Father\'s Love

Father\'s Love
by Bella Saint

This story is between a father and daughter and is set about.. 24 years in the future? Post-HP/Voldemorte showdown, Harry Potter being the victor. I won\'t spoil it, and say who the father and mother are, but I think I\'ve given enough clues for you all to figure out. Interestingly enough, I despise the pairing between the father and mother, so this is a bit of a \"fuck you!\", muah.

Oh, and just so you know, she is his adult daughter, eighteen years old, and he is in his mid forties. I felt compelled to clarify to people wouldn\'t fret that she was terribly young or that he was terribly old.

M/F (OFC), AU, Inc

August 07, 2005: I\'ve gotten some comments, asking who the mother and father are. Please email me if you want to know, or if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. :D Cheers.

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The storm raged outside, but she was safe beneath the greenhouse ceiling and, instead, chose to lay out on a marble bench, one leg bent and propped on the seat, the other dangling down. Lightning eluminated her face with each crack, casting shadows over her high cheek bones, her delicate nose, full lips.

It was these lips that he longed for, had longed for. A decade had passed since he had felt the gentle stirrings deep inside, but he had managed to push them down, feeling disgust bubble up his throat. She was but a child, his child.

Antigone. He had named her well. Her two brothers, while he was sure they loved him in that odd way a son loves their father, were not nearly as loyal to him as she was. He doted on her, much to his wife\'s discomfort, lifting her to his shoulders when she was four, swinging her in his arms when she was older and much too heavy to carry like that.

At twelve, she began to blossom, not taking after his wife, although if she had, it wouldn\'t have been a problem. To his misfortune, she resembled his mother, save the hair. Her limbs were long and slender, skin a perfect alabastor white. She began painting her lips a deep rouge and he had to look away when she floated into the room, wearing the pretty, flimsy white dresses her mother had bought her.

She was a vision, with firery red hair, styled simply in waves.

\"Antigone,\" He murmured.

His beautiful daughter, a blend of his Roman statue of a mother and his gorgeous young wife.

Almost as if she heard his voice, she tilted her head in his direction and in a flash of lightning, he could see her beautiful green eyes seeking him out in the dark. He held his breath.

\"Hello?\" She asked, softly, her voice like a bell. \"Come out. I know you are there.\"

He paused, then stepped forward, past the foliage.

Antigone sat up, her curls flowing down over her shoulders and chest. She smiled when she saw her father and he nearly fainted.

\"Father,\" She said, reaching one hand to him. He moved closer and took it, helping her up in a fluid, beautiful movement. She was tall, but not as tall as he, so she had to look up into his face. He smiled back at her, kissed her forhead, moving his hands to her shoulders and gently holding her to him.

\"How was your trip?\" She asked. He had been in the city, on important official government business.

\"It went well. I missed you, love,\" He answered.
\"Next time, I will come with you,\" She said, her arms curling around his waist. She had always been an affectionate daughter. \"I would have come this time, but I thought Mother would be lonely without either of us.\"

Her head rested on his shoulder and he folded his arms around her slender torso. She was like a doll, a beautiful fragile doll, and he wanted to hold her for the rest of his life.

\"Ah, well,\" He murmured. \"Next time, I suppose.\"

She leaned back and smiled brilliant, again, and he felt weak, again, in his legs. Their eyes locked.

He didn\'t mean it, to do it. But it was like a dream, and he was leaning forward, pressing his mouth to hers, and, in the deep, dark part of his mind, he thought it funny, making a small joke about how of course her lips felt like they were made perfectly for his - she took after her father in that aspect. They had the same exact lips.

Her hand reached up, as if to stop him, but never made it to its destination, and hung, suspended in the air, just over his shoulder. When she didn\'t push him back, he tightened his grip, opened his mouth, and she answered in kind. They kissed, deeply. He felt her soft fingers stroke his cheek for a moment before her hand slide back, around his neck.

\"Father,\" She breathed when they broke.

\"Antigone, I-I\'m.. \" He started and stepped backwards.

