"We're just leaving, Daddy!" Aimee gave me the finger on her way out as her "boyfriend" put on his pants in a hurry.

She slammed the door but I let it slide, loosening my tie as I headed back downstairs. I'd been flying high with that Friday feeling, knocking off work early to the call of a cold beer straight from the fridge, but my high had dissipated into nothing. I grabbed the beer anyway.

I slumped backon the sofa and flicked through the TV, pondering again just how I'd ended up in this situation. I'd met Louise Rowley at a conference out in Kefalonia six months earlier. In some team, the men in senior management claimed would lead to ‘improved corporate communication'. For me it led to a sight more. A beach wedding and a brand new family of three in the heart of London suburbia. Peachy, or so it seemed.

Louise appeared to be just the woman I wanted, career-focused, sharp, confident... non-hysterical. She'd seemed to be a lot of things, and at thirty-nine and two years her junior I'd happily signed up for the experience. Why not? I had no ties, no better options... why not give family life a shot?

I didn't count on Louise having a daughter like Aimee. A daughter I craved to discipline, educate, and shape to my filthy twisted will. I didn't count on my new bride having a daughter who was a hot little mantrap, the kind of girl who lived for shank but didn't yet know it, who danced around idiot young men because she didn't know any better, didn't know what arealman could do for her.

You'd think she was an angel, with her bouncy blonde curls and baby blue eyes, the light dusting of freckles high across her cheekbones, but she was anything but angelic. The glint in her eyes said dirty girl, and I've always desired a forbidden fruit. It doesn't get much more forbidden than hot, tight stepdaughter pusy.

The wedding spell had broken quickly once Louise and I were back in England, and I suspected by now that we'd both long since recognised the error of our ways. Louise's agenda had been clear once we gothome, and after doing the rounds of trophy husband I'd soon been discarded. Show over, she was off again, with another big corporate event to co-ordinate. More places to go, more people to see. She'd barely even waved goodbye to either Aimee or I, and I'd wondered whether, deep down, she'd ever reall cared about anyone but herself.

She'd admitted when we met, after sinking too many sangrias, that she'd never set out to be a mother at all. An accident, by all accounts, just like our impulse marriage was turning out to be. Now her two accidents were holed up under the same roof, locking horns at every opportunity.

I should have walked out of that, packed a bag and returned to my old apartment. The place was still technically on the market, since buyer negotiations were still going through. I should have been out of there, stopping at the nearest divorce lawyer enroute, but something held me tight.

I suspected, despite my constant irritation, that something was Aimee.

It was gone 1 a.m.when her key sounded in the lock. I'd already decimated the beers in the fridge and switched over to Channel XXX, stroking my cock to a horny little threesome with three young blondes. I stuffed my dick out of sight before Aimee saw me, flicking through the channels to something innocuous.

The girl was trashed. She smacked her shoulder on the doorway as the teetered her way in, pirouetting gracelessly on the rebound and landing in a heap at my side on the sofa. I caught a glimpse of white lace panties under her skirt, and if she'd been sober she'd have seen how my hungry eyes lingered, my palm brushing the hard-on under my suit trousers.

It was only when she pushed the curls back from her face that I saw what a train wreck her makeup was. An unmistakable trail of ruined mascara smeared from her eyes, and her cheeks were blotched pink. Her lip quivered, despite her efforts to keep her composure.

"What's up, pussycat? Mikey not the big, hot stud you thought he was?" I tried to be cocky in my questioning, but it trailed off into nothing. Her dishevelled condition knocked me hard, right in the pit of my drunken stomach. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to fuck her, hold her, or go after that Mikey sonofabitch and find out what the fuck he'd done to her.

"Like you care," she snapped.

"Did he hurt you?"

She rolled her eyes, swatting away a tear in the process. "No, Mikey didn't hurt me. I hardly even saw him all night. Turns out Mikey has a girlfriend, the perfect Imogen Delaney no less. He works for her dad, and apparently that's the only reason he's with her – that's what he said. Like I give a fuck about him anyway."

"So why the tears?"

Her lip trembled again. "Do you actually give a shit? Do you?"

I turned in her direction, pulling up a knee to hide the remnants of my hard-on. "Yes. I give a shit. Tell me what the fuck's going on."

She edged closer, her knee coming to rest dangerously close to mine. "I thought they were my friends, but they hate me. Why do they hate me?"

"What happened?"

