one of the many angels

the place is cozy—red vinyl booths, checkered floors, the smell of coffee and bacon hanging thick in the air. a few old-timers sit at the counter, nursing their mugs and watching the old tv mounted in the corner.

frank guides you to a booth near the window, sliding in across from you. his eyes sweep over you in that way they always do—slow, deliberate, taking in every detail. you're wearing that little dress he likes, the one that hugs your curves and falls just above your knees. your hair is curled, your lips glossed, and you feel pretty in the way that only he makes you feel.

"you look sweet today," he says, his voice low. "real sweet."

you smile, reaching across the table to brush your fingers against his. "you don't look so bad yourself."

a young waiter approaches—can't be older than twenty-five, with a bright smile and a name tag that says tyler. he pulls out a small notepad, pen ready.

"hey there! welcome to ma's diner. can i get you folks started with some drinks?"

frank leans back, his arm stretching along the back of the booth. "i'll take a coffee, black. and she'll have a chocolate milkshake." he glances at you, a soft smile playing at his lips. "that sound good, sweetheart?"

you nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "yes, please."

the waiter's smile widens as he looks between you. "aw, that's adorable. i love seeing dads and daughters spending time together."

your eyes find frank's, and you feel your lips twitch. you don't correct the waiter. your eyes fink frank's, and for a moment, you hold your breath, waiting. he doesn't flinch, doesn't correct, just sits there, letting the assumption hang in the air.

you watch as frank's smile deepens, something dark flickering in his eyes. "she's my whole world," he says smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours. "my little girl."

the waiter chuckles, clearly charmed. "well, you're a lucky man. i'll get those drinks right out."

he walks away, and you lean forward, your voice dropping to a murmur. "your little girl?"

frank reaches across the table, his fingers finding yours. "you are, aren't you?"

you squeeze his hand, your heart full. "yeah. i am."

dinner passes in a haze of quiet conversation and stolen touches. his foot finds yours under the table, his ankle hooking around your calf. his hand lingers on your knee, sliding up just a little higher than it should, and you let him. but the little sane part of you does adjust yourself every time tyler walks by the booth, hiding what's going on below the table top.

eventually, tyler returns with your food, setting down plates and refilling drinks. "you two are so cute," he says, shaking his head. "my girlfriend and i just had a little girl, and i'm already so excited for when she's old enough for daddy-daughter dates like this."

frank's hand tightens on your knee. "enjoy every second," he says, his voice warm and paternal. "they grow up fast."

you hide your smile behind your milkshake, watching the waiter nod enthusiastically before disappearing again.

"you're enjoying this," frank murmurs.

"aren't you?"

his thumb strokes your knee, slow and deliberate. "more than you know, baby."

the rest of the meal passes easily. he feeds you a fry, his eyes dark, and you lick the salt from his fingers. he watches you drink your milkshake, his gaze dropping to your mouth, and you know exactly what he's thinking.

when the waiter brings the check, frank pays without looking at the total. he stands, moves to your side of the booth, and offers you his hand. you take it, rising gracefully, and he pulls you just a little too close.

"ready to go home, babydoll?"

you smile up at him, your heart full. "ready."

the ride home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. his hand rests on your thigh, warm and heavy. his thumb traces slow circles against your skin, and you watch the streetlights blur past, your legs already slightly shaking, knowing exactly what's waiting when you get home.

he pulls into the driveway, kills the engine, and turns to look at you.

"go inside," he says quietly. "now."

you don't need to be told twice.

you climb out of the car, your legs shaky, and he follows close behind, his hand on your lower back. the house is dark, quiet, empty.

he closes the door behind you, locks it, and then he's on you.

his hands find your hips, spinning you around and pressing you against the door. his mouth is on your neck, hot and wet, his teeth grazing your skin. you gasp, your head falling back against the wood.

"you were so good tonight," he murmurs against your throat. "playing along so pretty. let that boy think i was your daddy."

"you are," you breathe. "you are my daddy."

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes are dark, hungry. "that's right. and what does daddy get to do to his good girl?"

you shiver, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. "whatever he wants."

his hand slides up your thigh, bunching your dress around your waist. his fingers find you wet through your panties, and he lets out a low groan.

