FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Trace's eyes popped open, wide as dinner plates and twice as hard. Glaring at me he snatched my shoulders in his grasp, picking me up bodily. "Annette! You're drunk!" He demanded admonishingly, more than asked.

I tried to be sweet, and I think it worked really well. "No..." I said gently. "Maybe in another half hour. Maybe if you kissed me. But right now I'm not inebriated enough to be crazy." None of that was the right thing to say, obviously, because he scooted enormously to one side of the bed, and plopped me unceremoniously on the other. He turned away from me, stiff. I had pretty much only ever felt worse when I was still mourning my dad - since mom was a little softer blow, being so far back and still having had someone at least to protect me.

I was spurned. I was rejected. I was foolish, stupid, assuming, helpless and clingy; pathetic and worthless and ghoulish to boot. Feeling this, and not really having any safety net but him, I scooted back over and wrapped my arms around his waist, nuzzling between his shoulder blades inquisitively. He was tensed from head to toe, and that was the worst part of it all. I did not remove my arms, nor did he tell me to, but it was obvious I had soured entirely this sweet, amazing night. I did not fall asleep until long after Trace did, which was no brief affair on his part, either. At least he relaxed when he did.

I woke up to the smell of really nasty coffee, with nobody but a pillow in my grasp. Trace was already dressed, shirt untucked, coat and ribbon folded neatly on the bed. My dress was sitting right next to me - on my side of the bed, I thought deviously, though that glee immediately fell away when I remembered the foolishness I had perpetrated. He hadn't noticed I was awake yet, because I had hardly stirred, so I stole a long glance at him. He was staring at himself in the mirror over the sink - for some reason hotels had bathroom sinks and... just sinks. Maybe it was the "kitchen"? - looking upset with himself. Maybe just upset, though I was not eager to find out the answer.

Stirring theatrically, he jumped a little, and stared deeply at me for a moment, before glancing away like it was casual. That put a little stutter into my despair, because I don't know that I had ever seen him stare like that before. I shuffled the covers off me, careful not to throw my clothes on the floor, and got out of bed. Not wanting to try my luck, particularly, I did as I always did in the morning and hugged him from behind, nuzzling between his shoulders. This time I rested my cheek against him contentedly, which was at least not completely the wrong answer.

Instead of acknowledging my affection he said, hushed, "Want some coffee, Annette? We need to leave fairly shortly." I nodded, rubbing against the nice linen of his shirt. I wondered if he was going to drop the whole thing, or if he was trying to delay the argument. Or maybe he just gave in.... I severely doubted that. If that were the case Trace would have been cooing and calling me sweet names and touching me.

I got a Styrofoam cup and some coffee. It was too hot, so I shuffled into my dress and shoes. I did not look like a nineteen year old anymore, I guessed, glancing this way and that in the mirror. Though far behind Trace. What had been svelte curve and sultry cheeks had turned all awkward and childish. I felt - for probably the first time I could remember, true and utter shame. What was I thinking? I was barely... blossomed, and I was chasing a man who could have anyone he desired at any time. But he doesn't love anyone else. He said so.

I gulped down coffee that tasted like wood ash, used the bathroom for the long trip, and announced, "I'm ready to go, I think." I never said, "I think." I was either certain or I was not. Trace acceded, and we were shortly out the door. I was smart enough, or chastened enough not to try to coax his embrace, and walked about a foot behind him. We got in the car, started it, and idling, Trace got out to pay our fee and leave.

The first hour of the car ride was torturous. It was some dreadful review of the week's stocks, as well as predictions on next week's. This would all interest me thoroughly if the math involved were actually legit, and not coaxed and cooked and contrived to make sums people wanted to see. Then again, if mathematicians ran the world, it would be pretty boring, if peaceful. That train of thought kept me from feeling like I had shrunken and mutated into something horrid.

Once we were on an empty patch of road, long and straight, Trace's mood sort of darkened. It took a further ten minutes (we had been on the road for like, almost an hour-and-a-half), for him to get the will, or subdue the anger, or push down his disgust or whatever, to say, firmly - coldly - "So just what was that?" Like I had broken or ruined something precious. Which, a pit in my belly told me I irreparably had.

"It's not really something I can explain..." I whined.

"You'd better."

"I..." Oh boy. This was going to be bad. "I..." He would hate every word of this and worse. "I... was... alone... for six years." I started where things would hurt the least. "I cooked for myself, and cleaned. I did laundry and made my bed. I attended school and found a hobby. I did taxes and learned how to best keep my money for myself against those yearly tithes." I was looking at him imploringly, but he was fixated on the road. The tendons in his hands were visible with the tension he held the wheel. He was carved from stone. And stones always did wear down steel.

