Daddy's Little Girl

by Christine Morgan

        He saw her through the crowd and was once again amazed by her beauty. It was as if his mind simply could not accept that any one woman could be so flawless and sexy and desirable, so each time he saw her anew, he reeled from the shock.
         She was like a beacon, beckoning to him from across the room. Her power, her spell, was undeniable. She hadn't even looked his way. He started toward her, barely sparing a glance for the people he passed, though they included some of the wealthiest and most influential people in the city of Pandathaway. Some of them greeted him, and ordinarily he would have stopped to charm them with his legendary wit and style, but it was all he could do to manage a few distracted words before being drawn inexorably onward. For now, all he could focus on was the woman at the bar.
         She was, without question, stunning. Her long black hair, loose and flowing, shimmered with an inner glow, a vague hint of copper flame, the only outward sign of the fires of hell that burned in her blood. Her face was perfect, neither heart-shaped nor triangular but somewhere in between, suggesting a compelling blend of innocence and slyness. Feathery black brows arced over eyes that were a deep shade of silver-grey, alternately stormy or satin-smooth. She had her father's determined chin, hinting at strong will and arrogance, and her mother's exotic cheekbones. It was a face that was made to display fierce emotion, most particularly passion and anger. The face of a dangerous, wildly exciting woman.
         The face alone would have been enough to captivate most men, but her beauty did not stop there. Her skin was like ivory with a faint sheen of gold, making a man's fingers itch to touch it, to see if it could possibly be as smooth as it looked. Her neck was graceful, adorned tonight with a necklace of silver and rubies that, despite its value, seemed a mere trinket, a bauble shamed by the perfection of the body it decorated. A large star ruby, cut in a teardrop shape, dangled enticingly into the valley of her cleavage, and even that expensive stone paled in comparison with those softer jewels between which it rested. Her dress was black velvet, sleeveless, backless, the bodice snug against her torso. Her spectacular breasts rose and fell as she breathed, threatening to overflow the low-cut top of her gown. Her waist was small, the sort of waist that looked like a man could encircle it with his hands and made him yearn to try. The tight skirt of velvet clung to the curves of her hips, and was slit to reveal a breathtaking view of long, lovely legs clad in sheer black silk stockings. The eye loved to follow the lines of those legs, from the dainty black velvet slippers up over the slender calf to her perfectly dimpled knees, and from there proceed as high as the slit would allow, daring a glimpse of lush thigh. They were legs made for dancing, or for even more enjoyable activities. Her arms, sheathed to the elbow in black gloves, were graceful and feminine, yet smoothly muscled enough to hint of swords and knives, adding to her air of mystery and danger.
         Yes, Lillith was easily the most desirable woman in the world. As he approached her, he reflected once more how inconvenient it was that she was his daughter.
         At first, he'd considered it a bonus that his children matured at twice the speed of normal humans. It was part of their demonic legacy from his beloved Rebecca, and in many ways, it had been quite helpful. He rarely had to worry about the troublesome aspects of their childhood, because the phases passed so quickly that he barely noticed. In less than ten years, his oldest twins were already fully adult, ready to take on some of the awesome responsibilities and world-shaking events that came from associating with Harold Ethelbald. But their rapid development had had more than one unsettling side effect. His daughter had grown into her succubus heritage and become one of the most beautiful women in the world while he was still a young man, and his eye for the ladies had, if anything, grown keener over the years. He'd made a hobby, a habit, a career out of winning the favors of beautiful women. It was very frustrating to have the most gorgeous be forever forbidden him.
         Due to her succubus blood, Lillith was an extremely sensuous creature. And due to her Ethelbald blood, she was also a thrill-seeker, a risk-taker, one who delighted in a challenge. She delighted in seducing men, invading their dreams and fulfilling their desires, though for some reason her powers manifested differently from the rest of her succubus kin. Instead of leaving a man feeling weak and drained, she left a feeling of marvelous relaxation, taking away pain and internal conflict. Her abilities only made her more tempting.
         Matters had been made worse by Lillith's own attraction to him. Since she was a little girl, she had always been enthralled by her daddy, saying that she wanted to marry him when she grew up. Unlike most girls, she had never grown out of that childhood fascination. In some ways, her situation mirrored his own. Her father was one of the most sought-after men in the world, with women everywhere daydreaming of having affairs with him, and she could not. It was unfair. He felt it too. Terribly unfair.
