Chapter 6

A SHARP PAIN IN her ankle woke Sia with a start. She gasped. The stab of pain subsided. As it did, she became aware of her surroundings. At first, it was the smell that hit her; spicy, warm - Dad. She inhaled it deeply. He smelled different, his aroma more subdued, softer, subtler. Then, with pleasure suffusing her, she felt Dad cuddled up to her from behind, spooning her. He felt so large against her. She liked it. His arms hugged her loosely. She felt safe and cozy.

A spike of excitement hit her when she felt Dad’s palm resting on her breast. His hand felt large, too. Warmth flooded her, a familiar first tingle of arousal. Careful not to wake him up, Sia placed her hand on the back of his and pressed his hand to her breast. Jeez it felt good. Soft arousal stayed with her, her nipple sensitive and aching for a caress. Heat blossomed in her pussy, seductive and exciting. She lay quietly, wanting this to last. This was way, way better than waking up alone!

Dad shifted.

“Ow!” Sia gasped, as his foot hit her ankle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. “What did I do?” His hug tightened.

“You kicked my ankle.”

“Sorry.”

She rolled to face him when he moved away. “Don’t go yet,” she begged. She liked how messy his hair was, an unruly mop of dark brown hair.

“Nature’s calling,” he said with a smile, bending to kiss her lips softly before rising.

“You’re not much good as a cuddler!” she yelled at his disappearing back.

“You’re not either. And you’re a quilt thief!” echoed back to her.

Quilt thief? Really? No way! She wasn’t a cover hog.

IN THE BATHROOM, I wondered if Sia had seen my partial erection. It was unavoidable once I understood where my hand was; covering the sweetest boob imaginable, well less than a handful yet delightfully defined. The contrast between the youth of her slender body and the maturity of her breasts seemed to strike a chord in me. Add to that waking up with her compact bottom pressed into my groin, and, well, a brass statue would react. I’d extricated myself when more intimate ideas came to mind. Sia was still recovering from major surgery. Better safe than sorry.

Sia was gone by the time I finished my shower. Despite my worries about her tiring herself and still needing time to recover, she insisted she have her friends over, so Saturday was a house filled with music and laughter and giggles.

That night, Sia was seriously exhausted. She could barely keep her eyes open through dinner but was awake enough to sniff her food and decide she didn’t like Brussels sprouts, just like she hadn’t as a child. She left them on her plate, carefully nudged away from the pot roast and mashed potatoes so they wouldn’t get cross contaminated.

Our second night of sleeping together was much better. Forewarned is forearmed. We snuggled and kissed chastely, being careful not to disturb her ankle. I grew erect against her when I fondled her spectacular young ass over her pajamas, drowning in how seductively her cheeks mounded; perfect globes that seemed to fit my caressing hand far too well. I was very tempted to initiate more and fish inside her pajama bottoms but restrained myself. Sia was still recovering.

When she drifted to sleep, I rolled her, smiling as she muttered something unintelligible, and cuddled up from behind, my erection nestling between sexy flannel-covered buttocks.

She was cold again, shivering slightly, but soon warmed up.

Sunday is my most hated day of the week. The Boomtown Rats had it wrong. Monday’s weren’t the worst. Not for me. I liked my job as Manager of Waste Water Treatment for the town. It was a stress-free occupation that provided rewards, kept me interested, and provided excellent benefits; six weeks paid vacation per year, a defined benefit retirement plan, and enough money to live in comfort. Sunday’s, though, were bleak. It was the end of the weekend. I’d never lost the feeling I’d had in high school - that uncomfortable guilt that I’d forgotten to do my homework and a test loomed on Monday. Awful.

Even Sia’s excitement at the prospect of being home for the full week with no classes - Dr. Anston’s orders - couldn’t lift me out of the doldrums.

She also continued to concern me. At lunch, as I prepared ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches, she sniffed the ham and announced, “The ham smells hinky, Dad. I don’t want any. Do we have Bologna?” She had sworn off Bologna at nine years old. When I prepared an Alfredo pasta - delicious creamy, garlicky sauce tossed in fettuccine - she leaned over the saucepan, sniffed, and told me it needed more salt.

“You can’t smell salt, Sia,” I informed her, a bit miffed.

“Well, I can!”

The first taste confirmed my slightly wonky daughter could, indeed, smell salt. While it was amusing, this sensory development concerned me. How else had her brain been affected by the concussion?

Worries vanished after dinner when we settled on the couch. Sia, using her healthy foot, started nudging my thigh, “Look at that, Dad!” nodding to the television, “A documentary!”

I smiled. I didn’t consider Last Man Standing a documentary. But, her foot wriggled, easing along the inside of my leg. Not to be outdone, my foot matched her moves. And like the well trained Pavlovian dog I was, an erection formed, her sole settling into my groin and caressing rather erotically. My foot found her crotch and, with a side-to-side wiggle, pressed to her pussy.

Throughout the evening, we teased each other with subtle caresses, my erection growing into full, aching tumescence at her actions. Needless to say I was distinctly horny by bedtime. Bathroom rituals did nothing to diminish my state. In fact, it now seemed to me that Sia’s recovery was almost complete, even if it wasn’t.

When she slipped into bed, pulling the thick quilt over her with a shiver, I reached for her. “Come here,” I ordered, drawing her slender body to me. Her eyes twinkled, enchanting with their excitement.

She felt wonderful in my arms, the sensation of having a female in bed such a long ago memory. Soft, exciting kisses brought on a fog of desire. Believing a small taste of her lovely lips could do no harm, influenced by a stubborn erection and a hand caressing the most scrumptious bum in the world, I touched her lips with my tongue.