Seems we both have our Achilles heels when it comes to how we feel about ourselves in those ways.
When she starts to yawn, I walk over to the fireplace and poke at the low burning logs that are left, then pull the grate in front of the fire and turn to look at the way her cheeks rise pink as she looks at me. I’ve not allowed myself to dream that she may have any feelings for me other than something paternal.
Even from here, I catch her scent and wonder if she’s ever had an orgasm before. If she touches herself and, God help me, who she thinks of when she does. I imagine again how she would taste. My mouth is watering right now and knowing that if I ever were to put my mouth on her, I would live between those lush thighs and die the happiest man on Earth.
“One more thing.” I step sideways to where I’ve hidden something I found for her last week, saving it for tonight. “This little guy needed a home.”
Her eyes sparkle as I hand her the gift.
“Daddy.” She wiggles her legs and claps before taking it from me. “Sorry.” She shrugs knowing she’s again dancing on that line when she calls me by that name. When I let out a sigh and a low growl of both reprimand and forgiveness she continues. “I love him! How do you find hedgehogs everywhere? I never see any.”
“Just luck.” The small stuffed animal caught my eye in the window of an antique shop. He’s in perfect condition but is handmade with glass button eyes and the softest fur. “Or maybe my eyes are just trained now. I’ll never forget that first day when we came home. You showed me your room and you had hedgehog posters and pictures all over your walls. A couple stuffed toys all lonely on your bed.”
She crinkles her nose. “Yep. They aren’t lonely, now are they? Last count I had one hundred and six. And I’ve named them all. This one I’ll name Gunter because he looks German. I told you that day how hard it was to find hedgehog things and you’d asked why I loved hedgehogs so much.”
“I remember.” I draw in a long breath, remembering that moment. No, I remember that entire day when my life started over. “You said, they are prickly on the outside but loveable on the inside and that people shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Right. And then you remember what I said?” She squints her right eye and brings that shoulder to her ear.
Like it was yesterday.
“Not really.” I lie because hearing her say it is infinitely better than me.
“Fibber.” She narrows both eyes this time and moves her fingers to tussle the top tuft of fur on the new addition. “I said, just like you. Prickly on the outside but loveable on the inside. You just grunted at me.”
“Oh yeah.” I shift my weight feeling the length in my pants pressing upward.
“If you’ll ever let me get a tattoo I’m getting a hedgehog you know.” She sets the furry creature on the soft and crosses her arms. This is a playful battle we’ve had many times.
“Uh huh. I don’t think so. Maybe a press-on tattoo.” I run my hands down my chest and tap pat my stomach still full and comforted from the soup.
She pouts but I secretly love that she defers to me when it comes to this tattoo issue.
I’m hard, painfully tonight as her golden eyes yield to my glance and she closes the book into her lap.
“Bedtime.” I manage.
“Yes, Dadd—” She catches herself, and her teeth nip into her bottom lip as she gathers herself to her feet. The T-shirt catches on her nipples and her teeth retreat, her tongue replacing them to back and forth.
My heart nearly through my chest wall. Something is different tonight. I’m in pain. Physical pain. This time it’s not in my legs or my head.
It’s in my soul.
And the only cure I know is what I can’t have. I can’t touch her. I won’t. It’s wrong.
The worst part is from years past on this night, I know what’s coming. I pray she’s forgotten but from the way she steps toward me I know.
Tonight, I’m going to have to raise my shields and don my thickest armor. I have to get through the next few minutes. Answer the question I know is about to come and then retreat into my bedroom, where once again I will spend hours grunting out unsatisfied release after release into my own hand, trying to stem the ache that’s been my companion for four years.
We move silently a few steps toward the hallway that leads to our rooms. Her bare feet make the softest patting noises on the wood planks of the floor as my boot-steps match her stride with their own muffled scrapes.
“Happy Birthday.” I swear I hear lust in those sweet words. “Is there anything else I can give you for your birthday? Anything you want?”
It’s been the same question for four years now. Just as we finish this evening. The anniversary of the day we met and the anniversary of the day I came back to life.
My fingertips twitch. She stops, and I nearly shatter into a million pieces as her tiny hand curls around my left wrist, stopping my forward motion. The contact is like coming home. Like everything is right in the world in that moment.
I fight myself, but I lose and turn to look down into those wide eyes that speak to my mind, to the deepest desires of my soul, telling me things I dare not dream. Is there desire in those eyes?