The screen door slammed behind Arthur as he kicked off work boots crusted with dried mud. “Power’s out again,” he announced, tossing his keys onto the counter where they slid into a bowl of loose change. “Transformer blew near the old mill. Crews won’t get here ‘til morning.”

Tina looked up from her homework sprawled across the kitchen table. The flickering candlelight deepened the shadows under her eyes. “Morning? It’s already freezing.” She hugged her thin sweater tighter around herself, the worn fabric straining slightly across her chest. “My fingers are numb.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. “Blankets. Hot water bottles if the stove’s still warm.” He moved towards the hallway, his tall frame momentarily blocking the dim light from the single candle. “Just gotta ride it out, kiddo.” His footsteps faded upstairs.

Tina stared at the empty doorway. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Years of stolen glances, the accidental brush of his hand against hers when passing a plate, the way her stomach flipped when he laughed – it all crashed over her now. The dark house felt like permission. The cold vanished beneath a sudden, scorching wave of resolve. Tonight. It had to be tonight. She blew out the candle, plunging the kitchen into near-total darkness. Her bare feet made no sound on the cool wooden stairs as she climbed.

Upstairs, Arthur’s bedroom door stood slightly ajar. A sliver of weak moonlight filtered in from the window, illuminating the edge of his bed. Tina paused, pressing her forehead against the cool wood of the door frame. ‘He’s my father’, the thought screamed, sharp and terrifying. ‘This is wrong’. But the image of him, tall and strong, the warmth of his arms she craved, flooded her mind, drowning out the warning. The desire, thick and urgent, pushed the fear aside. She pushed the door open wider.

“Dad?” Her voice was a trembling whisper, barely audible. She padded silently to the side of his bed. He shifted under the blankets, his breathing deep and even. Tina hesitated, the enormity of what she was doing freezing her for a second. Then, driven by a desperate need she could no longer contain, she slipped under the thick comforter beside him. The heat radiating from his body was immediate and intense. She pressed herself against his back, the worn cotton of his t-shirt soft against her cheek. Her breasts, heavy and sensitive, flattened against his shoulder blade. “Dad ... I’m so cold,” she murmured, her voice thick with a feigned shiver, her hand tentatively resting on his waist.

Arthur stirred, groaning softly in his sleep. The warmth beside him registered slowly. He rolled onto his back, blinking in the dim light. “Tina?” Confusion clouded his sleep-heavy voice. His eyes adjusted. She was right there, impossibly close under the covers, her face inches from his. The thin strap of her camisole had slipped down one shoulder. Moonlight caught the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast barely contained by the flimsy fabric. A jolt, sharp and primal, shot through him – a sudden, undeniable awareness of her body pressed against his side. “What ... what are you doing?” The question was rough, laced with disbelief and the first flicker of something forbidden. He saw the look in her wide eyes – not fear, but a terrifying, pleading hunger. ‘My daughter’, his mind recoiled instantly, a cold wave of horror washing over the unwelcome heat pooling in his gut. He tried to pull back, creating a sliver of space. “Tina, get out. Go to your room.” But his voice lacked its usual command. It wavered. The warmth of her lingered where she’d touched him, a dangerous echo.

“I ‘can’t’,” she whispered, her voice thick and trembling. Her hand darted out, fingers brushing hesitantly against his bare forearm where his sleeve had ridden up. The contact sent sparks up his spine. “I’m freezing ... and scared.” Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “Please, Daddy ... just hold me? Just for a minute?” The plea hung in the charged darkness. Her other hand slid slowly across the sheets, coming to rest tentatively on his chest, over his pounding heart. He could feel the heat radiating from her palm through his thin t-shirt. Her thumb traced a small, unconscious circle. The sheer intimacy of it, the soft pressure, made his stomach clench. He felt a treacherous stirring beneath the blankets, a physical betrayal he despised. ‘No. Absolutely not. This is sick.’ He tried to summon anger, discipline, anything to shove her away. But the sight of her trembling lip, the vulnerability mixed with that raw, desperate need, pinned him. His resolve felt like sand slipping away.