         Rebecca knew of his unholy interest in their daughter, just as she knew of his not-so-secret obsessive love for the Princess Aylara and a host of affairs with other women. She was able to accept most of them, knowing that in the end he always returned home to her. But Lillith was also at home, and the constant electrical tension growing between father and daughter had often plunged the gentle half-demoness into a depression. Harry had finally promised to keep their relationship on a familial level, though many times he had to almost physically restrain himself. And, sometimes, though he would not admit it even to himself, sometimes there crept into his heart a tiny flicker of resentment. He loved his wife, loved her in a way that he had never felt for anyone else. He hated to cause her anguish. But sometimes he just couldn't help it.     Watching Lillith now, as she plucked a long-stemmed cherry from the bottom of her glass, tipped back her head, and nipped it delicately from the stem with her eyes shut in rapture, he knew that this was going to be one of those times.
         "Hello, Lil," he said.
         She slowly turned to face him, her body swaying sinuously. She glanced up at him from beneath sooty lashes, a knowing smile curving her lush lips. "Hi, Daddy," she purred, not the least bit surprised at his approach.
         "Enjoying the party?" He slid onto the stool next to her and she shifted to allow him more room. Her silk-clad leg whispered against his, sending tingles of lust up his spine. Her foot pressed lightly against his calf, lingering for a moment too long to be an accidental touch.
         "I am now," she said, leaning forward enough to tantalize him with a glimpse of the deep valley between her breasts. The ruby glinted like a red star.
         He grinned at her. "I hope you're behaving yourself," he cautioned. "At least you're not dressed too outrageously this year."
         She pouted and walked her gloved fingers up his arm. "What's the matter, Daddy? Didn't you like my lace dress?"
         "Everyone liked it. That's the problem. Everyone liked it a lot. Too much to be decent."     "I never claimed to be decent," she said loftily, toying with his cravat. Besides, I didn't hear anyone complaining. None of the men, anyway. Of course the ladies were jealous. But even Lucius liked it I could tell."
         "Could you?" he asked, amused, reluctantly moving her hand away from him and setting it on the bar.
         "I have my ways." She lifted her glass and drained it, flicking her quick tongue across the rim.
         Reminding himself yet again that she was his daughter and therefore off-limits, he signaled the bartender and ordered brandy. "Would you like another drink?" he asked Lillith.     "Just one more." She winked at him. "I wouldn't want to get drank and do something irresponsible."
         "Too bad," he commented.
         The bartender returned quickly with their drinks.
         "So, where has that fiance of yours gotten to?" Harry sipped his brandy. It was smooth and cool at first, but pleasantly warm almost immediately. Not unlike Lillith, he thought, and mentally chastened himself again.
         "Off and about somewhere," she said, waving a hand languidly. "Dying to add to his list of seductions."
        "I see how much it bothers you."
         She tossed her head and laughed huskily. "Oh, Daddy. You're so funny. Warren and I have an understanding."
         They certainly did. Warren Maran, Dalcont of Greenvale and son of two of Harry's oldest enemies, was as much a creature of pleasure and sensation as Lillith herself. Both gifted with extraordinary good looks and sensual grace, they were quite the couple. Harry was secretly sure that Warren's demonic gift of shapechanging added an extra thrill to their love life. He would never admit it to the smug bastard, but he was sometimes jealous of Warren. He had a fair amount of the seductive skills that Harry himself knew, but was unencumbered by the responsibilities of a wife and family. Even if he ever did quit stalling and actually married Lil, she would never complain about his fooling around. She would be far too busy entertaining lovers of her own, and perhaps joining her husband in his escapades.
         "You two may," he said, "but I doubt some of these Pandathans would feel the same. I hope he's not getting in trouble with someone's wife."
         "Shame, shame, Daddy. Casting judgments? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."     "When have I gotten in trouble with someone's wife?" He affected a wounded tone.
         "What about Aylara?"
         "I've never messed with her."
         "Lady DeMarisco?"
         "Her husband doesn't mind."
         "Her husband doesn't know."
         "Always got a quick defense, don't you?" Without giving him a chance to reply, she finished her drink and stood. "Are you going to sit there all night or dance with me?"
         Knowing he shouldn't, but unable to resist the double lure of her striking beauty and challenging eyes, he tossed back the rest of his brandy and took her arm. If there is room on your dance card for your father," he said, stressing the word, trying to remind her of their agreement as well.
         "I've always got room for you," she said, letting him know that she heard and ignored his warning.
         He shook his head in equal parts admiration and exasperation as they moved onto the floor. As an extra touch of his damnation, the band chose that moment to strike up a popular slow love song.