"The usual. They called me a slut, said I'm a piece of trashy shit, that guys only want me coz I'm an easy lay. Beth went all psycho on me, said I was eyeing up her boyfriend, but I wasn't. He's a loser and she already told me he can't keep it up. Why would I want to get on a useless sack of shit like that?"

"You're drunk, they were drunk. It'll blow over in the morning and you'll be laughing it off over messenger by lunch."

"You don't get it, do you?" she said. I pondered her question, and found that no, I didn't get it at all. "Everyonehates me!"

"That's bullshit. Of course your friends don't hate you."

"They do!" she cried. "This always happens to me. Even my own mother hates me. And you, you hate me too, don't pretend you don't."

I turned off the TV, and her ragged breath sounded so much louder, so much closer. I'd never seen her like this. Drunk, sure, drunk and cocky, sure; but never like this, not once in the six months I'd known her.

"Your mother doesn't hate you, she loves you."

She laughed a bitter laugh. "You're so full of shit, you know that? You know it as much as I do."

"Your mother is busy with work, and she gets preoccupied, that's all."

"And you?" she asked. "You hate me, don't you? Admit it. You can't stand me. I know you can't. Sometimes I don't even blame you, since I hate myself."

She looked so young sat there. Her eyes so big and sad, and so fucking pretty with her sweet little fingers curled in her hair.

"It's a bit rich to accuse me of hating you, don't you think? It's you who's gunning for me every time I step through the door."

"So, youdohate me."

I smiled. "You drive me fucking mental sometimes, Aimee, but no, I don't hate you."

The hairs on my arms stood on end, clocking the danger in the room before I did. Aimee shifted in her seat, raising the hem of her skirt just a fraction. I soaked in the milky white perfection of her thighs.Shit.

Her eyes met mine, and there it was again, thedirty girlglint.

"Do you love Mum? Did you ever? Was it really what you both claimed it was when you came back from vacation and declared undying love?"

"Imarriedyour mother, didn't I?"

She shrugged. "Like that means anything. I don't think she loves you. I don't think she ever did. You're just another one of her possessions left on the shelf now she's bored of you. You can join the club."

"Thanks for that." I feigned chest pain.

"I wouldn't worry about it. She doesn't love anyone, only herself." She paused, bitchiness easing off just a little. "Sorry. If you do love her, I mean. If you don't, it doesn't matter a shit."

"I'm not drunk enough for this," I sighed. "Not for a conversation about the reality of love in modern suburbia, and definitely not with you."

"You think I'm a silly little girl, that I'm just the spoiled little brat you see every day. You think that's all there is to me, don't you?"

"You make it really damn hard to see anything else, since that's all you ever show me."

"Maybe I don'twantanyone to see anything else. Maybe it's easier that way."

"Easier to be a cocky little brat than show a little common courtesy? I think that would be easier for anyone. You can take the easy route all you like, sweetheart, and I'll suck it up. I've got bigger things on my plate than whether you're being a bitch to me or not."

Her eyes pooled with fresh tears. "See, you really do hate me after all."

Fucking hell. I'd overstepped the mark like a prick, letting my cocky who-gives-a shit attitude speak for me.

My hand was on her knee before I'd even registered. Her skin was silky soft, warm to the touch.

"If I hated you, I wouldn't be here. You're the one who's stuck here with me, not the other way around."

"So, it's not about the house? You're not staying here for the swanky pad? Yeah, right. Like that's not your biggest concern."

I pulled a face, genuinely shocked.

"You think I'm worried about keeping this place? I mean, sure, it's nice, but I couldn't give a toss whether I have a nice four-bed detached or not. The apartment is plenty enough for me."

"Hasn't the apartment sold already?"

"No. I could pack up and be back there in an hour if I wanted to. I could get straight on to the agent in the morning and tell her I was pulling it from sale, no big deal."

There was silence between us as she tried to digest it. Both of us drunk and lost for words.

"I really thought you were staying here because you had to," she said. "I didn't think you had a choice."

"Well, now you know, don't you?"

Another silence as she tried to digest it, and I didn't fill it in with pointless words.

Her breaths were shallow when she spoke next. "I don't really hate you, Kyle, I just pretend I do. It always makes it easier to think people hate me, then it doesn't hurt so bad when I find out it's really true."

I swallowed hard, trying to stay detached from her. Just enough to keep my wits and my cool.

