My Strict Daddy

Jesus Christ, when had his daughter blossomed into a woman? No, not just a woman, a goddess. "Hello," he barely got out just the greeting. Once more Michael found himself out of breath as the girl standing in front of the picture window turned slowly and gave him a full one hundred and eighty degree view of her perfection.

"Hi," she said with a bit of a squeak. She didn't seem sure how to greet him either. At first her small hands were at her sides and then she crossed her arms and finally she took two steps forward and then a step back. "Are you Michael Romano?" she asked with some hesitation.

She was voluptuous and petite and even in her high heeled brown boots she only came up to his shoulder. She had always been small for her age. Her jeans hugged her full, heart-shaped bottom and it was a thing of beauty. Michael forced himself to bring his eyes up. The curve of her hips was a dangerous place to set his gaze upon. Looking at her upper body posed just as many problems though. Her breasts were round and ripe and even with a modest, scoop neckline, some things just couldn't be concealed. She was still beautifully pale. Her skin was the color of cream and her pitch black hair was wavy and thick as ever and it almost touched the top of her backside.

It was the eyes though.

Those same eyes had looked up at him with the same expression long ago, it was etched onto his soul. They were soft and innocent and full of tenderness. Dark blue eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world in their depths. He used to say that they were storm cloud eyes and always felt the gaze was far too serious for such a tiny girl. Those eyes that you could lose yourself in were rimmed with thick, black lashes, the same color as her hair. When she was a little girl, Michael used to tease her that she was going to be a heartbreaker one day.

He had been right.

He'd forgotten to answer her, spellbound once more. "I am," he finally answered. For some reason Michael couldn't reach out for her either. There was no doubt who she was. "You're Rosemary," he finally said her name. It didn't matter that it had been years and years and he'd missed getting to know her. There was no mistaking her. His daughter had come back to him. His little girl who was somehow also the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She seemed worried. Her kissable mouth twisted, "Sorry, they call me Madison. I just found out about the other name a couple of days ago. But can you call me Madison for now?"

Michael Romano knew how weighty a name could be. He'd been born into a name, into a position, that required terrible things; like letting go of someone you loved more than anything in the world. He just nodded, agreeing with her. "And you can just call me," he wanted to say Daddy, like she did when she was little. Except not from those red, full lips, those perfect, curvy lips, those pouty lips that made his cock pulse as if it wanted to greet her. Jesus, she couldn't call him Daddy, he might cum in his pants. His face was hot from a combination of shame and want. "Michael," he concluded. This was awkward for so many reasons. "How did you find me?"

"Can I?" she gestured to the loveseat by the fireplace and Michael nodded, thinking that he could sit next to her. Images of her legs in the boots draped over his thighs came into his mind's eye. He'd unzip them slowly, he'd touch her calves through the jeans and then working his way up to her thighs. Michael made a fist, this was impossible, he told himself as he sat in the wingback opposite her instead. "Well, Mom told me my father died," Madison began in a small voice. She gave him half a smile and showed her Daddy that she still had the dimple that he used to kiss on the left cheek. "So, honestly if I had known that you still existed, I'd have contacted you sooner."

Leave it to Charlotte to still fuck things up in Chicago from whatever shithole town they'd relocated her to. Out loud he said, "Well I'm glad you found out that I'm still alive."

Madison continued, "Mom was doing real bad for the last couple years. I mean, between her liver and all of the pills she was on. I guess you know how she was, right?" Michael did and he could still see Charlotte in his mind's eye, skinny, glassy-eyed Charlotte. "That partying just took a toll."

Michael realized that she was talking about Charlotte in the past tense. There was his heart, it responded to it before the words even came out. His pulse thumped far too loudly as he asked, "Wait, Charlotte's not with you?" It was impossible to keep his voice in the monotone that said it didn't matter anymore.

His daughter looked sad and lost and it broke Michael's heart. Madison's storm cloud eyes glistened with tears as she whispered, "No, Mom died. About six months ago."

"Jesus, honey, I'm so sorry," he told his daughter. Michael bit his knuckles, holding back something that he didn't have a name for. The bitch had lied about everything, including his very existence but at one point in time, he had thought that the sun rose and set on Charlotte. "Was it quick?" he asked for some reason. It was one of those nonsensical questions you ask, as if anyone but the dead could have answered.

