The storm slams into the Vineyard at midnight like it has a personal score to settle. Thunder cracks so violently the windows rattle in their frames. I lie in the bunkhouse bed, wide awake. When clients are on the property, sleep is a luxury I can’t afford. One missed call could cost me everything.

The Nor’easter howls like a living thing. Rain hammers the roof like it wants blood. Lightning flashes white across the room, followed by a boom that shakes the floorboards beneath me. Too close.

Then everything dies.

Nightlights go black. The clock blinks out. A second later the security alarms scream — I had deactivated the main house system earlier. No need to wake the clients. The generator should have kicked in within forty seconds. It doesn’t.

My landline rings.

“Code Murray,” I answer. “Power’s out. Generator’s offline. Heading to check it now.”

I pull on shorts, a t-shirt, and boots, then step into the chaos. Cold rain lashes my face and bare shoulders like needles. Trees whip violently in the wind. The pond is already flooding the lower road.

By the time I reach the generator shed I’m soaked to the bone. I run diagnostics in the dark, rain pelting my skin, but nothing responds. Just dead silence and the metallic taste of ozone in the air.

Another lightning strike explodes nearby, lighting up the entire area in blinding blue-white. Static crackles in the air. I’m lucky I wasn’t touching metal.

No time to dig deeper. I abandon the bullpen and head for the main house, moving fast through pitch black. I slip in through the servant’s entrance, dripping water everywhere, and pause to listen as the storm roars outside.

I’m halfway down the hallway when soft footsteps approach.

Lightning flashes.

Lila.

She stands there in nothing but a tiny white silk camisole and matching shorts that barely cover the curve of her ass. The thin fabric clings to her body like it’s painted on, her hard nipples clearly visible through the silk. Her blonde hair is wild, eyes wide with real fear.

“Hunter…” Her voice trembles. “The lights went out. I can’t see anything.”

Before I can answer, thunder explodes directly overhead. Lila cries out and lunges forward, slamming into my chest. Her soft, warm body presses hard against my soaked shirt. She’s tiny compared to me — her head barely reaches my sternum. My hands move on instinct, sliding down her back and cupping the firm, silk-covered cheeks of her ass.

The contact is electric. Her hard pierced nipples drag across my chest through the wet fabric. No bra. Just heat, silk, and rapid breathing. My cock surges instantly, thickening into a heavy, aching length that strains against my shorts and presses firmly into her stomach.

“You’re soaked,” she whispers, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she arches harder into me, grinding her hips forward so my thick erection rubs against her lower belly. I can feel the heat of her pussy through the thin silk. She’s warm there. Getting warmer.

I should step back. I should put her in her room and walk away like the professional I’m supposed to be.

But the storm is raging, the house is dark, and Lila is trembling in my arms, smelling like warm Baccarat Rouge 540 and raw, desperate want. Her body feels too fucking good pressed against mine.

“Take me to your bunkhouse,” she breathes against my ear, lips brushing my skin. “Don’t leave me alone out here, Hunter. Please.”

My brain screams danger — her parents are upstairs, and Kristen and Eleanor are tucked away in their bungalows. One sound and everything I’ve built here burns. But my body has other ideas. Even if I’m still drained from Kristen swallowing me down earlier.

I lift her effortlessly, one arm under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around my waist immediately. Her silk-covered pussy presses tight and hot against my stomach with every step. I can feel her wetness soaking through the thin fabric, warm and slick against my skin. Her breath comes in short, shaky pants against my neck.

Her soft voice tickles my ear.

“I touched myself earlier thinking about you,” she whispers. “I couldn’t stop wondering what you’d feel like stretching me open.”

My temperature spikes. She knows she has me. The house is dead quiet — only my heartbeat thunders louder than the storm outside.

“I promise I won’t tell… Daddy,” she whispers, drawing the word out slowly.

I feel a fresh bead of pre-cum leak down my thigh. My cock throbs so hard it hurts.

Was she talking about her daddy… or me?

The thought hits like a match to gasoline. I’ve always had a thing for that word. Back in my Hollywood days, the cougars came after me hard — producers, studio execs, women with too much stress and not enough release. They hunted me like I was prey. I didn’t mind. I learned how to handle them and give them exactly what they needed.

Then the tables turned around thirty. The younger ones started circling. I didn’t fight it. With everything the older women taught me, it felt only right to pass it on.

And right now, with her soaked little pussy grinding against my stomach and the word Daddy still hanging between us, I’m very fucking glad I did.

We reach her room off the Winter Living Room instead of the bunkhouse. The floorboards creak under my bare feet. When I try to lay her on the bed she clings tighter, arms locked around my neck, legs still wrapped around me.

“Stay with me,” she begs, eyes wide and glassy in the flashes of lightning. “Just until I fall asleep.”

“Alright,” I say, voice rough. “But you have to let go.”

She does, slipping between the silk sheets. I sit in the rattan chair by the window instead. By the time I settle, she’s already climbed out of bed and is kneeling between my legs, looking up at me with those full amber eyes. Her hands rest on my wet thighs, sliding slowly upward beneath the hem of my shorts.

Dangerously close.

Her camisole has slipped off both shoulders. Only her stiff nipples keep the wet silk from falling completely. The scent of her arousal mixes with the rain and her expensive perfume, making it hard to think straight.

“You should take these wet clothes off. You’re dripping everywhere.” She murmurs, voice husky.

My jaw tightens. Every instinct is screaming at me to rip those tiny shorts down, spread her open, and bury myself deep inside her until she’s shaking and full of my cum. To mark her. To fuck her so deep she feels me for days.

But her parents are right upstairs.

I grip the arms of the chair, knuckles white, fighting the overwhelming urge to claim what’s right in front of me.

Some nights the storm outside isn’t the real danger.

It’s the one kneeling between your legs, looking up at you like she already knows exactly how far you’re willing to go before you break.

The storm is still raging outside… but the real storm is the one I just walked away from.

I had the boss’s daughter on her knees, whispering “Daddy” while her parents slept one floor above us. I almost broke every rule I have.

I didn’t.

Barely.

If you want the full, uncensored version of what happened in that blackout — every filthy whisper, every touch, every second I nearly lost control — it’s already waiting for you on Patreon.

The extended scenes.

The raw audio in my voice.

The parts they’ll never let me show here.

Chapter 5 drops soon… and things are only getting more dangerous.

See you in the Archives,

~ Hunter

https://www.patreon.com/MythicInkAudio