         They began to dance. He couldn't believe how well she fit into his arms, her breasts snuggled against his chest. He smelled her musky scent. He forced his mind onto neutral matters to keep his body from reacting. His poor body didn't know the difference between one beautiful woman and another. That left it up to his weak and tormented mind to make those vital distinctions.
         She laughed softly. "Why, Daddy," she whispered, brushing her hips against him. "I think you like this dress, too."
         "Lillith," he said in a low, strangled voice, glancing around.
         "Nobody's watching." She breathed in his ear. "Don't worry."
         He tried to step back, but her arms were firmly around him and he was not really trying as hard as he could have been.
         "If you think someone might see, we could go upstairs." One of her hands strayed dangerously low on his back.
         "Lil!" Mere yards away, Lucius was dancing with his lovely queen, and beyond them was his own grandmother, engaged in conversation with two former Council members.
         She worked one of her legs between his and rubbed her shapely thigh against the uncontrollable swelling at his groin.       "Let's go upstairs." All of a sudden, she wasn't his little girl anymore. The playfulness and pastiness dropped from her manner. She was all woman, warm and firm and delicious. He wanted her. More than that, he needed her.
         "Yes, let's," he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own.
         Unable to hide a small triumphant smile, she led him from the dance floor and to the curving stair that led to the upper guest rooms of the Guildhall. Incredibly, no one seemed to notice their departure. No eyes followed them, no mouths leaned close to eager ears to pass on conspiratorial gossip. He was hypnotized by the motion of Lillith's body as she climbed the stairs, by the way her dusky hair brushed across her back, by the way her dress outlined her gorgeous ass, by the way she turned her head to taunt him with her flashing eyes. Gods, it was too much for one man to bear. He was only a man, not a saint, not a monk. And no man could remain immune to the charms of a temptress with the unholy powers of the Abyss behind her face and figure.
         He tried to say something, but she shushed him. The halls of the guest wing were quiet, but soft music and low voices behind some of the doors spoke of other, more intimate parties. Seemingly at random, Lillith went to a door and opened it without knocking. He tensed in anticipation of discovery, of an interrupted couple wanting to know just what Harold Ethelbald was doing prowling the guest rooms in the company of his seductive daughter But the room was empty.
         Like all of the guest rooms, it was luxuriously furnished. A low couch heaped with pillows offered a spectacular view of the Pandathan skyline. Tonight, with the entire city ringing in the New Year, the buildings were alight with magical radiance and dazzling illusions filled the sky as the makes let themselves go this one night of the year. The sleeping area was partitioned off by a sparkling translucent drape. Beyond the curtain was a large bed of the antique Irendian style, with four posts rising to support a wooden top that was covered with detailed Irendian frescos of passionate scenes.
         Lillith closed the door behind them. Very deliberately, she locked it and dropped the key down the fluted neck of an Entysan vase.
         "Here we are," she said.
         "So it would seem," he replied, waiting for her to make the first move.
         She did. Gliding across the floor, she slid her arms around him and pressed the entire delicious length of her body against his. Her gloved fingers sought his black hair and pulled his head down. Her crimson lips met his in a lingering kiss that sent shivers through him.
         "Oh, Daddy," she murmured against his mouth.
         He embraced her, but when he tried to cup her buttocks, she twisted out of his grip and waved a finger in a negative gesture.
         "Bad boy, Daddy. You know you're not supposed to do that."
         "What about you? You're not supposed to be kissing me, or bringing me up here."
         "It's not my fault," she pouted, but her eyes glinted playfully. "I can't help it if my parents didn't teach me how to be a good girl."
         "Maybe you need a spanking," he suggested, remembering a night in the kitchen of their Autumnwood home when a spanking had very nearly turned into an indiscretion. If not for the untimely intervention of a gnomish intruder, the gods only knew what would have happened.     "I'm resigned to the fact that I'm wicked," she sighed. "I think you're the one who needs to learn to behave."
         "Oh, do you?"
         "I mean, you can't even control yourself around a pretty girl."
         "I certainly can. I am a master of control."
         "Really? Then what happens when I do this?" She began to move, slowly, dancing to the distant strains of the music that drifted up from the ballroom. And as she danced, she began rolling her glove down her slim arm and swirling her hair across her shoulders.
         "Gods, Lil, you're a bitch," he said, unable to tear his eyes away.
