Joseph O’Connor tossed and turned and woke up several times that night. He just couldn’t get comfortable when his wife Carmen was away on a business trip. Their bed felt so big and empty without her.

And he missed her in more physical, carnal ways. Being married to a succubus meant he’d grown used to her appetite. Even going for a night without sex felt like deprivation, and she’d been gone for a week. They and their swinging buddies would make up for it, he knew, but that didn’t help his tension right then and there.

Just as he was about to take matters into his own hand, he heard footsteps outside his door. Carmen was gone, but he wasn’t alone in the house.

Jessie, his daughter, opened the door and slowly shuffled in. She caught just enough moonlight for him to distinguish her from the room’s shadows. Her curly red hair looked deep grey in the darkness, while her cute little head-wings and spade-tipped tail formed patches of more solid black. All that contrasted with the pale white of her skin and clothes. He didn’t have enough light to tell where her pyjamas began.

“Sweetie?” he whispered. “Do you need something?”

No answer. She just shuffled closer, moving like she was in a trance, and pulled at his bed’s covers.

He had to smile with nostalgia. Sleepwalking. She was sleepwalking, and made an unconscious beeline to come cuddle with her father. It had been years since she’d done that; she rarely had even when she was a little girl, let alone a young woman home from her first semester at university. He pulled the covers back to invite her in.

With a happy sound, she slid in and wrapped her arms, wrapped herself around him. That woke him up.

Because he realised something. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see her pyjamas. She wasn’t wearing any.

He tried to remind himself that she was his own daughter, but parts of him still so enjoyed having a beautiful woman naked in bed with him. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves...

And she hadn’t finished sleepwalking, either, though that maybe wasn’t the best term anymore. Still in her sleep, she nibbled along the shell of his ear, her plush lips sending sweet thrills racing down his spine.

He went rigid in so many ways. “Sweetie,” he whispered — paradoxically still keeping quiet to avoid waking her, even while trying to get her attention.

She was unperturbed. Her lips ran down along his neck, following the path of a vein that throbbed with excitement. However hard he tried to calm himself down, each kiss sent his heart beating faster and faster. She reached his clavicles and kept going, slowly unbuttoning his fleece pyjamas so she could get to his chest.

“Sweetie!” He whispered more urgently, but it was still a whisper. He lifted a hand to nudge her away—

By some accident or instinct, his nudging hand found her chest. They both gasped, and for a split-second he feared she’d wake up to find him apparently feeling her up. But then she let out a soft, sleepy coo and cupped the back of his hand, holding it in place. Her subconscious, or whatever was piloting her, liked him touching her there.

She liked him touching her breast. As the moment of panic passed, that fact sank in. He couldn’t easily get his hand away from her, so why not give her what she wanted? Even as his conscience squealed at him, he started exploring.

Jessie’s breast was just a little bigger than he could hold, overflowing his grasp. Though not as big as her mother’s, it was firmer, perky and youthful. Yet still oh so soft as he massaged it, every squeeze pulling another pleased sigh from her lips. It had been so long since he’d touched a breast like that, the breast of a woman just a little shy of twenty. He’d forgotten how nice—

No, no, he shouldn’t. He was old enough to be her father. He was her father, damn it, and he wasn’t supposed to fondle his daughter.

As he thought that, she finally moved, lifting her sighing mouth off his chest. But she wasn’t moving away from his touch; she still held his hand captive as she rose up and threw a leg over his hips, straddling him.

That was going too far. His heart pounded loudly enough to deafen him. Maybe light would rouse her. He reached out with his free hand to turn on his reading lamp.

Bad idea. The lamp cast a warm, dim glow: comfortable rather than blinding, but still enough to illuminate the beautiful woman above him.

Jessie was stunning. Her skin was creamy and flawless, every inch of it — from her brow all the way down her slender legs. Her slim, petite frame emphasised the curves of her hips, of her chest. Sitting upright helped her breasts show their perky perfection. His hand still hid one nipple, but he could see the other, as vivid and rosy as her lips.

Lips which parted on her wanton, heaving breaths. Her whole face was flushed a fetching pink. He’d never before tried to picture a look of desire on his daughter’s face, but there it was. She was the spitting image of her mother. Heartbreakingly beautiful, with a touch of the exotic from the tiny black wings on her temples and the red gleam of her eyes. Yet, where Carmen’s hair was void-black, Jessie’s was red — red like her father’s.

The look in her eyes was still hazy. Her eyes were open, the lights were on, but nobody was home. She was still asleep.

That didn’t stop her. While the sight of her stunned him into stillness, she made quick work of his clothes. Both hands undid the last buttons of his shirt, while her tail hooked into his bottoms’ elastic waistband and dragged them down to his knees.

He suddenly remembered it was dangerous to wake sleepwalkers. He shouldn’t wake her, and he didn’t want to fight his daughter to shove her off. Clearly it was better to just relax.