"fuck, baby." his thumb presses against your clit through the damp fabric, and you gasp, your hips jerking forward. "you're soaking. you've been like this all night, haven't you?"

you nod, your hips pressing against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. "yes. yes, daddy."

"such a nasty girl," he says, his voice dripping with dark affection. his thumb circles slowly, maddeningly light, and you whimper. "getting this wet for your old man. what would that waiter think if he knew, huh? if he knew i was taking you home and putting my hands where they shouldn't be?"

"i don't care," you gasp, trying to rock against his hand, but he pulls back slightly, keeping the pressure frustratingly gentle. "i don't care what he thinks."

"no?" his fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing, never quite giving you what you need. "you don't care that everyone in that diner thought i was your father? that that boy smiled at us like we were so wholesome?"

"no," you shake your head desperately, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. "i don't care because you are. you're my daddy."

he groans, but instead of giving you more, he pulls his hand away entirely. you make a sound of protest, and he chuckles darkly against your neck.

"patience, baby girl." his hands move to your hips, holding you still against the door. "we've got all night, and i want to savor this."

"frank—" you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss, deep and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours until you're dizzy with it.

when he pulls back, you're panting. he watches you with dark, hungry eyes, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your dress.

"you looked so pretty tonight," he murmurs, his mouth moving to your neck, kissing and biting gently. "sitting across from me in that little dress. letting everyone think you were mine in the most innocent way possible."

his hands cup your breasts, squeezing gently, and you arch into the touch with a broken moan.

"but you're mine in every way, aren't you?" his thumbs find your nipples through the fabric, circling until they're hard and aching. "you're daddy's girl in every filthy way that matters."

"yes," you gasp. "yes, daddy, please—"

"please what?" he pulls back to look at you, his hands stilling. "tell me what you want."

"touch me," you beg, your cheeks flushing. "please touch me."

"i am touching you." his smile is wicked, teasing. "you're going to have to be more specific, princess."

you squirm against the door, frustrated and desperate. "touch me—between my legs. please."

"like this?" his hand slides down your stomach, over your hip, but stops just short of where you need him. "here?"

"frankie," you whine, and he laughs softly.

"say it properly."

"daddy," you correct, your voice breaking. "daddy, please touch my pussy. please."

"that's my good girl." his hand finally slides between your legs again, cupping you through your soaked panties. "so polite. such good manners."

he presses firmly against your clit, and you cry out, your head falling back against the door. but just as quickly, he lightens the pressure again, going back to those maddening circles that aren't quite enough.

"you were thinking about this all through dinner, weren't you?" his voice is low, rough against your ear. "sitting there, being so sweet, so innocent. but inside you were thinking about this. about me touching you. about what i'd do to you when we got home."

"yes," you admit breathlessly. "yes, i couldn't stop thinking about it."

"when i fed you that fry," he continues, his fingers still moving in slow, torturous circles, "you licked my fingers. looked up at me with those pretty eyes. you knew exactly what you were doing."

"i wanted you to know," you gasp. "wanted you to know how much i—oh god—"

he hooks his fingers under the edge of your panties, finally, finally touching bare skin. but he doesn't push inside. just traces through your wetness, learning every fold, every sensitive spot, taking his time.

"how much you what?" he prompts, his mouth hot against your neck.

"how much i need you," you finish, your hips trying to chase his fingers.

"fuck, baby." his fingers slide through your slickness again, and you feel him shudder against you. "you're dripping. made such a mess of these pretty panties."

he circles your entrance, pressing just slightly, and you whimper, trying to push down onto his fingers. but he pulls back, denying you.

"not yet," he murmurs. "i want you desperate for it. want you begging."

"i am begging," you protest, your voice high and needy. "please, daddy, please—"

"not desperate enough." his fingers move back to your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you feel the tension coiling tight in your belly.

he works you with patient, deliberate strokes, bringing you right to the edge. your breathing gets faster, your body tensing, and just when you think you might finally—

he stops.

pulls his hand away completely.

you make a sound that's almost a sob, and he kisses you softly, almost apologetically.

"shh, i've got you." his hand slides up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "just a little longer, baby girl. i promise it'll be worth it."

"i can't—" you start, but he's already kissing down your neck again, his hands roaming your body, touching everywhere except where you need him most.

he takes his time, learning the shape of you through your dress, squeezing and caressing until you're trembling. his mouth finds your collarbone, your shoulder, the swell of your breasts above your neckline. his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin, and every touch feels electric.