She twirled her hair. "You know, when I was little, I thought my mum bought me things because she loved me, now I know it was because she didn't. She'd always tell me I was a good girl and hand over presents, like they showed me she cared. She was lying, though. She never gave a shit. It was just an easy way to pretend she did. An easy form of compensation."

I shrugged. "People show love in different ways."

"She doesn't show love inanyway. Nobody does. I've been bad my whole life and nobody says a thing. Nobody stops me. Nobody cares. Mum would sigh and tell me to be good and offer me a reward if I did as I was told. She did it to shut me up, not because she gave a stuff about my behaviour. If she could shut the door on me and let me get on with being a spiteful little brat, she would do," she paused. "She'd only buy me off when it was necessary. Usually when she had friends over or work to be doing."

My heart was thumping like crazy. "That's crazy talk. Your mother is your mother. She cares.Peoplecare."

"No, they don't. And I don't blame them." She twisted her fingers on her lap. "Iamthe stupid, bad bitch everyone says I am."

I've always hated the victim mentality. Even coming from her with a tear-streaked face, it irritated the shit out of me.

"It's always a choice, sweetheart. You choose who you want to be. Only you can change your behaviour."

Only that was bullshit, and I knew it. I could change her behaviour with a few decent slaps on her ass and some proper fucking discipline.

She opened her legs a little, almost imperceptibly. Almost. There was something unspoken between us. A tension building. That's when I guessed she knew theonly you can change your behaviourcrap was bullshit too. She knew as well as I did that someone like me could change her behaviour with a decent amount of guidance.

I didn't think she'd risk voicing it out loud. The alcohol must have been flowing rampant through her brain to even consider it, but she did.

"Maybe I want to be bad, hey? Maybe I hope one day someone will care enough to stop me... to put me in my place and make me behave."

"You're drunk," I stated the obvious.

"So? What if I am? It doesn't make any difference, does it? I'm only telling the truth."

"You need to go to bed," I said. "Now."

"I have secrets, Kyle..."

"Don't we all," I muttered, then took another breath. "Get your ass up to bed, Aimee. Sleep it off."

"I'm not lying. I haverealsecrets. I write about them in my diary. I write about you,too."

"Go to bed, Aimee." I fixed her in the most serious stare I could muster, part of me begging her to leave, the other part daring her to stay.

She sighed and steadied herself, pulling her legs away from me and raising herself from the sofa. "Fine. Goodnight then,Daddy."

I held my breath until she was long gone.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Aimee's bedroomlight was on as I made my way upstairs. I walked past quickly, not entirely trusting my urges.Stepdaughter, stepdaughter, stepdaughter.The mantra should have rammed some perspective into my swollen fucking balls, but all it did was stoke me higher. I ditched my suit and took a shower, acoldshower – scrubbing my skin to citrus-scented purity, desperate to scrub heroutof me.

But the glimpse of her white lace panties held firm, blazing bright behind my eyeballs. My mouth watered, hungry for the scent of silky young pussy, hungry for the dirty little girl down the hallway. She'd be satin soft, her tight little cunt so eager for my fingers, so eager forme. I turned up the shower to hot, lowering my head until the force of the jet scorched my shoulders. The water surged around my ears, drowning out the world, but I was all out of fight.

With a groan I relented and reached for my cock. In my deviant mind Aimee was reclining on her bed, head lolling back against frilly white pillows, blonde curls splayed like a clichéd golden halo. Her legs were spread wide, nightdress hitched around her waist as her glitter pink nails circled her sweet clit. She'd look at me through hooded eyes, breathing hard and fast.

And then she'd say the words; words I should never hear but fuck, they'd sound so fucking sweet.Fuck me, Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, give it to me.Jesus Christ. My cock leapt in my hand, jerking and twitching and pulsing into oblivion. White hot release shot through my balls until I was a wreck, a grunting hulk of sin, coming like a fucking animal.Dirty girl, so fucking dirty.

I caught my breath, my brow pressed to the tile. The forbidden fruit always tastes so fucking juicy. Hell don't I know it. I've been filthy my whole life.

I slung a towel around my shoulders, stopping at the sink to brush my teeth. I wiped a streak in the steam on the mirror, ready to meet the eyes of the dirty fucker who'd shot his load over stepdaughter pussy, but instead I saw beyond. Beyond to the crack of light in the doorway and the flash of blonde hair stumbling from my bedroom.

What the fuck?