"I never needed anybody.... I don't... need... somebody - you - to take care of me...." I continued, hoping the hardest part would not be so bad. It was kind of worse.

"So what? You're just going to walk off tonight when we get home? 'Thanks for the play, I love you too. See you in hell.'?" Trace snapped at me, voice gravel and ice.

"No!" I whined even more pathetically than the first time. "This time I've had with you has been the best in my life. In my entire life! I've never felt so safe, and comforted and loved - oh god how I had forgotten the feeling of being beloved! - as I do when I'm with you." All of that came out quite fluently, which was a decent sign. It did not soften Trace a bit. So a short moment passed before I continued, "It's just that... I don't need you to take care of me. I don't need to be fed and educated and... sheltered. I am capable of doing that all by myself." I thought his gaze was as hard as it could be before. And so, though there was mind erasing, gut wrenching terror running icily through my veins, I managed to continue.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I want you in my life. Trace, you mean everything to me. I love you so very much, and I know you know this. It's just that... I finally realized last night... that I think I'm... I'm kind of in love with you." I sighed, having said my peace, but sure this was just the start.

"And what made you decide this?" Trace asked me with an ocean of acid.

"I didn't decide anything! You jerk!" I snapped, offended beyond words and scared as well. "I - you've been holding me and kissing me and telling me you love me every day - shut up! - and I know that we only sleep together because of me. I know everything is all my fault. And I'm sorry for that too, but I can't help it. When you touch me it's like lightning and fire and ice all at once. When you hold me the whole world blurs until it's just you and me. When you tell me you love me, I don't feel like some horror monster, living in a graveyard eating rot.

"I don't want to lose any of that. I want to be the first thing you reach for in the morning. I want snuggling to be the best part of watching movies. I want kisses good night and squeezing embraces and I want to wake up with you spooned up against me. I like it when I find you holding me inappropriately. I love it. I love you in all the ways that a... daughter... should love her, ngh, father... it's just that those feelings are not the entire depth of my love for you. Instead of you kissing my cheek or me yours, I want to... actually kiss. I want you to look at me like you did this morning, without looking away like I was accusing you of something." This was as good as I could do with the whole admission of love, but I was sure it was not having the desired effect. "I want you."

"So you want to play sex games and pretend you're a grownup." That was not a question. "You're a horny teenager trying to get an easy fix." His tone was much more defensive, even though I had not been able to go on the attack yet for that to be warranted.

That statement hurt me in ways I had never been hurt. "Trace... why are you so mad at me? I'm not like that. What have I even done to indicate that? I never said that?" My resolve was broken, my voice quivering.

"I'm upset because you tried to make out with me and - " He began lecturing, but I cut him off before he said something even stupider than that. My resolve congealed again, harder.

"Oh come off it! I wasn't trying to make out with you. I wanted us to have a cordial, gentle goodnight kiss. Not some - something from a teen movie!" I snarled, cornered. "I'm sorry that I'm not good enough for you! I'll just leave it alone from now on!"

My yelling apparently got his attention, because I felt us slow noticeably, and he looked at me for long enough I was about to tell him to keep his eyes on the road. "Annette, what has gotten into you? Since we met you've been as sweet as can be, and twice as affectionate. Now you keep snapping at me and accusing me of terrible things."

"Well, maybe I am feeling insecure that the man I have feelings for doesn't requite them." I growled, looking out my window, half turned in my seat. "Maybe I was scared that he was just being affectionate because he was putting up with me and telling me he loved me because it was the right answer. Maybe I was worried this exact thing would happen, and that despite all of that concern I still wanted more than anything to kiss you, because you make my heart fit to burst.

"I don't know Trace. What has gotten into me?" I finished, as hatefully and cold as possible. He softened visibly, but his eyes were still hard and his grip still iron. We sat in silence for quite a while. I had lost track of time because I was too angry to pay attention to it, but it felt like eternity.

"I know you wouldn't lie to me..." Trace began gingerly, eyeing me occasionally like I was dangerous, "but this is all a lot to take in." He sighed like he was the one on trial, which made the fury in my gut burn hotter and deeper. "And you know that girls your age have such fickle hearts...."

"I am not 'a girl my age', and comparing me in any capacity beyond anatomically is complete garbage." I snapped.

"Fine." He conceded, "I guess you are one-of-a-kind. But that doesn't mean I think you have the capacity to fall in love like you're claiming. I don't see why limerence is something that either of us should indulge, just because you know your bank account number and file for disability. You're still a kid, no matter what you say."