\"No.\"

Antigone rushed forward and was pressed against him, her hands grasping his shoulders like claws, kissing, sighing, moaning softly. He was pulling at her dress, felt the fabric stretch, then rip, baring her snow white skin to his touch. He pulled it down, let it pool at her bare feet, and he ducked his head, kissing her beautiful neck, tasting her skin. She tilted her head back, giving him more space to kiss and bite.

Together, they backed to the marble bench. She laided out, naked for his eyes, and he struggled with the white silk shirt, the soft, caramel colored corderoy trousers. She laughed, softly, and he became frustrated, feeling that she was mocking him, and leaned over her, crushing her lips to his.

His hands moved up her body, finding her perfect, soft breasts. She moaned softly as he moved his finger over her nipples and he flicked it, cruely. A thought went through his mind before he completely gave into his immoral lust and he wondered if she had been with a man before, and he felt his cock harden further at the thought of claiming her, forever, as his.

He moved his mouth down her body, kissing a wet path down her neck to her breast and he took a nipple between his mouth, his teeth, nibbling lightly before sucking hard. He felt her arch her back and heard the surprised whimper. Her legs wound around his torso.

\"Oh,\" She moaned. \"Oh, oh, oh..\"

A finger snaked up her smooth thigh, towards the hot center between her legs. He teased her, gently, running his fingertip over her clit before give it a hard caress. Antigone gasped and worked her hips towards his hand. He smirked and ran his tongue expertly over the curve of her breast.

\"You\'re beautiful,\" He whispered earnestly to his daughter, his youngest, his little girl. The light of his life. She had stolen her mother\'s place in his heart, ousted her and made her mistress, and she, she was his partner, his soulmate.

Antigone\'s voice was silky and beautiful as she moaned again, and he took this as pleasure and pressed two long fingers into her, curling up towards him and found the place that made her quake suddenly. He felt her tighten around him and felt the answer jolt in his groin.

He stroked her there until her legs were taut and quivering, and then pulled away. He looked at his glistening fingers in the dark and brought them to his lips, tasted her desire, then went back to work with his fly. To his surprise, he found her small fingers assisting him - she had sat up, and he looked to her, into her eyes and found a smoldering desire.

She unzipped his trousers and slipped her hand in, grasped his cock. He groaned, deep and low.

\"Antigone,\" He sighed as she brought out his cock. He was sure, now, that she was a virgin, but didn\'t see fear in her actions, just love and passion.

Carefully, she leaned back, her legs spred, and guided him down. Slowly, he entered her, felt the resistance and pressed down until she whimpered. They laid, together, on the long bench for a moment as she became accustomed to his weight, his girth.

\"Darling,\" He whispered and she moved her fingers into his white-blonde hair, pushed his head closer and kissed him.

His thrusts began, slow at first, then became harder and quicker. Her soft cries were musical and tickled him, goading him to thoroughly and completely fuck her innocent body. Her head dropped back and she closed her eyes as his hips rocked her up and down on the bench.

He felt his climax begin to build and bit her, gently, on the throat. She was tight and velvety, and everything that he had imagined her body to be like. She fit like a glove and it was driving him insane.

\"Oh, oh, God,\" She panted, clawing at his bare back. She dragged her nails down and he shivered, wondered if she drew blood.

\"Antigone,\" He growled and pumped harder, tilting his hips so his thrusts would grind against her in all the right ways, and he felt her quake, again, and then heard her passionate cry as she came. He grit his teeth, wanting to wait to orgasm after her so she could ride her wave completely and to its fullest, but her throbbing sex was too much.

He cried out, also, as he felt himself spill over and into her. It was nothing like the love-making he experienced with his wife, her mother - no, this was more intense. His strong arms that had propped him over her went weak, and he lowered himself very carefully onto her body, panting and kissing her face, her closed eyelids.

Her hands craddled his face and she kissed his mouth deeply, and their tongues touched and teased one another.

After what felt like a lifetime had passed and their breathing became gentle and slow, he shifted and he nuzzled his daughter\'s neck.

\"Antigone,\" He murmured again and again, her name a beautiful chant. \"I love you,\" He said, softly.

She smiled and leaned her tired head against his. The rain, which had been thunderous and loud against the glass ceiling, became soft little tapping. The storm had passed, and left the two tangled together in the garden.