She shook her head, "No. It was awful." A tear slid down her cheek and Michael wanted to wipe it for her and then let his fingers linger on her skin. He wanted to hold her close and stroke her hair and whisper his condolences into her thick black sheath that he remembered was impossibly thick and soft. There was no way that he could do that without her feeling the very unfatherly erection he had for her though. "And there was nobody to help," Madison continued. "I mean, I don't even know if I have other relatives," his daughter sounded exhausted. There were relatives, plenty of them. Rosemary actually had a large family tree but she and her mother were dead to them after leaving. Michael had encouraged that line of thinking, it helped with the pain.

"You've been all alone?" he hoped he sounded concerned and not nosy. Michael couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't a boyfriend around; some idiotic teenage boy who was all hands and feet and perpetually hard dick. Someone who definitely didn't deserve his perfect, angelic little girl. He'd been a father again for five minutes and already knew that no one would ever be good enough though, except him.

Madison sniffed and nodded, "I really tried. I mean I've been working two jobs but I just couldn't keep the house payments up. And then Mom had all of these bill collectors calling and," she rubbed her arms like she was cold and he wanted to warm her. "I just want to go back to college. I'm not looking for a handout."

As if he wouldn't give her anything and everything. "Yes, of course, I can take care of that. Don't worry, Madison." He assured her, giving her the assumed name. Michael already knew that he was going to be wrapped around her finger. All it took was a flash of those eyes and a glimpse of her cleavage and she had him hooked. The ice was melting already. "So did the FBI give you Irv's number?" This was more important than he wanted to let on.

Motherfucking FBI couldn't be trusted not to use her. Their luck had run the course with Charlotte, she'd never given them anything helpful obviously but maybe they thought they stood a chance with Madison. Not that it made any bit of difference, Michael could care less how his little girl finally came back to him. Clearly his cock couldn't care one iota if she were an informant.

His daughter curled her upper lip and it reminded him of the face that he made when thinking about law enforcement. "The FBI came to the house when she didn't check in for something. Once they found out she was dead, they told me that the deal was with Mom. No more support, that's what they said. I don't know what they ever gave us," her laugh wasn't amused. "So if you had been looking for me, if you were dangerous," she gulped and trailed off. Neither of them needed her to finish. Fuck, he was dangerous with the dirty thoughts that kept coming in waves. "I found Irv's number and your address in a notebook in the back of Mom's closet. My birth certificate was in there too."

Michael's mind raced a hundred miles an hour. There was so much to ask, so much he needed to know after all this time. He wanted to sit and watch her and study her lovely face and memorize every inch of his beautiful daughter.

Madison yawned and stretched and the blue sweater could hardly contain her succulent curves. She still had tiny hands. Her nails were painted crimson and Michael looked away to keep himself from imagining them on his cock. "You must be tired," Michael imagined that she had an early start from wherever, bum fuck Idaho. He didn't trust himself to reach over and touch her hand, he couldn't trust himself one bit right now. He glanced at his watch. It was almost one in the morning and everything else could wait for another day. "Let's get you to bed, okay Madison? There's a guest room upstairs."

She stood and reached for the backpack that lay on the floor by the loveseat. Michael hadn't even noticed it and wondered, as light as it appeared, if maybe that was all of her earthly possessions. Madison slung the strap over her shoulder as she scooped her black hair over the other. As he walked behind her, Michael studied her cheeks as they wiggled in the back of the jeans. His eyes roamed over her tiny waist and her thick, perfect thighs. By the time they'd taken the three flights of stairs, he was out of breath but not from the exercise. "To the left, there's the bedroom," he told her. There was actually another spare bedroom as well but that was off limits.