"What has age got to do with it? Stop calling me a kid. What is it that's so wrong with me?" I asked, off balance.

"Sweetheart, it's got nothing to do with something being 'wrong' with you. It's not okay. It's an inherently immoral prospect."

"Oh do go on." I grumbled.

"Well for one thing, I have power over you." I snorted derisively at that. "For another, it's illegal. For a third thing, you can't just decide you like somebody and have that automatically be the case. And for a fourth thing, if you're interested in boys, you should be looking for somebody in your own peer group."

Everything that just fell out of Trace's mouth was pure drivel, but I was trying to be nice to him, or at least not start a worse argument, since this one was pretty horrible. I ignored the first three points, because there was no worth to them, and said firmly, "I don't have a peer group. If you mean fourteen year olds, then they are absolutely not. You are pretty much the closest thing to a peer I have, and not just because we live together. You understand how to be responsible - at least when you're not throwing fancy clothes and dates at me -" that actually made him more comfortable, which made this whole situation more confusing and scary. "You know how to think and act practically, you figure out your own schedule, and... I mean, just stuff that my 'peer group' does not know how to do yet, and which turns me off immensely."

Trace stared ahead for about a minute. I guess now that we were done snarling at each other the urgency of the dialogue wasn't as important. "You haven't even tried." He said lamely.

"I haven't tried kissing a girl, but I know I don't want to do that either." I said, trying to brighten the mood. It didn't work.

"So boys your own age disgust you that much, romantically?" He asked me skeptically, "Why?"

I nodded. "I mean, they're all completely stupid. Same games they played in elementary school, just bigger muscles or sometimes motors instead of pedals. Same styles as the next in the clique. Oh, and the noise. If they're not really extroverted and bouncy, they all seem to ogle everything in sight, or keep their noses firmly in fantasy - not that that's the worst vice they could acquire - instead of trying to improve their own situations.

"Plus, they're so naive I would feel more accomplished taking candy from a baby than from stealing a boy's virginity. It's like taking advantage of someone, and the idea of it makes me feel dirty." I looked over at Trace, whose face was a blank mask, both arms completely clenched. I suspected most of his body was. This was either the worst sign, or a good one. "But you, at least, are only susceptible to batting lashes or swishing tails when you want to be. You're not on the whim of your... you know... genitals."

He didn't say a word for the entire rest of the trip. I mean, there was a news trivia show on that was really funny, though I kept in any signs of mirth except the occasional mysterious smirk - you know, for effect. Fortunately, our argument had taken quite a good while, and we only drove for another forty-five minutes. The silence to which I was trying not to pay attention was not comfortable at all.

So Trace parked in the driveway, and we got out and entered the house. I had taken about half a step, before Trace grabbed me by the waist and actually picked me up. I would have yelped if this had surprised me. He breathed in my scent, like he usually pretended he did not, and a weary sigh followed. He asked me, almost admonishingly, "Whatever am I going to do with you, Annette?"

This rhetorical made me blush to my eartips. And even though it was such, I timidly asked, "Love me?" He squeezed me until I could hardly breathe, then set me down. I wanted to "lose my balance", so Trace would catch me, but I had gotten pretty decent at walking in these shoes. They weren't that high. I went to my room and then was uncertain what to do. Symbolically, I wanted to put my shoes back in Trace's room. Realistically, I liked having a closet the size of a bedroom, and found it impractical not to use it. I took off my earrings and deposited my purse.

I grabbed my usual affair of pajamas, since we were home for the evening, and marched to Trace's room, heart pounding like a kettledrum. He was hanging up his shirt as I sat down on the bed, removing one shoe then the other, standing up and removing my dress. None of this mattered, I guess, except Trace turned around at about the point I was pulling my shorts up my ankles. Combined with the whole "keep your tail at a respectable angle" thing and my skimpy don't-show-your-panty-line undies, made me think he got a really great view. So now my heart was pounding and I was blushing hot on my cheeks. Trying desperately to ignore him, in case he said something stupid, I pulled on my shirt.

Seamlessly, like, really, Trace and I switched places. I put my shoes in the closet and hung up my dress. I left the room without looking at or saying anything. Though the idea of Trace showing off for me made me feel kind of good. I wandered to the kitchen to make dinner, since we'd missed breakfast and lunch, and I wanted to cuddle for very obvious reasons. I dug around in fridge and freezer, trying to think of some kind of comfort food to make - although I guess beef stew was comfort food... still - I found some white fish with a strange name, and decided on fried fish.

