Eden Books Pregnant Brat For Christmas: Daddy Daughter First Time Incest Sex

(Daddy Daughter Breeding Incest) I’m home for the holidays, and my daddy has me over his lap. How can I tell him that for Christmas, I want him to take my virginity?

I didn’t anticipate getting stuck in the snow on my way home to my daddy for the holidays. When he comes to rescue me, I’m so excited that I slip on some ice, bruising my butt.

He insists on inspecting me and making sure I’m not hurt. He pushes up my skirt, and I’m so wet. I mentally beg his finger to slip, to touch between my legs. My breathing is getting shallow. Can he tell how turned on I am? Can he smell my arousal in the air?

When he confesses that he always wanted a house filled with kids, and I’m the only woman for him, all bets are off! Our mutual Christmas presents will be finally giving into our desires, with no protection.

♡ Excerpt ♡

“Why didn’t you find someone else, then? After mom died…”

He looks down, but his smile doesn’t vanish. He holds onto it, like he holds onto me, squeezing my leg and rubbing up a little higher.

“You’re the only girl for me now, Trixie,” he says, flashing me that broad smile that should be on billboards and movie screens. His light dark stubble making his broad-jawed face look so good. He’s the picture of what a man should be: big, strong, warm and loving. “Savin’ all my love for you,” he says, leaning over and placing a kiss right on my hip.

But I swear I felt a little something extra in that gaze of his as he smiled at me. Oh, there was love, and plenty of it! But it wasn’t entirely the kind of fatherly love I was used to.

I shouldn’t want him. I look at him, and I keep telling myself that I shouldn’t want him to spread my legs, to grind against me, to kiss me lower than just upon my hip. I want him like I’ve never wanted a man before, and maybe that’s because he is all man. He’s the picture of masculinity, and he even smells like the fresh outdoors and hard work.

I lick my lips free of the marshmallow sugar, and tilt my head back against the armrest. My red sweater clings to my body and it’s making me feel too hot, but when I shift to try to find a more comfortable position, the pain in my ass makes me cry out again.

I see my daddy’s brow furrow, and he reaches over, placing his mug upon the coffee table.

“Let me take a look at that, sweetie. You can really hurt yourself in winter, especially if you damage your tailbone,” he remarks, taking hold of one of my ankles with his big strong hands, guiding me onto my side as he slides his hand up my leg to my waistband, those intensely dark eyes of his staring at my round rear.

I drove up in yoga pants, and having him stare at me like this is… exciting. But the idea of him tugging down my pants and seeing my red, translucent thong…

It’s not right. But nothing about my feelings for him is right. Suddenly it’s like I have the excuse I’ve been waiting for. All I have to do is let him pull down my pants. It’s not as though it’d be totally indecent. After all, I can’t very well look at my bruised as and see how bad it is.

But I’m embarrassed by how wet I am. Would he be able to tell? What would he do?

My thoughts are rushing through my head, and his rough fingers press into my sides, beckoning me to say yes. To let him be a father and look and see if I’ve really hurt myself. That’s all he cares about, so there’s nothing really indecent going on.

Except for the fact that I’ll definitely use the memory as masturbation fodder in the future.

I finally nod my head and set my mug aside before I shimmy down the couch enough that I can lie totally on my front, with my ass sticking up at him as he sits beneath my pelvis.

“Here we go,” he says, sliding his big hand up over my leg, around the edge of my ass to my hip before coming in to my tailbone. Which, really, is as well as having that powerful hand grasping my rear when you think about it!

He feels so attentively, carefully rubbing at the area, trying to feel if anything is wrong.

“Gonna just tug these down to get a better look,” he says, curling his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants, peeling them away from my smooth skin to show off some of that pale flesh in front of the fire.

“Hrmmm,” he says, sounding concerned as he feels down over my skin, able to see my red thong like that. “Does this hurt?”

I don’t even know. I almost feel drunk with excitement and arousal, and it’s pushing all other sensations out. My breathing is so hard it’s embarrassing, and I have to swallow hard just to be able to respond to him.

“Not much.”

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully, bringing his second hand up and tugging down my pants some more until almost my entire ass is hanging out, exposed. He rubs at my flesh, a sort of massage around the tender area, but it’s oh so close to being absolutely scandalous.

“How’s this, sweetie?”

I know he’s trying to make me feel better, giving me a little massage. But it feels sinfully good, is the problem!

I try to tell him that it feels fine, but the word comes out like the lewdest moan, and I instantly blush. I couldn’t help it! He’s turning me on so much I just want to run to my room and get myself off!

He doesn’t stop or pause or slow though, he keeps going, rubbing the tension from my muscles with those powerful hands, going deeper, lower. Until that deep, husky voice of his breaks the silence once more.

“These are very pretty lil’ panties you’ve got on sweetie,” he says in that low gravel of his. “Did a new boyfriend buy these for you?”