmed around me at that, involuntary, her whole body reacting to the picture of it before her mind caught up to being horrified by it, lips parting on a breath she didn’t seem to know she’d taken, the wire on her teeth catching the light. “That’s what a good, well-used girl looks like from the outside. That’s what you’re walking into.”

“Stop.” Thin, not really meaning it, hips not slowing down even as she said it.

“Then show me.” I wriggled the last half inch deeper, seating the head of me hard against the very back wall of her cunt, and held there, grinding slow circles instead of pulling back.

She sucked a breath in through her teeth, sharp, the stretch of it finally catching up to her. “Hurts.” Barely a whisper, forehead dropped against my collarbone now, eyes still shut, like the dark behind them was easier to sit in than looking at me while she said it.