He didn’t move. Didn’t push her hand away. Didn’t reinforce the command. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Tina felt the tremor in his muscles beneath her palm, saw the conflict warping his features. Hope, wild and terrifying, surged through her. Slowly, deliberately, she shifted closer, eliminating the distance he’d tried to create. Her thigh brushed against his hip. She tilted her face upwards, her lips slightly parted. Her breath warmed his jaw. “You feel so warm,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that didn’t sound like his little girl at all. Her fingers crept higher, tracing the line of his collarbone above his shirt. The tip of her thumb grazed the sensitive skin of his neck. A low, involuntary groan escaped Arthur’s lips before he could stifle it. The sound vibrated against her fingertips. Shame flooded him instantly, hot and acidic, but it was tangled with an overwhelming rush of sensation – the soft weight of her breast pressing against his ribs, the sweet scent of her hair so close, the unbearable softness of her skin beneath his rough fingers as his hand, seemingly of its own accord, lifted and settled hesitantly on her waist.

His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her hipbone. Tina gasped softly, a tiny, sharp intake of breath. The sound went straight to his groin. He felt her melt against him, her body arching subtly into the touch. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, lashes dark against her pale cheeks. When they opened, the hunger was blazing, undeniable. “Daddy...” The word was a sigh, loaded with everything unsaid. Her free hand slid slowly up his chest, over the cotton, fingers exploring the hard planes of muscle beneath. They paused over his nipple, hardened by the cool air and the sheer tension. She pressed her palm flat against it, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath. Then, with agonizing slowness, her hand drifted downward, tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen through the shirt. He watched, paralyzed, as her fingers reached the hem. They dipped beneath the fabric, cool against the heated skin of his stomach. The shock of her touch on bare flesh made his entire body jerk. A ragged curse tore from his throat. His hand on her waist spasmed, pulling her impossibly closer. Their hips aligned. He felt the soft mound of her pelvis press against his hardening length through the layers of fabric. The taboo screamed in his mind, a frantic alarm bell drowned out by the roaring rush of blood and the overwhelming, undeniable pull of her body against his. Resistance crumbled. His head dipped, his forehead resting against hers. Their breaths mingled, hot and frantic. “Christ, Tina...” His voice was a shattered rasp, thick with surrender and self-loathing. “What are we doing?” But his other arm was already wrapping around her back, pulling her fully against him, sealing the dreadful, inevitable intimacy.

Tina whimpered, a low sound of pure need vibrating against his chest. Her hand beneath his shirt slid lower, fingers trembling as they brushed the coarse hair leading downwards. She felt the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pajama pants, the heat radiating from it intense. “This,” she breathed against his lips, her own hips shifting instinctively, grinding against him. The friction, even through cloth, sent jolts of pure electricity through them both. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants. “Please ... Daddy... ‘please’...” The plea was raw, desperate, stripping away any pretense. Her thumb traced the thick, pulsing vein along the top of his shaft through the thin cotton. Arthur groaned, deep and guttural, the sound torn from somewhere primal. His hand on her waist slipped lower, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of her ass, pulling her tighter against his thrusting hardness. His other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her face up. Their eyes locked – hers wide, pleading, drowning in desire; his dark, clouded with lust and agonizing conflict. The last shred of denial evaporated. He crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, a collision of pent-up longing and terrifying taboo. His lips were rough, demanding, claiming hers with a possessiveness that made her moan into his mouth. Her lips parted instantly, yielding. His tongue swept in, hot and insistent, tangling with hers. The taste of him – sleep and mint toothpaste and something uniquely ‘him’ – flooded her senses. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching at the worn cotton of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. Her breasts flattened against his chest, nipples hardening into aching points against the thin camisole. His hand slid from her ass up her back, bunching the flimsy fabric of her top, then plunged beneath it. His rough palm scraped against the smooth skin of her spine, making her arch violently against him. He broke the kiss, panting harshly, his lips trailing wet, burning paths down her neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin below her ear, drawing another sharp gasp. His hand roamed upwards beneath her top, fingers finding the clasp of her bra. With a practiced flick, it released. The garment loosened. His hand slid around her ribcage, his thumb brushing the underside of her heavy breast. She cried out, her body trembling violently. He cupped the full weight of her breast in his palm, his thumb rubbing rough circles over the hardened peak straining against the thin cotton of her camisole. The sensation was exquisite torture. Her head fell back, exposing her throat as she gasped for air. “God ... Daddy ... yes...”