I don't know what Trace was doing in his room, though I guess he did have a computer and a bathroom in there. As usual though, when he smelled food he came looking for me. "Are you making dinner already?"

I looked at him meaningfully, what with egg batter on my one hand and breadcrumbs... everywhere. "I'm hungry and kind of tired. How many fish do you want?"

"Fried fish? Yeah, real tired." He teased. Though he came over and put his hand on my waist, appraising. "Maybe two. Still kind of full from last night." And despite saying that he started making us salads. "This seems kind of ambitious for 'tired and hungry' food."

"It takes like ten minutes to make this stuff. It's messy, but you can reuse the breadcrumbs at least." Trace didn't seem to buy it. "Well, you see where I've gotten so far. Your fancy magnet stove gets stuff hot fast. Besides, what's with 'still full' and making a salad?" A brief thought flashed into my head. You two are flirting. He's not flinching away. I kind of smirked at him at that.

"Balanced meal." Was his answer. In like ten minutes we were both eating, and the silence was companionable though I was doing my best not to stare. I was failing at that. It was kind of weird eating dinner during the daytime, but this whole day had been weird. Which put a nasty thought into my head.

"You're not mad at me, right?" I asked, staring at my plate.

He stopped eating to stare at me for several moments, I guess to see if I was trying to pull some trick. "No, Annette. I'm not mad at you." This was very good news.

"Wanna watch a few movies after this?" I broached. "Watch a few movies" mostly was my code for "please hold me", anyway.

"Well, I kind of need to go to the gym. I skipped yesterday." He said that almost like he was apologetic.

I realized that Trace did not get the physique he had by watching movies and eating salad, but this still disappointed me. I hugely preferred him to do that after work before coming home - like he had on Wednesday - so I had time to do my homework and tidy the house and think about dinner without having to think about Trace having gone and when he was coming back. That thought sounded especially pathetic in light of this morning's... discussion.

Either way, we finished our plates, and Trace departed for his room. I guessed I could start looking at plays. Besides, I was going to do my best from now on to just be... good. Considering I had just told my adoptive father I was in love with him, and that I think he was really mad at me despite what he said. Either way, I grabbed three of my manuscripts.

I found out that Trace's video game system was not linked to his computer or to the network. So I stole it. It's not like I had much multimedia on my computer, but it was a gesture. I started finding streams of good versions of the three plays that were up for grabs this semester. They were all awfully preachy sounding in title, but I started with the first one. It turned out to be more of a short memoir of a city. Super moralistic. Ick. Second was a tragedy about hubris, which was pretty decent. Lots of murder and slapstick. Last one was a long poem from an ancient religious text that I was surprised the district would even consider, in light of what these people were saying.

The first two had been quite short, but the third long enough to have two parts. I was kind of considering turning it off, because it made me uncomfortable to watch, but it was kind of interesting. Floating castles, stolen princesses, strange magic - nothing was off limits back then, I guess. Either way, it was about six when Trace's car pulled into the drive and he exited.

I was at the door to greet him, and threw a tremendous hug around him, nuzzling his chest. He petted my head and told me to calm down. "I've been gone for three hours, what's wrong?" Trace said kind of firmly.

I realized that in less than ten seconds I had failed to be good, "I missed you. And these plays are boring." I said, indicating the television.

Trace petted my head and asked, "Where'd you get those?" I told him about stealing the heart of his video game system and he petted me again, more thoroughly as I did so. "Well anyway, why are you watching them if they're boring?"

"I'm trying to see which one I'd rather do. Can't vote blindly." I said like this was natural.

"You sure do like homework." He teased.

"I like theatre. What else am I supposed to do while you're gone?" That didn't sound very... good... either.

"Play games, listen to music, invite friends over," there was a leer in his voice on the last one that made me roll my eyes. "Exercise, sing, read - though I've at least seen you do that one." I had stopped being certain if he was teasing me or not, but I was blushing very hot in my ears.

"What does it matter?" I mumbled.

"Everybody needs to relax sometimes. Especially you." The first part was gentle, the second serious. "And I'm sure you want to watch a movie now, too." I nodded and failed to keep my tail from wagging as I disengaged from the hug and kind of... flitted to the couch. It was clear that Trace was uncomfortable - or, I guess... trying not to escalate things - but that did not stop me from staring impatiently. He rolled his eyes enormously and sat down, finding me sitting directly against him, with my head on his shoulder.

I was feeling conflicted between being utterly saccharine and kind of wanting to see people get killed. I also was worried I might do something stupid, and I was already on thin ice and failing at every turn to defuse this. Granted, when I picked one of those gritty historic fiction movies, I was unaware of the romantic subplots and generally sexual nature of the film. Great. The first twenty minutes involved narrated correspondence between the hero and the female lead. And naturally, Trace did not put his arm around my waist until there were people dying, for fear of me misreading his intention.