God, he'd almost forgotten about his playroom, the hardly ever used playroom. The bed with the black sheets and mirrors on the walls. It had sat empty for quite some time and now. There hadn't been anyone that he'd wanted to bring there in so long. Michael had a flash in his imagination and he could almost hear a little cry as he saw her. His cock ached as the images rolled by. Madison, cuffed to the bed. Madison, blindfolded, her hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her. Madison, as she shivered in ecstasy and yelped in pain. And the beast between her legs, naked, salivating and far too close to losing control, oh god. That was her father, ravishing her.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Michael chastised himself and shook his head, trying to banish the images from his mind. Fuck, this wasn't going to work. Michael waited as his daughter went inside the bedroom and lay her backpack on the bed with the gray comforter. "The bathroom is to the right and there's a big closet in there." It didn't look like she'd need much more than a dresser drawer but he added, "help yourself."

Madison gave him half an awkward smile. Her eyes were sleepy. "Okay, night Michael," she said in the same little girl voice that she used to when he carried her to bed. Except then, she addressed him as Daddy and the thought of her calling him that again made his cock lurch.

He closed the door to keep her in as much as keep himself out.

***

She was exhausted, weary to the bone really but the last thing she could think of was sleep. First of all, it was the room, Madison thought to herself as she lay in the center of the queen sized mattress. It was like a hotel room, too perfect to be real. There wasn't even a wrinkle on the gray comforter. It was like no one had ever slept here, like it was just for show.

Actually the whole house seemed that way. It was like a museum, cold and lonely. Just like Michael, she decided as she recalled how strange tonight's meeting had been.

Second of all, she threw the covers off and sighed, the sound of Chicago traffic was a constant and would take some getting used to. If she stayed anyway, Madison wasn't so sure this was a good idea.

Michael Romano had looked at her as if he saw a ghost. For a guy who was supposed to be in the mafia, it was weird that he seemed to be almost scared of her. His eyes looked like they might bug out when she talked about her mother, although, she couldn't really blame him for that. Sometimes Mom had been pretty fucking scary.

Things must have ended badly between them for both of them to hate each other like this. Michael couldn't even talk about Charlotte dying and Charlotte had only spoken about Michael in the past tense. What had Michael done so wrong that he deserved death in Charlotte's eyes?

Finally, she wondered what she was doing here at all. It was freezing here and what little clothes she had weren't warm enough. Michael didn't even want her around. He seemed stiff and formal which was weird if he'd been missing her at all. Madison shrugged, it was probably his first time doing this. Maybe he'd warm up. She'd had to deal with instant family plenty of times in the past. Charlotte was quick to hook-up with the next boyfriend and the next and they were all going to be Madison's "new Daddy."

Michael was just the next new Daddy and if he would just help pay for school then it was worth it. Working double shifts at fast food restaurants was not going to cut it if she wanted to get out of Charlotte's shitty life. Hopefully they would get along and get used to each other.

Madison watched the shadows from the headlights play along the ceiling and wondered what her father thought of her. He totally was Charlotte's type. He was tall and she could tell that he was in great shape under the starched shirt. With his dark hair and the brooding eyes, that was the man her mother had fallen for every time. Tall, dark and handsome, but don't forget drama. Charlotte wouldn't have been able to resist the fact that he was a criminal.

Until she had walked out and started a new life anyway.

Madison had to give Charlotte a little bit of credit. Although all of the other fake new Daddies that her mother had picked out for her were assholes, most of them were perverts too. At least Michael was handsome and rich. So far, he was the best Dad yet.

***

After Michael saw Madison off to bed, he prowled the hallways of the graystone and paced like a caged animal. He needed to go work out, something, anything to burn off this volcanic rage that had bubbled up after he'd kept it tampered down for so long. Something to take the edge off this heartache and his throbbing dick, a punishment to his body to free his mind. Fucking Charlotte, she was going to haunt him now. She'd been tucked away in the background for so long, Michael had stretches of days where he didn't even think of her.

It had been so much better that way.

At least it had been better to be so bitter that he could taste it. He wished that he could still wrap his fingers around her throat and shake her, scare the shit out of her maybe. It was better than thinking of her dying like that, wasted away, a rotting shell where his wife had once been.

Michael poured himself a drink a little before three and stared out at the lights on Lake Shore Drive as he remembered the last time that they had spoken, the last argument. He'd felt so guilty for so long and then he'd just felt nothing.

