She locked her legs behind him and squeezed, kissing him harder, and he moaned, his hands beginning to roam over her, slipping underneath her shirt in back. The feel of his large, warm hands on her skin made her shiver. This was just what she imagined this would feel like, even down to the pulsing ache between her thighs. Especially that.

He broke contact suddenly, looking wild-eyed and panicked. He tried to push her away, but her long, slender legs were locked too tightly around him.

She bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. He cleared his throat and said sternly,

“Darla, this is very, very wrong. We can’t do this.”

“It’s not wrong to love me, Daddy,” she whispered. “Please love me. Please.”

He shook his head, but she saw his eyelids flutter when she moved against him, shifting that hard thing between them. It rubbed against the crotch of her panties, and she felt moisture there, like she’d wet herself. His response made her bolder, and she reached down between them to investigate, her searching hand indeed finding wetness.

Oh, it felt so good when she rubbed herself like this! Sometimes she would do it for hours and hours at night, twisting and turning the covers between her legs, aching for some sort of release that never came. She felt like that now.

“It feels good when I do this,” she confessed, tucking the crotch of her panties between her fleshy lips, and moving her fingers over the material. His breath was coming faster, his eyes half-closed as she rubbed herself, the back of her hand nudging that solid heat between them.

“I know,” he said reluctantly, his voice tight, but then he relented. “Darla, baby… you’re so beautiful when you do that.”

She glowed, soaking in the praise, eagerly kneading her flesh faster, arching her back. His hands moved under her shirt, his fingers meeting at her spine and his thumbs nearly touching at her navel, wrapping almost entirely around the narrow expanse of her waist. He pressed her gently down against his crotch, against the rigid heat there, and she smiled at him. He slid his hands upward, lifting her t-shirt, his thumbs moving over the small girlish protrusions there. She gasped when he thumbed her little nipples.