There was enough action to distract me from how badly I wanted Trace to treat me like the female lead was treated. I guess up to and including the part where he pinned her to the wall while he felt her up and greedily kissed her. This sent my thoughts into a very sexual place, which was weird, because I didn't really think about sex all that much. It had obviously been off the table as a prospect until I got to college, at which point I probably would not know well enough how to socialize that it would still be difficult. Realism sucks.

The movie was pretty long - the huge siege alone taking up over an hour, and taking my mind off of an obedient Annette wrapped arm and leg around Trace while - well, it wasn't important. The thing was, though, I was very tired, and suggested with as little sultriness in my voice as possible, that maybe it was time for bed. He agreed mildly and we untangled ourselves. Trace got up first, and I dallied for several moments. Not entirely comfortable following him straight to his room, I got up and went to my bathroom. I didn't need to go, but I spent several minutes brushing my hair and checking my face for pimples - which I did not get and which nobody could see through my fur even if I did. Finally, I brushed my teeth for the night and had no more excuses.

I realized that I was stalling, and that if I really wanted to make things easier, I had my own bed and room and privacy. Except as I exited the bathroom and turned down the hall, I turned toward Trace's room instead of mine. And despite the clutter, which I never kept, and men's clothing (almost all of the clutter) everywhere, this still felt like the most comfortable and welcoming space I had ever known. I crawled into bed. Into our bed. Trace was laying on his back, arms folded under his head, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Kind of automatically, I scooted over to him, rolled onto my side and draped an arm and a leg across him. He didn't react, but at least he didn't tense up. It seemed like something might have been on his mind, but I didn't want to push him any more this weekend, and I especially didn't want to cause a disagreement that would deny me cuddling. Besides, I had stopped thinking about sex, and just wanted to be held and petted... and maybe reassured that Trace still loved me. God I was pathetic.

However, as badly as I wanted to be good, was nowhere near as insidiously delightful as being close to Trace. Feeling suddenly restless, I ended up moving around trying to get comfortable for several minutes. On the third attempt at getting comfortable by rolling over, this time onto my tummy, Trace stirred, though he was obviously not sleeping. This position was worse, so I flopped over yet again, which made Trace grab me and pull me atop him.

"Quit squirming around, Annette..." Trace said, halfway between a grumble and a purr. We were face-to-face, me on top of him. Instantly a flurry of bad ideas entered my head, at the forefront of which was the image of Trace and me like we were now, but with hands exploring each other, lips touching - this was not working. I dropped my forehead against his, and muzzle to muzzle, gazes locked, I had never felt so wonderfully... intimate.

I was trying to behave, but the voice that fell out of my mouth as I commented, "This is much better...." Sounded anything but wholesome. Also, I found my hands drifting back and forth across Trace's flanks, reveling in the silky thick fur and solid muscle. For some reason, he had no problem with me doing this, and I mindlessly continued. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, though I was not getting any nearer to sleeping, and started to rub my face against Trace's.

He gracefully stopped me from getting too interested in that by scooting up the bed, moving his muzzle and planting his chin on the top of my head. I hadn't ever noticed it before, which is weird, because I slept with him every night, but Trace's scent was really delightful. After breathing deeply for a few moments, I... kind of placed three kisses on the hollow of Trace's throat, and burbled, "Goodnight, Trace." And after a long pause, but not long enough for him to answer, I continued, "I love you." In a very small voice.

"Love you too, Annette. Sweet dreams." Saying this he buried his nose in my scalp, and made no indication he was going to move. The warm breeze of his respiration was oddly soothing, and I found a sweet warmth growing in my core. I really would have liked a long, gentle kiss right now, but knew much better than to say anything. Besides, we hadn't behaved like this on any of the other nights we had slept together, so I was interested to see how far Trace would take things on his own. After several minutes Trace's hands started to drift up my back. The right was moving quicker than the left, and ended up cradling the back of my head, while the left stroked up between my shoulder blades and back down, in slow, sensual caresses.

I managed not to grin at this, but it was way more distracting - and inappropriate - than when he had rubbed my legs a few days ago. Instead of saying something, because I knew I would just put my foot in my mouth, I simply enjoyed the feeling of being petted. As I was starting to get used to this, and by extension letting my guard down, Trace did something different. He started running his fingertips firmly up and down my spine, causing a low, pleased growl to escape my lips and my back to arch automatically.

