All Chapters of Wanting His Father; Daddy Dom/ LG Forbidden Romance: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

IRISNot consciously, and not every single time. Just often enough that I notice myself doing it.The scissors. The sketchbook. The tape measure. The pattern weights. My eyes catalogue everything automatically before I cross the room, and when I return to the work space two minutes later, they catalogue it all again.I tell myself that I’m merely being organized, but the explanation feels increasingly thin. To distract myself from the intrusive thoughts, I make myself a cup of green tea, remind myself to take some ground coffee from the kitchen so I can play with the coffee machine tomorrow.As I wait for the kettle to boil, I lean against the counter, and fight to keep my eyes on the fields outside the window. What I will not do is look back at the damn work table, and make sure that everything is exactly where I left it forty seconds ago.You will not look. You have no reason to look.But despite my best efforts, as the kettle starts to whistle cheerfully, I look. Nothing has moved,

THOMASI pull back just enough to catch my breath, my lips brushing hers as I growl the words against her mouth:“Take your clothes off for me, princess. Slowly. The skirt first – unzip it and just let it fall.”Her eyes flicker with heat, and she shifts back on my lap just enough to obey, fingers trembling as they reach behind her to work the zipper down with deliberate care. The fabric whispers over her hips, sliding inch by inch down her thighs until it pools on the floor, leaving her in nothing but that sweater and thin panties already darkened with her wetness."Now the panties," I murmur, voice thick with restraint, my hands sliding up to rest on her hips but not helping, forcing her to do it herself. “Slow, baby girl. Let me watch every inch of you being exposed.”She hooks her thumbs into the waistband and eases them down with agonizing slowness, the material peeling away from her glistening folds to reveal the slick, swollen lips of her pussy, already flushed and needy. The sc

MARGARETThe night air is cold enough to make my eyes water.I tell myself that’s the reason that I blink so often as I cross the gravel, cutting away from the servants' entrance toward the dark sweep of lawn beyond the kitchen gardens. The manor glows behind me, golden windows suspended in rain and shadow, and for one moment I look back at it with something perilously close to grief. Ashcroft has always looked most beautiful at night, when darkness hides the cracks and the past seems kind enough to soften its own edges.I loved this house before I understood that houses don’t love anyone back. That was my mistake, perhaps. One of many.The grass is damp beneath my shoes as I make my way toward the gardener's cottage, keeping to the edge of the path where the trees offer the most cover. There’s no real need for secrecy. The staff have retired, Thomas and Iris are upstairs wrapped in whatever private tenderness has become more important than grief, and no one expects a housekeeper of m

IRISI wake to whiteness.For several seconds, that’s all I can understand. White ceiling, white sheets, white light spilling gently across the room from a window I can’t immediately see. The world smells faintly of antiseptic, and somewhere close by, something beeps with soft, obedient regularity.Then pain returns.Not sharply at first, more like awareness. A deep, pulsing ache wrapped carefully beneath layers of medication and bandage, sitting where my wrist used to feel like part of me and now feels like something fragile and separate.I make a small sound before I can stop it.Immediately, Daddy moves. He’s beside me, because of course he is. Sitting in the chair near the bed, jacket gone, sleeves rolled, one hand already closing carefully around mine before my eyes have properly focused. He looks exhausted in a way that I’ve only seen once before, after the funeral, when grief and fear had carved themselves into the hard lines of his face and left him older by morning.“Princess,

THOMASBy the time I reach Ashcroft, evening has settled softly over the estate.Lights glow gold behind mullioned windows, and for the first time in three days the house appears almost peaceful. It should comfort me, instead, I find myself wishing I were turning the car around and driving straight back to the hospital.Iris is asleep when I leave her, and the private nurse assures me she will likely remain that way until supper. I know she’s safe; rationally, there is nowhere safer, but emotion has very little interest in reason.I tell myself I’m back home here for practicalities. Some clean clothes, some perfume, shower stuff. Tomorrow, if all continues well, she’ll come home. The thought steadies me, and shift my focus to what she needs to get ready to leave the hospital for good.“Sir?”Margaret stands near the staircase.The sight of her isn’t unusual, yet something in her stillness catches my attention. She looks composed, as always, but not quite comfortable. Her hands are fol