the moonlight,
a cold ******
shines through the lace curtains
frustration simmered beneath her skin
between her legs

it's always him, although
she knows it shouldn't be
the center of her forbidden fantasies
her first love--
her father.

clutched in her trembling hands,
his worn out t-shirt
smelling faintly of warm vanilla and musk
was a pathetic substitute
for the reality she craved.

her fingers, tracing the swell of her breast
felt like a betrayal.
a clumsy imitation of
the rougher, more demanding touch she yearned for.
this wasn't him.

ever the imaginative little girl she was
her mind conjured him with chilling clarity.
he stood over her
a shadow over the pale moonlight
his dark eyes holding their predatory gleam.

"little sinner," he'd snarl, his voice a low rasp
the endearment twisted into a cruel accusation
he'd reprimand her
sending her into a thrill
a prelude to the dominion she desired

her breath hitched
her fingers slipping lower
mimicking the pressure she fantasized
his hand, firm and possessive, forcing her thighs apart.
"open for me."