He kind of froze which was both annoying and worrisome - if he was going to pet me he needed to keep doing it! He looked at me with this kind of accusatory, suspicious gaze that made me blush, and asked kind of grumpily, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing! That was... reflexive...." I snapped, both embarrassed at my reaction and upset that Trace had quit his petting, because it felt wonderful. "It's not like I make a fuss when your... your thing wakes me up poking me in the back at night!" I had no idea why I said that, but it at least made him stop looking at me accusingly. "Just keep petting me..." I pouted, nuzzling under his chin emphatically..

Though it took him a long while to do so, he did start to stroke my back again, eventually working his way up to my head where he started combing my hair lazily. Even though it felt wonderful, I managed to be still through this since I wanted him not to stop again. Momentarily he rolled my head to the side, which was a shame because I had been considering starting to kiss his neck again.

His lips landed against the outside of my ear and he mumbled, "You know, of any girl on the planet, I never expected you to be such a handful." This was said very affectionately, making me unsure if that was an admonition or an admiration. Regardless, it made me blush, and I wished dearly he would just admit that he was in love with me. Mostly because I wanted him to kiss me so badly anytime he held me close.

"It's your fault for being so wonderful." I accused lovingly, my hands sliding around his back and finally coming to rest. "And spoiling me. And holding me. And buying me things. You make it awfully hard to behave around you." As I said these things I felt the blush in my ears getting warmer, as well as the insistent heat growing in my core.

"So I'm supposed to mistreat you and make you wear your dreadful, ancient clothes? Work you like a slave and keep you isolated?" He asked softly. The hand that had been cradling my head found its way to the small of my back, and squeezed me tight.

As usual, the thought, He knows what he's doing. He's been with enough girls to know that whispering sweet nothings and holding you close and combing your hair are not just soothing gestures. "If you wanted to mistreat me, you could start... uh..." I said, unable to ask him to sexually "abuse" me. "I mean, it just seems like you dote on me an awful lot..."

"Because you don't have to do all the housework and I took you to the theater?" He asked skeptically.

"I mean... I guess if you put it like that." This was not working. I was trying to make him say he loved me and he just kept twisting my meanings until I didn't know what to say. "It still feels more romantic than paternal, when we're like this." That was a horribly worded statement of affection, but it's what came out.

"You're the one who told me to keep petting you after I stopped. After you... got too into it...."

"Hmm... so if I told you to shut up and kiss me, you'd do that too?" I cooed sweetly, wriggling minutely closer. He froze up again, and I enjoyed my slight victory, since making him at least think about me in that context was a foot in the door, so to speak.

He pressed my head firmly to his chest, and his grip on my back became iron. "Are you going to bring this up every time we go to bed?" He asked me, though there seemed like a hint of mirth in his voice.

"Just until you give in." I denied, hoping he would just tilt my chin up to meet his kiss. "Or until you tell me I can't sleep with you anymore..." I added, knowing he would not do that.

He sighed enormously and dropped his head back against the pillows. "You do understand why we can't... do what you're suggesting, right?"

"I understand that you'll keep singing that line about morality and law and power dynamics." I emphasized disdainfully. "But no, I don't really see what would stop either of us from shedding our pretense and being lovers." I think that was the first time I had used that word, and it felt incredible falling off my tongue. Imagine! Me having a lover. "I mean... unless you don't like me?"

"Annette, I've loved you since the day I met you. But I'd rather see you grow up happy and healthy and safe than to have random sex with you."

"Just because you've never had a meaningful relationship, doesn't make all sex random." I pointed out, wondering how I could be more versed in romance than he. "I thought that when two people were close like this - mumbling sweetly in each other's ear, practically as close as two people can be, arms and legs entwined; a deep, genuine connection - they called it 'making love'? And further, you're the one who jumped straight to fucking. I asked for a kiss." I rolled my head back to try to look at him, but managed only to place my muzzle under his chin. "Although," I sighed warmly, trying to tickle him with my breath, "If your mind drifts so easily to the idea of you and me... doing that..." I paused for a long time, because despite my certainty, these words were still strange and hard to proclaim. "You do already have me right where you want me."

I don't know why I did it - I mean, emotionally it was to emphasize that I was interested in him, but intellectually I knew this was a bad move that would likely end up with me in trouble - but after I finished talking I rolled my hips slowly, sensually, firmly once. I crooned deep in my chest at both the sensation and the mimicry of the action I was getting more and more interested in. Oddly enough, Trace didn't freeze up when I did that. He looked down at me, and I grinned as seductively as I could manage. It seemed like we were on the cusp of something, but it didn't seem like making love was quite what was coming next.

