It was four in the afternoon when we landed on Santa Verena. My 18-year-old step-daughter Evie and I had flown from New York and the peaceful, verdant island was a welcome relief from the busy, traffic-choked city. The trip was a reward for Evie for graduating high school, but it was a reward for me too. It was time to teach her a last lesson before she went off to college in the fall.
I'd been to Santa Verena a decade or so before with Evie's mom, staying at a beautiful old resort on the west end of the tiny island. We stayed in a villa twenty feet from the shore, one of a dozen tucked in among the coconut palm groves. The white walls were covered by cascades of hot pink bougainvillea, the doors opened wide to the air, and it was quiet but for the crashing of waves, the rustling of palms and the chuckle of birds. It was the most peaceful place on earth. That was where I would do it. That's where I was going to fuck my daughter.
Evie's biological father was a Swedish economics professor who'd come to New York in the 1990s, met and married Lydia, and died from an undiagnosed heart condition shortly after Evie was born. I'd married Evie's mother Lydia nine years ago, and lost her five years later in a fatal collision between her sports car and a drunk stockbroker in an SUV on the West Side Highway.
I'd adopted Evie as my own daughter, and we'd been each other's only family for a long time now. From her mother Evie had inherited a summer cottage on Nantucket, chocolate-brown eyes and an exquisitely beautiful face. From her father she had inherited a comfortable portfolio of stocks and bonds, and a thick, silky head of blonde hair.
Tall and slender and toned, Evie had her mother's full, luscious breasts and perfect, peachy ass. Her skin was smoother than smooth, pale gold and faintly translucent in the sun. I began to ache whenever I saw her, even when she was curled up on the sofa eating cereal on a Saturday morning.
I knew it was wrong. I knew. I tried not to think about it. But she'd started to catch me off guard, hugging me suddenly, her soft breasts pressing into my chest, the smell of her hair sweet and clean as new straw, and I'd have to rapidly retreat to my office to hide my burgeoning erection. I buried myself in work for my architectural firm, and wasn't nearly as present as a father should be. But she made me feel like a teenager again, libido out of control, my thoughts obsessively returning again and again to her delicious body. I couldn't stand it.
I wanted her.
I needed her.
The day after graduation, we flew down to the island. We checked into our villa, as light and breezy as I had remembered it. There was only one bed, a vast king-size with smooth white sheets and thick feather pillows.
Evie paused as she saw it. She said nothing, just looked at it, and then went to explore the rest of the grounds. I showered and then sat on the veranda reading as the sun sank and cast long shadows and golden light. Some time later, Evie returned, walking barefoot over the grass, tranquil and relaxed. "Can we go have dinner?" she asked. "I'm starving."
I put down my book and we went to eat. We sat by the ocean and ate grilled mahi-mahi and coconut rice and drank crisp, cold Sancerre in the warm evening. Tea lights flickered as we talked, laughing as she told me about what she'd been up to with her friends the night before. As my little girl sipped her wine, giggling at the memories and chattering animatedly, I looked at her and thought, I am going to be inside you tonight. I am going to stretch your sweet pussy until you moan.
After dinner, we walked back through the palm grove, stopping to look at the stars, so bright and clear compared to the dull haze of the city sky at night. I unlocked the door to our villa, and swung the French doors until they were wide open, the night breeze catching the white linen drapes, sending them billowing like sails into the darkened room.
As Evie stepped forward to enter, I reached out and caught her by the waist and in one swift movement pushed her up against the door jamb. I held her there, my arm outstretched, hand against her warm stomach. I looked at her, and she shyly met my eyes. I smiled with wry amusement.
"You know what's coming, don't you?"
"I think so," she whispered.
I moved closer, my hand sliding up her body, pausing for a heartbeat over the swell of her breast, then up over her clavicle to her neck and then around the back of her head. Her hair was silky between my splayed fingers. Her body trembled almost imperceptibly. I leaned in, and my mouth barely grazed hers, and then slightly pulled back. I laughed quietly, and then lightly ran the tip of my tongue over her barely parted lower lip. Evie held her breath, and we stayed still for a long moment, poised on the edge of a precipice. Then I slid my tongue into her waiting mouth and she opened to me. I pressed her into the doorway, my body flush with hers, my mouth dipping slowly, drowsily to her soft, probing tongue.
After a few minutes, I broke away, and looked at her. She gazed back at me, her eyes ever so slightly unfocused. I caught her by the hand and led her into the villa. We moved toward the enormous bed. Stopping at the foot, I reached around and unzipped her white knee-length sheath dress, her head tilted back as I bent around her. The dress slipped over her shoulders and fell into a satin puddle at her feet. I ran my hands over my daughter's breasts, feeling the smooth, warm curves under the sleek fabric of her bra. Unhooking it in two fluid popping movements, the bra fell wide over her back. I slid the white straps over her pale golden shoulders, and it dropped to the floor.
Her breasts were full and lush and heavy, her nipples light pink and tilted slightly upwards. I brushed my thumbs over them, my fingers pushing gently into the softness of her perfect globes. Evie gasped, her breath catching in her throat as I pressed harder, my fingertips leaving small white circles on her skin that faded back to gold as I released my grip. Leaning forward, I kissed her neck, sliding slowly upwards until I felt the fluttering pulse under the curve of her jaw, hot and alive under my lips. She smelled of warm frangipani and cool cedar, and of clean summer skin.
Evie turned her head, and our mouths met, kissing again and again, tongues sliding around each other. She ran her hands up over my shoulders and behind my neck and pulled me down closer to her. Her lips reached for mine, greedily seeking more. She began to pull at my pale blue oxford shirt, unbuttoning it with quick movements-one, two, three, four, five-until it fell open, and she roughly yanked it from my shoulders, pulling my rolled sleeves over my forearms until I was free. Her hands slid up my muscular back, and then down again until they were resting on my ass, pulling my pelvis closer to hers.