         She laughed and flung the grave into the air. It landed half over a lamp and she started on the other one. Holding the ends of the glove in both hands, she swayed close to him and left it hanging around his neck. He started to reach for her and she whirled away. Facing away from him, she undid the clasps of her gown one by one, with agonizing slowness. She let the dress fall and spun toward him, now clad in heels, stockings, and a black camisole with cutaway cups that lifted her perfect breasts but left them bare. Her dark nipples were hard and tight with arousal. Between the tops of her stockings and the lacy bottoms of her panties, her creamy thighs were visible beneath her garters. She raised her arms, crossing her hands behind her head and lifting her fall of long hair as she turned, showing him every line and curve.
         "What do you think, Daddy? Do you like what you see?"
         "You know I do."
         "And are you still the master of control?"
         "Of course," he lied, digging his nails into his palms and forming his hands to stay at his sides as she moved closer, closer, until the tips of her breasts just brushed the front of his doublet. She pursed her lush lips and blew a kiss at him.
         "Why don't we get you out of some of these things?" She deftly began undressing him, but batted his hands away when he eagerly attempted to help her. "Hold still and be a good boy," she warned.
         He stood perfectly still, heart pounding with frustrated desire as she slowly peeled off his clothes. She paused from time to time to look up at him, mouth curved in a knowing smile. Oh, she was arrogant, but she was justified. There was no way he could have hidden his reaction. Not even a plunge into the icy waters of Fall Mountain Lake could have cooled his ardor by the time the last scrap of his clothes had flown to land in a scattered pile on the floor.
         Lillith stepped back and surveyed him, hands on her hips in a way that made her breasts jut forward enticingly. "You certainly do like me," she commented.
         "Come here, you bad girl, and you'll pay for this."
         "Why, Daddy," she laughed. "I'd never pay for it. Why don't you lie down and get comfy?"
         He wanted to throw the smug little Jinx on the carpet and teach her a lesson, but her suggestion had the power of her succubus blood backing it up, so he had to obey. He went to the bed and stretched out, feeling the cool silk against his warm skin. Lillith went to the side of the bed and propped his head on a pillow. Her breasts hovered just above his face, but when he lifted his mouth to them, she pushed him down.
         "Patience," she chided, leaning down to kiss him.
         He was enjoying the kiss, feeling his already aching passion increase, when he suddenly felt her grab his hand and move it roughly. Before he could react or protest, she had lashed his wrist securely to the bedpost and crawled over him to do the other one.
         "I think you need a little reminder about control," she said teasingly, tying his other wrist. He tried to get away, but not seriously, because her aggression was driving him crazy. He could hardly wait to see what she did next.
         However, he did not see what she did next, because what she did was flip a blindfold over his eyes and tie it snugly behind his head.
         "Be quiet, Daddy. We wouldn't want anyone to find you like this."
         He wasn't concerned, knowing that he could wiggle out of the bonds with enough time, but he had the feeling that he would be far too distracted to think about escape. He was proved right as Lillith trailed her hair across his captive body and lowered her head to kiss her way from his collarbone to his navel. Her lips were hot, her tongue darting to the places that she knew were sensitive. It was delightful torture, almost ticklish but not quite, and he found the illusion of helplessness very exciting.
         She moved back up and began kissing him, teasing, nibbling at the corners of his mouth, pulling away when he tried to respond, rubbing her hands across his chest and lightly scratching with her long nails. She nuzzled the side of his neck, gently bit his earlobe, caressed his bound arms. She moved leisurely down, taking her time, knowing she was driving him mad and loving every minute of it. When she reached his hips, she paused only long enough to make him think she was going to do something there, not touching him, her breath warm, before she continued moving down, over his thighs and legs and feet, kissing and licking, her satiny hair trailing after her.
         He heard himself moaning softly as he writhed against the cords that held him firmly to the bedpost. Lillith began moving back up, rubbing her body against him, growling low in her throat like some savage jungle cat. This time, when she reached his groin, she wrapped her hands firmly around his throbbing shaft and engulfed him in her hot mouth. His back arched and he threw his head back against the pillows, gasping. She worked him with her tongue, urgently, insistently. For a moment he feared he might build too soon, but just before he lost control, she backed off and crawled slowly over him, letting him calm down. She straddled him, knees on either side of his chest, and began kissing him again, this time not teasingly, but deeply, letting him respond to her kisses.
         Hands closed around his shaft again, and he thought they were hers until he realized that she was holding him by the sides of the head. And the hands that now gripped him were larger, still elegant and well-shaped, but not Lillith's hands. Not a woman's hands. Warren.
         He jerked, pulling against the bonds, not sure if he was going to protest or not, and Lillith filled his open mouth with a luscious breast. Whatever words he might have said were lost as he sucked greedily on her sweet flesh. She moaned happily.