"Annette, are you feeling okay?" Trace asked. I realized that he must be very nervous to change the subject like that. Egged on by the way I could make this confident, sexy male so off balance so easily, I scooted a few inches up his body, only a tiny twinge of disappointment as our hips moved apart. "Aside from just... this... you've been acting strange all weekend."

"Maybe it turns out that there was a playful, flirty little tramp hiding under my steely exterior?" I suggested, drawing my face to his until our noses were touching. I could almost feel the graze of his lips on mine when I spoke. Just the slightest inclination of either of our heads would do it. "Maybe I decided that I like being doted on and spoiled, and that you deserve the same treatment."

"So you want to repay me, that's it? Annette, you owe me nothing, and I want to claim nothing from you."

"I don't feel obligated. I've told you at least three times now; I'm falling in love with you. Maybe it is just because I'm a horny teenager, but... I... you turn me on like I've never been before. When you give me that look like... well like you did this morning before you noticed I was awake - when you look at me like that, my heart gets all fuzzy and my tummy gets warm, and I want to throw my arms around you and kiss you. You look at me like you can't get enough - like you don't even believe I'm real and with you. I know it's not my gaze, but are you sure there's not something I do that makes you feel the same?"

"You're basing all of this on the way I glanced at you in bed this morning?" He asked, trying very obviously to divert my point.

"How about when I'm laying on the couch, and you just pick me up and set me in your lap? When you rub my tummy and nibble my ear? You purr like a motor and the way you touch me is sensual more than familiar." He didn't answer, so I pressed on. "When I make breakfast and, when you don't just sit down and stare at my butt, you come over and hold me and call me sweet names and thank me profusely.

"Or even now. You've been with countless women. Are you going to say you honestly didn't expect my reaction from the way you were rubbing my back? That you don't know every time you bury your nose in my hair to smell me - who even does that but lovers? - you're doing very... not-fatherly things with me. In fact, even us sleeping together speaks more of romantic love than paternal love."

"Look, Annette. There is not an answer I can give you that will satisfy you." Trace started hesitantly.

I interrupted saying brightly, "Sure there is! Just kiss me. You'd barely even have to move. We'll call it an accident and you can think it over until morning, when I expect to be devoured in them." I had no idea I could get so turned on from a conversation like this, but even as those words were uttered, I felt goosebumps as my fur fluffed out, felt my nipples slowly stiffening, and that warmth in my tummy slowly turning into a happy little bonfire that wanted one very specific piece of wood, if I may be so crass as to use the metaphor.

"If you weren't a kid..." he continued, voice actually quavering once, " If you were old enough to consent and I wasn't your father...." He sighed, long and low like he was exhausted and in pain. "If I were your age or you were mine, I would have pursued you relentlessly. You're right, I can't get enough of the sight of you. I didn't believe there could be a girl like you. You say I stare at you and it turns you on, okay, fine. But when you're concentrating, you look like lasers could shoot from your eyes you get so transfixed, and I'm not sure why, but just being around you when you're like that makes me feel like the luckiest man on the planet. When you kick your feet against the arm of the sofa while you lay on your stomach and read, I just want to grab you and tickle you or touch you or trail kisses up your legs so that you can't focus on anything else but me.

"And I don't mean it in the way you're going to interpret it, but there's times I wish I had never met you. Because then you wouldn't have to be listening to me tell you no. Because then we wouldn't have to try to make this... farcical family work. I want you to grow alongside somebody your own age, and have heartbreak and first love and awkward teenage sex and be normal.

"But every time I think that - that you should be trying to make friends at school, or trying to find a boy you're interested in, you latch on to me with as many limbs as you can, and you look straight into my soul with that laser focus - I'm foiled at every turn by my gorgeous, seductive, completely amoral daughter.

"Do you think the idea turns me off? You're beautiful in more ways than I can describe, and in even more ways than you would believe me if I told you. You're smart and charming and funny, and for some reason I'm able to take some of the hurt that radiates off you away, and that's the greatest achievement I think I'll ever have. But...we can't. We can not be more than... inappropriately affectionate... family."

This was much less drivel than he had spewed on the trip home, and I was honestly taken aback that he would expound so freely on this. I lowered my muzzle and kissed my way down his chin and neck to rest my head on his chest. His heart was pounding and there was a very quiet, nervous purr near his diaphragm. It was incredible that I could do this to him, though I wished I were making him feel intense glee, instead of agony.

