ADRIAN CHASE doesn’t even judge it when you ask him if you can call him dad. he has a few questions but they’re all clarifying in nature, “so, like, you want me to just go with it or is this part of the fantasy where i’m like, ‘hey, wait a minute, i kinda like that—‘ or am i supposed to act like… disgusted or something?” he begins to ramble as his mind runs away with him. “how far am i allowed to take this, like, is this a public thing or what? do i let you call me all the other ones, too? daddy, pops, papa, pa, dada—“ you have to lovingly palm his mouth just so he can pause long enough to breathe. sweetly, you peck the back of your hand that lay over his lips, and his shoulders slump in bashfulness at the faux-kiss. later on, he strokes your hair when he’s finally in you, watching his dick go in and out of you, stringing out your creamy finish. “look at my pretty daughter, look at you,” he exhales, flashing his bottom teeth with the jut of his chin in a surprisingly masculine expression. “what’d’ya wanna call me? dad? huh? wanna call me dad?” your eyes roll into the back of your head at his big talk, your body a tangle of limbs on the mattress. his arm under your head, your leg hooked in the crook of his elbow, side-by-side and breathing hard. “i love my little girl. oh, i love the sweetest, most perfect-est girl in the world. couldn’t wait to be a girl-dad, never knew this is how i was going to get it.”