He pulled her camisole and bra straps roughly down her shoulders, baring her breasts completely. The cool air hit her overheated skin, making her nipples tighten painfully. He stared down at them, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with awed hunger. “Jesus, Tina...” His voice was thick with disbelief and lust. He lowered his head, his hot mouth closing over one stiff peak. His tongue flicked against it, rough and wet, before he sucked hard. A shockwave of pure pleasure ripped through her, making her hips buck against his erection. Her fingers twisted in his hair, holding him to her. He groaned against her flesh, the vibration sending tremors deep into her core. His other hand slid down her belly, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her pajama bottoms and panties. He encountered damp curls. Tina whimpered, spreading her legs instinctively. His fingers delved lower, finding her slick, swollen folds. He explored her with rough urgency, tracing her slit, circling her clit. She cried out, her body arching off the bed. “Oh God ... Daddy ... don’t stop...” Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. He slid one thick finger deep inside her wet heat. She clenched around him instantly, tight and hot. He added a second finger, stretching her, filling her. The sensation was overwhelming – the invasion, the roughness of his calloused fingers, the sheer forbidden intimacy of her father’s hand buried inside her. She shattered, her climax hitting her violently, a wave of pure ecstasy that ripped a scream from her throat as her body convulsed around his thrusting fingers. He held her through it, his mouth still working her breast, his own hips grinding against her thigh. As the tremors subsided, he withdrew his fingers slowly, glistening with her wetness. He brought them to his lips, tasting her, his eyes locked on hers. The raw intimacy of the gesture sent another jolt through her spent body. He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a dark, possessive whisper. “Mine.”

Arthur shifted his weight, pulling her pajama bottoms and panties down her legs in one swift motion. Tina kicked them off, her heart hammering anew. Moonlight spilled over her nakedness, illuminating the flush on her skin, the swell of her breasts, the dark triangle between her thighs. He stared at her, his gaze raking over her body with a possessiveness that made her shiver. His own pajama pants were tented obscenely. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, pushing them down past his hips. His erection sprang free, thick and rigid, the head flushed dark and leaking. Tina’s seemed shocked at the sight – the primal reality of her father’s arousal, the sheer size of him. A flicker of apprehension warred with the molten desire pooling again in her belly. He positioned himself between her legs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her slick entrance. He paused, his eyes searching hers, his chest heaving. His voice was rough gravel, thick with conflict and unbearable need. “Tina ... baby ... look at me.” She forced her eyes open, meeting his tortured gaze. “Is this ... is this what you want?” His hips pressed forward slightly, the pressure intense, stretching her tender opening. “Tell me. Tell me you want this. Tell me you want your daddy to fuck you.” The crude word hung in the air, shocking and electrifying. It stripped away the last pretense, laying bare the raw, forbidden act.

A tremor ran through Tina. Hearing him say it, the explicit demand, ignited a fresh fire within her. Any lingering shred of hesitation evaporated in the face of his desperate need mirrored in his eyes. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling the thick heat of him poised at her core. Her voice, when it came, was low and husky, stripped of innocence. “Yes, Daddy,” she breathed, her gaze locked fiercely with his. “Fuck me. Please ... fuck me now.” She arched her hips upwards, offering herself completely, inviting the invasion. “I want it. I want ‘you’.”

The plea shattered Arthur’s last restraint. A guttural groan tore from his throat. He thrust forward, hard and deep, burying himself inside her to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Tina gasped, a sharp cry escaping her lips as he filled her completely, stretching her tight virgin passage. The sudden fullness was intense, overwhelming – a burning stretch mixed with a deep, profound satisfaction. He paused for a heartbeat, buried deep within her trembling body, his forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling. Her inner muscles clenched instinctively around his invading thickness, drawing a ragged gasp from him. “Christ ... Tina ... so tight...” Then he began to move. Slow, deep pulls withdrawing him almost completely, followed by powerful thrusts that drove him back into her slick depths. The rhythm was primal, possessive. Each thrust pushed the air from her lungs, each withdrawal left her aching. She met his movements, her hips lifting to meet his downward plunge, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back. The friction was exquisite, the slide of his thick shaft against her sensitive inner walls sending sparks of pleasure radiating through her core. She could feel every ridge, every pulse of him inside her. His breath came in harsh pants against her neck. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next thrust brushed against something deep inside her. A bolt of pure, electric pleasure shot through Tina, making her cry out, her body arching wildly. Her inner walls fluttered violently around him. Arthur groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Feel that, baby?” he rasped, thrusting harder, hitting that spot again deliberately. “Feel your daddy filling you up?” The possessive words, combined with the relentless assault on her sensitive spot, sent her spiraling towards another devastating climax.