daddy's girl ❥ luke hemmings ✔️

14. "baby girl's ass"

LUKE

Waking up the next morning is intense because of two different things I can't possibly ignore. One being the little girl in my arms wearing nothing but a shirt and underwear I don't recognize, and the other being the tent of morning wood forming underneath the duvet because of it.

My face becomes panic stricken the second it meets my eyes and I instantly want to slap myself across the head.

This should not be happening.

Even though yes, I am a guy. And yes, when I see something I like, things happen.

Unintentionally, I tense. No, I think, and if the voice inside of my head were to have any emotion, it would be nothing but stern. You do not like seeing Sophie like this. You're just a little caught off guard, that's all.

Whatever it is, I don't dwell on it. I just sit there like an idiot, swallowing thickly as I stare up at the ceiling, willing for the stupid thing to go away so I that can move without a gutteral sound falling from my lips.

Just stop thinking about it.

It doesn't work. No matter how long I stay stationary, the tight feeling in my pyjama pants begins to become unbearable and I have no solid idea as to how to deal with it.

I should busy myself. Stare at something else. That should do the trick.

The window's shut, curtains drawn, but I can still stare at the pattern of the silk. At the red intricates. The metal railings. The pretty little flowers on the side-

The pretty little flowers on Sophie's underwear.

I slap myself, hard, across the cheek. The sharp pain causes me to wince but that's just a minor thing to deal with, especially right now, at a time where my hormones are at an all time high and I shouldn't be feeling what I'm feeling.

Sucking in a deep, shakey breath, I try again. I can't be like this. This has never happened before and it's really starting to irritate me.

Why now? It's the most awkward time, in the most awkward place, with the most awkward hard-but-trying-not-to-be-hard bulge in my boxers.

I try to think about the table in the far corner, the chair tucked underneath it, the empty mug placed on top. I think about the bed, about how soft it is, what material it's made of, the curve of-

The curve of your baby girl's ass.

I almost fall off of the mattress and it's not because of the voice in my head. It's because of how Sophie sleepily drapes a leg over my crotch, brushing against my aching hard-on, completely unaware because she's sleeping and I'm still too much of a coward to leave and take care of my "situation".

There are signals going off in my brain, giant red flags screaming at me to get the fuck out of here because I know this entire thing is wrong. I have to remind myself over and over to stop letting my mind wander and to just calm the fuck down, but literally nothing is working and the sun is rising and Sophie's bound to wake up any minute now.

It's not right for me to be thinking these things and feeling these things for such an innocent, sweet girl. I'm just sexually frustrated, that's it, and seeing Sophie in the state that she is now isn't helping.

A mental war in my head ensues as she lazily rests her arm over my chest. My own is tucked underneath her head and since Sophie's a light sleeper, my actions are limited in fear of waking her up.