You arch your hips off the mattress and cry out when you feel the silky petal brushing against you, the nerves of your most sensitive skin electrified... You want him so badly at this moment, it’s hurting _and_ wonderful. It doesn’t help (or maybe it helps too much) when he says, ‘Nah, you’re softer,’ and replaces the petal with his finger, rubbing it in a light circle over the spot that sets you off most. You tremble under his hand and it gets hard to keep your focus on him. ‘Baby…’ It isn’t. While I helped my father clear away the dishes and wash up I tried to think of a tactful way of asking what was upsetting him, but I'm afraid tact is definitely not one of my qualities and I decided to just come out with it when we went into the living room after the washing up was done.Ten minutes later we were sitting down in the living room with a glass of wine and a long evening ahead of us, taking a sip of my wine I looked at my father over the rim of my glass. He looked awfully depressed. More

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