"So that's the best you've got?" I asked sadly. "'I'm in love with you but paralyzed by over thinking and concern I might do damage.'? Regardless of all the damage I've suffered and survived? Regardless of the two of us being crazy about each other? We're going to pretend to be satisfied pecking each other on the cheeks and never getting to... make each other feel good? You're right, Trace. I don't like that answer one bit."

"You believe me, though, right?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice I had never heard, and did not care ever to hear again. I wanted my self-assured, cocky, rock of a man back. "It's not that you're unattractive. It's not that we don't get along. We just can't." He reiterated.

"You know, I find helplessness a real turnoff." I pointed out drily. "But, if you're going to be so hardheaded about this, then we'll do it your way. What's the age of consent in this jurisdiction? I'm sure that's more relevant to your interests than it ever was previously to mine."

He was visibly (well, I couldn't see his face, but whatever) shaken by this comment. "That's it? No arguing, no pouting or crying or yelling?"

"Short of actually sexually assaulting you, I can't really think of anything to change your mind. I assume if I wear skimpy lingerie to bed, you'll just tell me I look pretty, roll over and go to sleep. If I came to bed naked, you'd have some dumb quip to make, and it still wouldn't lead anywhere. If you're anywhere near as stubborn about everything as you were about getting me to go to the mall, I don't see much point in wasting my breath. I love you, Trace. Goodnight." I said kind of matter-of-factly and slightly irritably.

It became obvious pretty much immediately that this statement had a great effect on him, though whether it was good or bad was hard to say, as he quickly rolled over and pinned me to the bed. The hand on my back moved to the front of my hip, and the one stroking my hair pinned my shoulder. My arms were still wrapped around him, and I had never felt more female in my entire life. A coy but wicked grin spread across my face, and we were staring meaningfully into each other's eyes.

There was nothing about this situation I didn't like, until he grumbled, again in that teasing, accusatory way, "You're the worst."

Despite being called that, I giggled. "You're exaggerating." I demurred. It occurred to me again that Trace was the one who kept escalating this situation, which excited me immensely. "And... unless you're going to... do something... to me, then get off." I didn't really want him to get off me. I wanted him to keep being all assertive and stuff.

"Maybe." He agreed, grinning conspiratorially. "But you certainly are a naughty girl." The tone of his voice as he said those last two words made that fire in my belly grow immensely.

I wrapped my leg around his hips, pulling him and myself closer. "Well, if I'm so poorly behaved, maybe you should discipline me." I growled, the lust in my voice completely unhidden.

It didn't seem like I had said the wrong thing, but for some reason he kind of paused. And then sort of carefully extricated himself from our entanglement. He didn't move back to his side of the bed, and as he adjusted himself his arms closed back around me, but this time he was on his side while I was still on my back. My eagerness kind of deflated again, as that lustful gaze and tone of voice disappeared from Trace. He purred teasingly, "Maybe I should ground you."

I wanted to tell him I preferred corporal punishment, but what I said instead was, "That wouldn't work. I have plenty of entertainment in my room.... Not to mention, you know you can't keep away from me, so when you finally did come in to bother me that would also defeat the point of my being grounded."

He let out a little hum of laughter, and agreed quietly, "You're right. We'll have to figure something else out.

"You could spank me." Fell out of my mouth automatically, despite my not wanting to say that. I immediately blushed and averted my gaze.

Trace let out another hum of laughter and teased, "With how eager you sounded I don't think that would be a punishment, darling." I nodded hesitantly and he chuckled openly. He started stroking my flanks again, down to the hip and up to the middle of my ribcage. I was very tired of games like this, and felt my mood grow somewhat cold.

"If you're just going to keep... messing around without going anywhere, cut it out." I pouted, plucking at his hands without intent. I had gotten a decent, honest reply from him, but I was still uncertain of our status or our ability to communicate properly. His hands fell to rest on my hips in a manner he had not previously done, but such was little consolation for the fact that my tummy was aching with fire and my lips were still unkissed. As my final attempt for the night, I burbled enticingly, "I still would like a goodnight kiss. I didn't get one last night...." Trace did not respond, but neither did he freeze up or tell me I was misbehaving. Instead he brought one hand up to the back of my head, tilted it to face his, and kissed me. Not, of course, on the mouth. But across the bridge of my muzzle. Long and firmly, with a little croon in his throat, such that I barely could be upset with the outcome.

He stared me meaningfully in the eyes for a minute or two before saying with a bit of firmness, but still all the gentleness in the world, "Goodnight my darling. I love you." This intonation was satisfying, but I was greedy. I fell asleep not long after disappointed and confused, but still truly excited and hopeful that Trace may have started to give into my demands. Demands which I thought were perfectly reasonable and enjoyable for the both of us.