Chapter 37: Daughter's desires fullfilled
The silence in the study was a living thing, thick and humming like the aftermath of a struck chord. A week had passed since Jim’s agreement with Brenda and Susan, a week of grim routine and escalating control. Jackie had adapted with terrifying ease. The leather collar with its gold ring was never removed. She moved through the Malibu mansion like a beautiful, haunted ghost, forever dressed in the uniform he’d dictated: form-fitting, low-cut dresses that strained over her hips and breasts, stiletto heels that clicked a precise rhythm on the polished concrete. Her makeup was flawless, a mask of smoky eyes and red lips applied with addict’s devotion. She was never without a glass of his bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the twin props of her sedation. The heroin, supplied by Henry’s discreet connections, kept her floating in a docile, pliant haze. She obeyed every command without hesitation, her submission complete. She loved the collar. She thrived on the clarity of her ownership.
Jim sat at the grand mahogany desk, the Pacific a blazing blue void beyond the glass. On his screen, the private gallery from Brenda and Susan’s escort site was open. He scrolled through the professional photographs of Emily. There she was, draped across a chaise lounge in a sheer black negligee, her large, erect nipples clearly visible through the lace. In another, she smiled over her shoulder, a thigh-high stocking the only covering. Each image sent a low, insistent thrum of arousal through him, a forbidden current that short-circuited every fatherly instinct. He’d called her yesterday, his voice carefully casual.
“Daddy!” Her voice had been pure sunshine, a jarring contrast to the shadows he now inhabited. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Henry had fetched her in the Bentley. When she’d stepped into the foyer, the breath had caught in Jim’s throat. She was more luminous than her pictures, a vibrant flame to Jackie’s smoldering ember. Her micro-mini dress was a burst of crimson, hugging every curve, showcasing the swell of her C-cup breasts and the impossible length of her legs. They embraced, and the feel of her body against his, the warm scent of her perfume, instantly hardened him. He guided her to the sofa.
Jackie had appeared, a silent server gliding in on her heels. She poured two generous glasses of bourbon, lit Emily’s cigarette with a steady hand, and retreated, her eyes downcast.
“God, I love it here,” Emily sighed, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet beneath her. She took a long drag, then a deeper swallow of the bourbon. “Mom and Susan are geniuses. The business is incredible. And my law degree? It’s perfect. Contracts, nondisclosures, navigating certain… gray areas. I’m indispensable.” She grinned, a flash of white. “I love the work. I really love it.”
She leaned over then, her bourbon-sweet breath warming his face, and kissed him. It wasn’t a daughterly peck. It was deep, hungry, and he met it with equal force, a dam bursting inside him. She slid from the sofa to her knees on the rug, her eyes locked on his as she undid his trousers. She took him into her mouth with a slow, practiced reverence that spoke of a long-held fantasy realized. For thirty minutes, the only sounds were the soft lap of the ocean and her quiet, greedy swallows. When he came, she took it all, her throat working, a tiny sigh of pleasure escaping her lips as she leaned back.
“Salty,” she whispered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I always wondered.” Then her demeanor shifted, a slight restlessness entering her limbs. “Jackie? Can you…?”
Jackie, as if summoned by the need, was already there with the small lacquered tray: the syringe, the tourniquet, the spoon. She prepared the dose with efficient, numb hands. Emily rolled up her sleeve, made a fist, and Jackie found the vein with a gentle touch. Emily’s head lolled back as the hit took her, a slow, blissful smile spreading across her face. “Oh, yeah,” she breathed.
Later, in the master suite, she pressed against him in the dark. “I’ve wanted this since I was thirteen,” she confessed, her words slurred with pleasure and drugs. The admission should have horrified him. It only inflamed him. He took her with a ferocity that bordered on violence, claiming every part of her, exorcising and claiming his own demons in the same thrust. They fell asleep locked together, him still inside her, a possessorship that felt more absolute than any contract.
He woke to the faint glow of dawn, already hard, nestled within the warm, tight clutch of her body. She murmured in her sleep, pushing back against him instinctively. He moved slowly, deliberately, for half an hour, a languid reclamation. When he finished, they lay entangled, sweaty and spent.
“I want to live here,” she mumbled into the pillow, her voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “With you. Not with Mom.”
“I would love that." Jim smiled at her and kissed her deeply. "Call your Mom and tell her. If she agrees I will have Henry pick up your things."
She picked up her phone from the night stand and called Brenda exitedly, " Hi mom. Daddy says i can live with him. I'm so excited. It is ok with you?"
"Of course it is sweetheart. I'm not surprised." Brenda smiled into the phone.
"Thank you so much Mom. You have made me so happy. Dad says he will have Henry pick up my things and we will talk about our agreement with Daddy tomorrow. Bye Mom." She looks at Jim with a big smile. " I need my morning drink and Xanax and hit Daddy."