Page 61 of Off Limits
He runs his eyes over my face, along my hairline, a smile playing on his lips that somehow emphasizes the cleft in his chin. I love seeing him look at me this way. As if he’s captivated by me. As if I’m something magical or sacred.
“You look good on a boat.” He smoothes the hair back from my forehead, where it’s no doubt tightening into curls in the humid air. “It suits you.”
My heart could melt looking at him. Big hand gripping the railing, big bicep pulling the fabric of his jacket taut, big man hovering over me with well over a foot on me.
Big in every way, I remember, with heat rising to my cheeks. The same yearning I’ve been living with for weeks pulses to life inside of me. I want all of Jean-Luc’s love. I want his loving, gentle protection, his mouth, his hands, and the orgasms he’s given me. And I want that final consummation, his cock inside of me. Jean-Luc losing all control because of how it feels to be that close to me. I want it more than I even have words for, and I don’t know if he’ll ever do that. It leaves me feeling raw and needy.
I imagine him pushing me back against the railing, his strong hands ripping off my shorts and spreading my legs. I would be so small underneath him. His big cock, which I can barely fit in my mouth, pushing into me until he’s thrusting hard and deep, grunting like an animal while he clutches me to him, my stepdaddy giving me everything he has, loving me so completely.
I must be giving him some kind of look because his face darkens and he looks away, out over the water.
“We have a reservation right near the venue,” he tells me. “But they were almost fully booked. We have to share a room.”
The wedding is a short Uber ride from our hotel at a winery. Guests in their finery are milling all over the place, inside and out, and it’s clear the entire space is rented out just for the wedding. White ribbons billow from every post, and strings of Edison bulbs sway in the wind above us. Jean-Luc doesn’t wait for a server, and walks right into the main room, ordering a scotch from the bar. When the bartender offers me a glass of wine, Jean-Luc answers for me. “She’ll have a Coke.”
We head outside, towards the back where white wooden chairs have been set out in neat rows below a makeshift ceiling of string lights, and I trail after Jean-Luc as he circulates among the guests, introducing me to the people I don’t know and reminding me about the people I do. It feels a little like a game of make-believe, and I wonder if anyone would believe I’m Jean-Luc’s date—except that he keeps introducing me to people as his daughter.
When a woman in a headset with a clipboard starts telling us to take our seats, we pick our way down a row about halfway back from the altar. Jean-Luc continues to greet and say hello to the people who sit around us. It seems like he knows everyone here.
The ceremony is sweet and informal. I’ve known the bride, the daughter of Jean-Luc’s partner, for as long as I’ve known Jean-Luc. Sarah is only seven years older than me, and looks breathtaking in a short, chiffon dress with a crown of yellow flowers in her hair. Her husband appears to be in his mid-thirties, a bit dumpy-looking in my opinion, but they radiate pure happiness as they take their vows under a garland of flowers.
It puts me in a sentimental mood, watching the wedding ceremony, and I find myself wondering if I’ll ever have a day like this.
The only person I could ever imagine standing at an altar with is the last person I could ever marry. My hand wanders to my throat, finding the diamond on the chain and twirling it between my fingers. With my other hand, I reach for Jean-Luc’s, lacing my fingers through his and hoping he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t. He gives my fingers a little squeeze and I sigh.
Forever and ever, that’s how long I wish I could be with him. As long we both shall live.
At dinner, we sit with three other architects and their wives. The men talk work, and the women try to engage me in conversation about school before giving up on me and talking amongst themselves. I surreptitiously keep my phone in my hand, swiping through TikTok and keeping an eye on the time, until eventually the new couple comes out for their first dance and I have something to watch.
I can’t stop thinking about a day like this for me, and what it would be like to dance in Jean-Luc’s arms while our friends and family watched. Jean-Luc’s family would fly in from Switzerland and welcome me into the Rochat clan. I’ve met them before, but I’ve always had Melanie’s last name, Holland. This time it would be different because I would be one of them.
Danica Rochat.
Watching Sarah and her new husband holding each other so close on the dance floor gives me the deepest longing to be up there with Jean-Luc. I wish we could look into each other’s eyes the way the newly married couple does. I wish we could be seen by everybody we loved—and accepted. I wish who we are didn’t have to be such a secret.
Our relationship may never be acceptable to the people we love, but I do get my opportunity to dance like the bride just a moment later when the song ends.
“All right everybody!” comes the deejay’s booming voice. “It’s Father’s Day tomorrow, and to celebrate, we’ve got the Daddy/Daughter dance for all the fathers and the daughters in the crowd. Come on up here, Bob! Let’s get you and the beautiful bride to kick it off.”
The crowd claps and cheers as my dad’s red-faced partner gets up from the bridal party table. The new groom steps away from Sarah and shakes Bob’s hand before they switch off, then the lights lower and a slow ‘80s song with the words father figure in it starts playing.
“Aren’t you two going to dance?” asks one of the wives, evoking smiling and nodding from the others, as they move their eyes between Jean-Luc and me. He tilts his head and raises his hand as if to dismiss them, and on a whim, I speak up before he has a chance to.
“C’mon, Dad,” I say, pushing my chair back and standing up. “Let’s dance.”
He hesitates for a moment, looking surprised, then gives the couples a tight-lipped smile before getting up to join me, and we make our way to the dance floor.
I’m craving his touch, his proximity, and when he takes me in his arms on the dance floor, my physical response is immediate. One hand holds mine, almost completely enveloping it, and the other presses flat against my lower back, drawing me forward towards him. I wish I could tilt my head up to him, and kiss him here in front of everybody, so I do the next best thing and step in closer, leaning my head against his chest. It’s so hard and firm and strong, and I don’t care that none of the other father/daughter pairs are dancing like this. This is my moment. The closest I’ll ever get to the wedding I wish I could have.
“Honey,” Jean-Luc murmurs against my hair. “This might be a little close for a Daddy/Daughter dance.”
“I don’t care.” I look up at him with imploring eyes. “I miss being close to you.”
“Dani.” His voice is soft but censorious, a father gently correcting a child, but something inside me is breaking open; something that can’t be contained. I love him. I love him with a kind of fierceness that can’t be locked up or tamed.
“Jean-Luc.” I match his tone. “Don’t you know everything’s different between us? I can’t pretend we’re the same as we were before. I can’t pretend I don’t love you, and I don’t want to. What if it…what if it wasn’t a secret anymore?”
He closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath. “Sweetheart. You know how I feel about you, but look around. We don’t live in a world where this is okay. And with your mother gone, I want you to know that I will always be there for you, okay? As…as a father.”