"you taste so sweet," he murmurs against your skin. "smell so good. been driving me crazy all night."

his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping firmly, and he lifts you slightly, pressing you more firmly against the door. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, and the new angle puts pressure exactly where you need it. you grind against him, feeling the hard length of him through his pants, and he groans.

"that's it," he encourages, his hands gripping your ass, helping you move against him. "take what you need, baby."

you rock against him desperately, the friction delicious but not quite enough. you're so close, so wound up, and you need—

"inside," you gasp. "please, daddy, i need your fingers inside me."

"yeah?" his hand slides between your bodies, pushing your panties aside. "need daddy to fill you up?"

"yes, please, please—"

he slides one finger inside you, and you cry out at the relief of it. but it's not enough. you need more.

"more," you beg. "please, more."

"greedy girl." but he adds a second finger, stretching you, and you moan. "that better?"

"yes, yes—" you're rocking against his hand now, chasing your release, so close you can taste it.

but he slows down, his fingers moving in lazy, shallow strokes that keep you on edge but don't push you over.

"frank," you whine, and he nips at your neck.

"what did you call me?"

"daddy," you correct desperately. "daddy, please, i need—"

"what do you need?" his thumb finds your clit, pressing lightly. "tell me."

"need to come," you gasp. "please let me come, daddy, please—"

"not yet." his fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and you nearly scream. "want you to remember this. remember how desperate you were. how much you needed your daddy to make you feel good."

"i will," you promise, your nails digging into his shoulders. "i'll remember, i promise, please—"

he works you with maddening patience, bringing you right to the edge over and over, never quite letting you fall. your body is shaking, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and you're making sounds you've never made before—desperate, needy, broken.

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of dark satisfaction. "so pretty like this. so desperate for me. bet you've been thinking about this since the moment we sat down at that diner. maybe even before. maybe you were already wet when i picked you up."

"yes," you admit, past the point of embarrassment. "yes, i was thinking about it. wanted you so bad."

"and when that waiter called me your dad?" his fingers speed up slightly, and you gasp. "what were you thinking then?"

"that he was right," you moan. "that you are. that you're my daddy and i'm yours and i don't care who knows—oh god, please—"

"that's my girl." his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers curling inside you with perfect pressure. "come for me now, baby. come for daddy."

and finally, finally, he gives you what you need. his fingers work you with purpose, his thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect circles, and the tension that's been building for what feels like hours finally snaps.

your orgasm crashes over you in waves, intense and overwhelming. you cry out, your body arching against the door, your hands clutching at his shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you grounded. he works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you're shaking and gasping and completely undone.

"that's it," he murmurs, his mouth against your neck. "that's my good girl. so beautiful when you come for me."

when the waves finally start to subside, you expect him to stop. but he doesn't. his fingers slow but don't withdraw, still moving inside you in gentle, shallow strokes. his thumb brushes over your oversensitive clit, and you jerk, whimpering.

"too much," you gasp, but your body betrays you, clenching around his fingers.

"is it?" his voice is dark, teasing. "or do you want more?"

"i don't—i can't—" but even as you say it, you feel the tension building again, different this time, sharper.

"you can," he promises, his fingers curling inside you again. "you can give me another one, baby girl. i know you can."

and god help you, you do. he works you with patient, deliberate touches, building you back up from oversensitivity to need. it doesn't take long—you're still so wound up, still so desperate for him—and when you come again, it's softer but deeper, rolling through you in long, shuddering waves.

this time, when you finally still, he does pull his hand away gently. you're trembling, your legs barely able to hold you even with his support, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

"i've got you," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips. "i've got you, baby."

when you finally catch your breath, you look up at him. his eyes are still dark, still hungry, and you can feel him hard against your thigh.

he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact, and you feel another wave of heat crash through you despite your exhaustion.

"so sweet," he murmurs. "my sweet, nasty girl."

he scoops you up, cradling you against his chest, and carries you to the bedroom. he lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours, and you feel him—hard and ready against your thigh.

"we're not done yet, princess," he says, and his smile is dark, hungry, full of promises.

"we've got all night."

oof. that's some nasty stuff. I love it. anything else you wanna see for frank? more dad daughter stuff?