Right after it happened, Charlotte was shaken up. It was to be expected, they all were. The kidnapping was bullshit, Michael had always known that the Columbians would bring her back. At least that was what he'd told Charlotte, mostly to get her to shut the fuck up about it. They hadn't wanted the hellfire of the whole Romano family to come raining down on their little shithole territory in Pilsen. Rafael Ortega had been a scrappy little shit from nowhere and through militant organization, he had taken over the cocaine trade in the neighborhood. He had just wanted a bigger cut. Michael had let him sweat for far too long and taking Rosemary had been a negotiating strategy. One that Michael himself would have done if he thought someone needed to pay their respects.

If it had just been Charlotte in the Mercedes, Michael wondered if he would have even bothered. He was rag bone tired of the all night screaming matches. Rafael had known his weakness, his baby girl, the apple of his eye. That was another story. Rosemary was in the backseat and Michael had caved immediately to get his daughter back.

It was just the kind of fuel that Charlotte liked to throw on the fire. Michael couldn't tell if she were more upset by the kidnapping or that all that Michael had cared about was Rosemary. The fact that Agent Mueller let Michael's wife blow him at the Motel 6 in exchange for information on Romano family business and a little meth was no big deal to Charlotte. The cunt, it wasn't even the first time that she cheated, it was just the worst. Fucking pig, the agent had Charlotte convinced that Michael couldn't protect her.

As if he wouldn't have died for Rosemary.

Then Charlotte disappeared, taking his heart with her. Agent Mueller came by the house and bragged about it. If it had ever been man to man and the douchebag didn't have a badge on his belt and a wire up his ass, Michael would have beat the shit out of him before slitting his throat. He should have died like a pig too, squealing in his own piss and shit. Instead Michael had to listen as Agent Mueller told him that Charlotte had given up the goods and he could kiss his baby girl good bye.

Irv had tried everything to find his daughter. Well, not Irv personally but he knew a guy and that was how those things went. Neither Michael or Irv should know too much about certain things. They'd paid hackers that swore that they could get into the FBI's database. They'd bribed cops, agents, the goddamn limo driver that supposedly took them to the airport. All of it had been a dead end and after two years, Michael begged Irv to stop. He couldn't get his hopes up anymore.

And then she just walked in through the front door.

The sky in the east was warming by then and he knew that he'd need at least a couple of hours of sleep in order to handle what came next. Michael fell asleep quickly and it seemed that the moment he closed his eyes, the dream began.

As he closed the door on the night, he opened his bathroom door and walked into a thick cloud of steam. The white and black marble was hidden in a blanket of mist and it was only the sound of the splashing that guided his footsteps toward the tub. He never took baths, the deep, clawfoot tub came with the house. Who the hell would be splashing in his tub?

She had her hair wound up in a knot on the top of her head and little tendrils had broken free and caressed the back of her neck like his fingers wanted to. "Hi, Daddy," she said in the sweet, little voice that she used to address him with. So innocent, so adorable, "did you miss me?" she asked, looking over her shoulder, her back to him as she washed with the sponge.

Michael trembled as he sank to his knees on the rug beside the tub. "My baby girl, my god I missed you. You have no idea, honey," he reached for her but she moved and he missed. Was she just fog as well?

She turned and Madison's luscious breasts rolled into view. Her areolas were light pink and her nipples were perfect, little stones. Little stones that needed a tongue bath and Michael could hardly keep his tongue in his mouth as he thought of tasting her, just once. "Did you miss me, Daddy? Really?" she giggled flirtatiously, "show me how much."

His whole body vibrated as he realized that there was one obvious way that he could show her exactly what he was feeling at the moment. Michael's fingers were nervous and he fumbled with the belt and then the underwear. When he was finally free, his dick sprang from its hiding place, fully hard, it throbbed and beckoned to Madison. A steady stream of precum dripped from his slit in a slick trail to the tub. It had already lubricated his hand and touching himself hadn't felt this good in ages. "Baby, see how much Daddy missed you?" he groaned. His voice sounded primitive and so perverted. He was in heat, an animal ready to rut. He stared as his little girl in the water, his eyes on hers as he panted and jacked the cock that he'd made her with. "Daddy loves you," he said as he shuddered.