Aimee was fragile in the morning. She was waspier than usual, scowling at me as I fried up egg and bacon. My optimism was shelved in seconds. I'd been a fool to think anything about our seemingly heartfelt chat would last through the night. She was back to her usual bratty self, loud and clear.

"Do you have to cook right now?" she snapped. "I think I'm gonna barf."

I pushed down my indignation, turning to face her with a spatula in hand. "Did nobody ever teach you manners, or are you simply this obnoxious by choice?"

"I feel sick and you're cooking dead pig in front of me, it'syouwho has bad manners."

"It's called making breakfast. A totally normal occurrence in a kitchen last time I checked. Clear off if you don't like it."

She made no attempt to move while I dished up my food, granting me just a cursory glance as I took a seat opposite. Angry fingers jabbed at her mobile phone as it buzzed and flashed in her hand.

"Have you made up with your friends?" I asked her.

"They're not my friends. I don't give a shit about them."

"That's not how it appeared last night."

"Yeah, well, I was drunk," she groaned. "Fuck those losers, anyway. I need some cash, please. Fifty should do."

"What for?"

"None of your business."

"Fine, then it's not my business to give you any."

She didn't even look up. "You're supposed to be taking care of me, aren't you? Dads give their daughters money. Mum isn't around right now to give me an allowance, so I guess it's up to you to cough up the cash."

That pushed me too far. My voice was low and loud when I answered her.

"Dads give their daughters whatever they deserve. All you deserve is a sore backside, sweetheart. Maybe I should cough one of those up instead." The fact she was still in her nightdress made that idea even more appealing. "Call your mother if you want cash. If you ask me for a handout like that again, I'll give your ass a decent fucking slapping for your cheek."

Blue eyes finally met mine. There was long moment of silence as she stared across at me. Her mouth was still set in an angry little pout, but her demeanour had shifted. Her words from the night before echoed around my brain.Maybe I hope that one day someone will care enough to stop me... to put me in my place and make me behave.

"You wouldn't dare spank my ass," she said. "I'm twenty years old."

"Try me," I goaded. "You're never too old for the belt, princess. It made a fine man out of me."

"Yeah, sure it did. A real fine man,Daddy."

"Watch your mouth, Aimee."

She laughed, a bitchy little cackle, and I swear it was on purpose to goad me. I felt my hackles rise, the urge to put the little bitch over my knee threatening to boil over.

"I don't need your money anyway." She shrugged, like it meant shit to her. "I'll get some from Mikey. He's picking me up this afternoon."

"The same Mikey who's dating someone else? Some other darling instead of you?" I said. "Oh, I forgot, you don't give a fuck about him, do you?"

She folded her arms, eyes like thunder. "I don't actually. I'm using him for sex, and the sex will be a lot better now that he owes me. He wouldn't want his precious girlfriend to find out he's been fucking my tight little ass, would he? He works for her father in some posh gig down Piccadilly Circus. My silence will be worth even more to him than my pussy."

"You're a classy girl, Aimee, you know that?"

"It's not a crime to enjoy sex, Kyle. And I've seen your internet browsing history. You're not all that classy yourself."

My blood turned to stone. "You've been on my laptop, have you? You sneaky little bitch."

A sly grin lit up her face. "It was enlightening. What a big, bad boy you are, Kyle Priestley. Not quite soPriestley, are you?"

"What the fuck were you looking at?"

"Aww, did I make you angry? Shame." She turned her attention back to her phone, still grinning. My mind whirred, speeding through the contents of my laptop, the scanned paperwork in my documents folder.

Embarrassment burned like a motherfucker, burned me up with the thought of what she'd found in there. The thought of her laughing. Laughing at me, laughing at my misfortune. Did she laugh with her friends? Laugh at what a stinking loser Kyle Priestley really was. Laugh about my dirty little secret.

I overloaded without warning, striking like a cobra to wrench her from her seat. Her phone clattered to the floor, and her eyes flew wide and wild, mouth open. I didn't give her time to fight me, twisting her wrist behind her back and slamming her chest down on the tabletop.

"You've pushed it too far this time, Aimee, too far. You think I'm a joke, that I have no woman to make love to, do you? Is that it? It's time you see the real me, little girl."

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "Kyle, what are you doing?!"

I pinned her hard, my chest against her back. Her body was so small, crushed under my weight so tight I could feel her breathing.

"You asked for this, sweetheart, you've been asking for this every day I've known you." I straightened up, pressing hard between her shoulder blades to keep her in position. "Don't you dare move, Aimee, don't you dare."