Author's note:
This is the story of Rebecca and her loving single father, John, who are harboring some rather unusual thoughts about each other that go quite a bit beyond the usual daddy-daughter dynamic.
If daddy-daughter stuff isn't your thing, you should probably look elsewhere.
Also, this is a very slow burn, and this is only the first part. If you prefer a quick exposition followed by pages of hardcore sex, you'll probably be disappointed. This is actually more of an erotic love story.
While I've been writing for a while, this is the first story I've shown to anyone else, so constructive criticism is welcome (emphasis on the 'constructive' part).
I hope you all enjoy my hard work!
Wednesday
Rebecca huffed as she stomped into the house, dumping her bag unceremoniously on the floor with a loud thud and slamming the door behind her. She was practically fuming with anger, her hazel eyes glaring at nothing and everything all at once.
She shed her jacket, leaving it in a disorganized pile in the middle of the floor as usual, and grumbled something unflattering about her school, her teachers, and the whole concept of authority in general.
In the living room, her single father, John, sighed as he closed the book he'd been reading and took off his glasses. He knew that sound all too well by now. He'd had a lot of practice lately, particularly this week. A little too much practice for his tastes. With measured and controlled movements, he put the book down and laid his glasses neatly on top of it.
"In here, young lady," he said firmly, his otherwise calm voice carrying a hint of tiredness and just a bit of irritation. When she didn't immediately react, he raised his voice a little.
"Now, Rebecca," he said with growing impatience.
Even through her seething anger, Rebecca noticed the edge in her father's voice and stopped, one foot already on the stairs leading up to the top floor and her room. She knew what that tone meant - there was no arguing with him when he sounded like that. Reluctantly, she turned and marched into the living room, her chin held defiantly high despite the flutter in her stomach.
Her father was looking at her, seated in his favorite chair, clad in his typical off-work clothes consisting of loose-fitting slacks, a t-shirt, and an unbuttoned shirt, his deep brown eyes conveying that perfect mixture of calm, disappointment, and concern that he did so well.
She huffed again, crossing her arms as she stood before him with a petulant frown on her face, inadvertently striking a pose that accentuated the curves she'd developed over the last couple of years while trying to hide the nervousness that she always felt under his intense gaze when she knew she'd misbehaved.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but his daughter remained quiet, pointedly turning her head to look out the window, the unnecessarily furious movement making her wavy brown ponytail flip round and spill over her shoulder.
"So," he began calmly, "are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait for the phone call from the principal?"
"Dad --" Rebecca started in that high-pitched exasperated voice she always used when she complained about something, about to launch into a rant about how stupid everyone always was. He cut her off.
"
Another
phone call from the principal," he added, his annoyance making him emphasize the first word of the sentence. "In fact, the third phone call from the principal this week."
"But -- "
"Even though it's only Wednesday."
Rebecca opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it at the last moment.
"On top of the two I got last week," he continued, keeping his voice low with an obvious effort.
"I got d- " Rebecca started angrily, still looking out the window.
"Look at me, young lady," he interrupted sternly.
Swallowing hard, she looked at him, one hand fidgeting momentarily with the hem of her top and her eyes flickering a little before they found his, betraying the anxiousness she was trying to hide. Her jaw worked for a moment.
"I got detention," she spat. "Again," she added after a short pause. "Happy now, dad?" she asked in a much quieter voice, looking down again, her voice testy but carrying a subtle note of regret.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut in a frustrated grimace that brought out the fine lines on his face. As he opened them again to look at her, the subdued anger in them almost made Rebecca take a step backwards. She managed not to, but she could feel her defiance evaporating fast, and she knew that it showed on her face.
"No, Rebecca, I am most certainly not happy," he said, his voice low as he fought to control his anger.
"Three detentions in as many days?" he asked, his usually calm voice rising uncharacteristically as his control slipped, sounding very loud in her ears, making her wince slightly. He shook his head in frustration as he got to his feet.
"This is unacceptable," he said. "You need to stop acting out like this!"
He started pacing, running his hand frustratedly through his hair, the salt-and-pepper on top of his head fading into a distinguished silver at his temples.
"I've tried being supportive," he said, exasperated, gesturing with his left hand, "I've tried grounding you, taking your phone away..." He sighed. "Hell, we've even tried therapy," he said.
Rebecca huffed yet again at the last comment.
"That stuck-up sanctimonious bitch," she mumbled, but shut her mouth at the furious glance her father sent her.
"I..." he started, his voice still raised, but trailed off, taking a deep, deliberate breath as he fought to control himself.
"I've tried everything I can think of," he continued, his displeasure somehow even more evident despite his voice being quiet once more, "but nothing seems to get through to you."
