The Hanukkah Present

I knew he was going to be busy with the car that night because he said something earlier about new rubber seals and rebuilding a shifter mechanism. I had baking to do for the holiday, so when he retired to the garage, I went to the kitchen.

I had just pulled the last tray of lemon poppyseed hamantaschen from the oven when I let my mind wander to how he must be doing in the garage. Using a spatula, I moved each cookie to the wire cooling rack and thought about how his hands were getting greasy with the grime settling into the lines of his prints, and about how much I needed them pressing into my skin.

I finished my task, and set the dishes in the sink to soak. I then went to the hall closet and pulled off my apron. Hanging it up, I turned and spied the wrapping paper and ribbons in the corner of the closet. Something clicked. I stripped myself bare and grabbed the biggest bow from the bag of ribbons, a blue one with curls. I stuck the bow on, and I walked to the door of the garage. I stood with my hand on the knob for a moment while my heart raced and the smile spread across my face.

"Daddy?" I hesitantly called into the room as I cracked the door.

"What's that, Kitten?" He answered, turning his head and attention from the engine he was leaning over, to the opening garage door... and me.

It is the most wonderful thing, watching the recognition in his eyes as they change with his thoughts. I could watch on his face while his brain switched from mechanical, to questioning, then to recognition, and finally to that hunger I love and crave.

Walking over to the door, opening it completely, he leans in, removing the bow with a smile and, placing a commanding hand on my left hip, he pulls me to him kissing me hard. I can smell the acrid diesel of the grease in his clothing and skin.

I sigh as the kiss breaks, consumed with how it feels to be close to him. My eyes closed, I can feel his hand brush stray hair from my face and then run fingers through my hair to the back of my neck. He wraps my hair around his fist and gives the tentative pull, lifting my face to his again for another kiss. This one feels hungrier as our tongues seem to caress. His kiss leaves my lips and, as he pulls my head back, his mouth works it's way along my jaw and down my neck.

The hand on my hip leaves it and I feel his thumb run slowly down the front of my thigh, then his palm pressing up the inside of it. I whimper and spread my legs with his movement, my need for him evident as his fingers reach and run lightly over my slick center.

"Fuck, Kitten. You are the best present," he whispers against the skin of my breast before he takes the flesh in his mouth and bites down. The searing, tingling, wonderful feeling of his teeth sinking into me sends a flash through my body and magnifies the work of his fingers to the point of no return.

"Daaaddddy...?" is all I can squeak out before I find myself unable to stop the wave of the orgasm.

I follow the feeling, letting go as I hear him tell me, "That's my Good Girl."

"All yours," are the only words I know in those moments.