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Summary
“Are you fucking hard right now? Jesus, Dad, you’re sick. You’re disgusting,” she spat. But she didn’t move.
“Beth, I can’t control—it’s a n–natural—don’t be fucking weird about this, okay?” He writhed beneath her, hands at his side, careful not to touch her thighs that were slick with sweat and luminous in the dim, pale lighting of his bedroom.
Still, she didn’t move.
or
Like father like daughter.
