Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

The flesh of my nipples grew taut, and I wanted a mouth. I
wanted to be kissed and sucked, and I needed exactly what
Will said I needed.
I spread my legs wider, baring my pussy as I strained the
muscles in my legs and arm, masturbating myself on the water.
He watched me. Did he like it?
I whimpered and moaned, feeling the pressure rise inside
me as my body begged to be filled. Moving my ass faster, I
grabbed the fishhook faucet like it was his head, fucking
harder and breathing in and out, deeper and louder.
“You’re not the boss,” I gasped, taunting him. “Not the
boss of me. Little sister does anything she wants. Whoever she
wants. You’re not my daddy.”
My orgasm crested, I shook and jerked harder, and then I
threw my head back, heat coming out of my pores and
pleasure wracking through my whole body like sparks.
“Ah, fuck,” I cried out. “Fuck.”
Every muscle tightened as it coursed through my body, and
even though I burned with the strain of my position, I’d come
so good I wanted to cry.
I stayed like that for almost a minute, letting myself calm
down, before I lowered myself back into the tub.
I hated him. He was everything bad that happened to me.
But he was the only time—other than dancing—that I felt
alive, too.
Being with him was like dancing. Dancing with death.
After a few more moments and the room had fallen quiet
again, I hugged my knees to my chest again.
“I know you’re there,” I told him to wherever he was
standing in the room. Where I always knew he was standing,
because the house was heavy, it was too quiet, and I could
smell the cloves on his clothes, the fountain on his skin, and
the hot on his breath.