         Warren squeezed him and stroked him, knowing as only another man could know what felt right, what spots to touch, how much pressure to apply. The bed dipped as his weight joined theirs. If Lillith's skin was like silk, Warren's was velvet, warm and soft. He was a handsome man, clothed or nude, as Harry knew from observing him on previous occasions.
         Warren's mouth closed over him with that same instinctive skill, and Harry's groan was muffled as Lillith shifted her other breast to his lips. He clenched his fists, hips rocking as Warren slid his lips up and down. His body was as tense as a lute-string.
         Lillith pulled away and crawled back down. He heard the wet smacking sounds as she kissed Warren and the two of them shared him, licking, sucking, taking him to the brink again and again before easing off. His head whipped from side to side. He was moaning constantly, but he couldn't help it.
         "Why don't you get rid of that blindfold? I want him to see it," he heard Warren murmur.     She reached up and pushed the blindfold off. He saw her, crouched over him, hair tangled, face flushed with arousal. Her tongue flicked across her lips. Lower, Warren looked up and deliberately bent his head to let Harry see what he was doing as well as feel it. Somehow, the sight of his erect member sliding between Warren's lips was thunderingly erotic. Lillith joined him. Their heads, hers dark, his blond, met above his groin. Their lips alternately kissed each other and drove him to new heights.
         Lillith stood, balancing on the bed in her high heels, one foot on either side of Harry's hips. Her body moved, swayed sensuously. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in a riotous flood, sometimes hiding her breasts, sometimes letting them peek through. Warren sat up and tugged her panties away in one smooth motion, revealing the triangle of silky black hair between her legs. As Harry watched, breathless with desire, Warren put his hand there, pushing two of his fingers inside of her while rubbing his thumb in slow circles over her pleasure button. Lil's knees buckled and she almost fell, but he held her up easily with the strength that was part of his own demonic heritage. She toyed with her breasts, rolling the nipples between her fingers. Her head was thrown back. She was a stunning sight.
         Harry ached to touch her, to use his hands on that fabulous body, and to touch Warren as well. He pulled on his bonds again, more seriously this time, but they held. All he could do was watch, so engorged he thought he might burst, as Warren pressed his face between Lillith's thighs and tasted her, made her ready, made her wet.
         Warren grabbed her by the waist, handling her with ease, and lowered her over Harry. She spread her legs, breathing hard. Warren got to his knees behind her and met Harry's eyes as he pressed Lil down, impaling her on him. She was tight and hot, her muscles contracting around him.
         Lillith made a low, bestial cry and began pumping her hips. Warren squeezed her breasts, bit the nape of her neck as she rocked. Harry thrust upward to meet her, forcefully, driving himself deeper and deeper. She climaxed three times in rapid succession, bouncing faster and faster, hair whipping frantically. She threw herself forward, covering Harry's face with kisses.     Warren reached over her and snapped the bonds with two quick flicks of his wrist. He pulled Lillith off of Harry and she hissed in protest. Harry felt like hissing himself, but changed his mind when Waren threw Lillith onto her hands and knees and grabbed a handful of her hair, thrusting into her pouty mouth and presenting Harry with her sleek flanks and buttocks. He seized her hips, positioned himself, and slammed into her. Lillith's cries were muffled. She was the trapped one now. She was at their mercy. Together, they would teach the teasing little wench a lesson.
         Harry understood all of this as he looked into Warren's dark eyes. He wasn't sure which of them moved first, but as they both pounded into Lillith, they leaned forward and kissed with fierce passion, forming an odd triangle shape with her at the bottom. The three of them were one creature, one heaving, thrashing animal consumed by raw lust.
         He felt his climax building and tore his head away from Warren, gasping for air. Beneath him, Lillith was bucking and twisting as her orgasms burst through her like a string of Sayran fireworks. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving red marks. He was galvanized, every muscle taut, head thrown back to stare at the frescoes with unseeing eyes, and for a heartbeat he felt that it was too much, too strong, that he would die from the force of it. Then release came, pouring into her for what seemed like forever. He stayed where he was, shuddering, until his vision cleared. Then, with numb limbs that did not want to work the way they should, he disengaged and collapsed onto the rumpled bed with a huge sigh.
         Lillith, trembling, managed to crawl over to him and crumpled beside him. He found the strength to raise a hand and stroke her tangled, sweat-damp hair. Warren flipped his own hair out of his eyes and lay down on the other side of Lillith, draping an arm over her. Lil reached up and caressed Harry's face.
         Finally, after several minutes of silence as they recovered their breath, Harry spoke.
        "This had better be a dream, Lillith."

Copyright 1992 by Christine Morgan