The Model Daughter: Posing for Dad
Chapter 2

I barely sleep. All night my body hums with the memory of Dad’s hands on my skin, the way his eyes devoured every bare inch of me. By the time I step back into the studio the next evening, I’m already wet. The ache between my thighs is constant, a low throb that makes me press my legs together as I walk.

Dad is waiting. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest and loose pants that do nothing to hide the growing bulge when he sees me. His salt-and-pepper hair is tousled, like he’s been running his...