I laid in bed, eyes closed, listening for the telltale sound of snoring, waiting, but still the silence dragged on. For the past ten or so minutes my fingers moved, teasing my mound, occasionally sneaking down to dip into my growing wetness as I waited impatiently.
Then I heart it, the faintest sound. I pulled my fingers from my panties and brought them up, slipping them between my lips, moaning softly, both at my scent and at my taste. And when there was nothing left of my essence, I pulled my fingers from my lips and brought them down to my hips, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and easing them over my hips and down my legs.
I knew I only had a couple minutes before he came searching for me. I had other plans though. Dressed only in a tee shirt, one that would just cover my panties, were I wearing any, I slipped out of bed and crept to my door, easing it open, listening. A moment later I heard it again; the unmistakable sound of a snore.
I slipped out into the hall and padded quietly to the open door at the end of the hall. I stood there for a full minute, waiting, wanting to be sure she was asleep. Satisfied, I crept in, tiptoeing, holding my breath, my heart rate spiking as I drew closer to the bed, my stomach fluttering with excitement.
As I approached, his eyes opened, startling me. I put my hand to my chest, my gaze going quickly to the slumbering form on the opposite side of the bed; my mother.
I bit my lip, giving him a troubled look. “I can’t sleep,” I whispered.
His gaze dropped, lingering for just a moment on my legs before coming back up. He shook his head slowly, though in the dim light, I couldn’t tell whether he was perturbed or amused.
I held my breath, waiting, hoping he wouldn’t send me back to my room. I released a quiet breath a moment later when he lifted the covers. I eased myself in, careful not to shake the bed as I moved. He settled the covers over me and I slid back against him.
For several long moments we lay there, the only sound my mother’s occasional snore. Finally, he turned onto his side, molding himself to my back, his fingers going into my hair, pulling it behind my ear. “You’re getting too old to be sneaking into bed with us, honey,” he whispered.
“But I want to be near you.” I said, turning to meet his gaze. “I love you, Daddy.”
He blew out a quiet breath. “I love you too, pumpkin.”
I wiggled back into him, trying to mold myself to him, wanting every part of him against me. And when his hand come to rest on my hip I took it in mine and pulled it up to my chest, sighing, content.
It wasn’t long before I felt the hard warmth of him against my lower back. It was terribly thrilling to know that I had such an effect on him, that he couldn’t be this close to me without getting excited, without wanting me. I bent my knee and drew the arch of my foot up his calf, the hair there tickling me, making my toes curl.
“Baby…” he whispered, his breath warm on my neck, in my ear.
“Yes, Daddy?” Even as I breathed the words, I drew a finger over the back of his hand, down his finger, the touch soft.