I stare unblinkingly at the blank page on my laptop screen, struggling to write something, anything. It shouldn’t be so hard to come up with ideas. But I’ve been sitting here for over an hour and have yet to type a single word.

A flicker in the corner of my screen catches my eye. The little digital clock display reads: 2:45 p.m. I let out a groan. Crap. It’s only a matter of time before evening comes and the campus library closes. My paper’s due tomorrow, and I still haven’t come up with anything good.

“At this rate, Izzy Matthews,” I say, expelling a breath, “you’re going to flunk this course.”

I lean back in my study cubicle, sweeping my gaze about. The library is so quiet it might as well be empty, but I’ve spotted other students moving around, either looking for seats or browsing among the rows of bookshelves. I’m pretty sure I spotted a girl getting fingered by her boyfriend in a dark corner a while ago, but then again, that’s none of my business. I’m here for my paper, and my paper alone, and I’ll be damned if I let anything or anyone disturb me.

Buzz, buzz!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan, reaching for my phone and staring at the caller ID. There’s only one person who could be phoning me right now.

Sure enough, it’s my dad. With an eye-roll, I forward his call to voicemail. There’s no way I’m risking my grades to attend his stupid fundraiser.

My dad, Xavier Matthews, has been campaigning for senator for the past couple of months, and I can’t seem to go a second without hearing about it. It’s the final leg of his campaign tour, and he’s been trying to get me to show up. Just yesterday, on a video call, he got mad when I told him I wasn’t the least bit interested.

“Isabella,” he said, his jaw clenching slightly, “I know you’re in college, but this campaign is important to me. I want… need… all my children to be here for it.”

“College is important to me, Dad,” I shot back. “Besides, you know how much I hate going to these fundraisers of yours. I have a life, remember?”

I could’ve sworn I heard him growl. He glowered at me, and for a moment, I forgot there was a screen-and at least a hundred miles-between us. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You will show up for the fundraiser.”

And then he ended the call.

I set the phone down, and a message pops up on the screen. I’m not reading that. I know my dad’s pissed, but I’m starting to get irritable, too. I don’t like being at his campaigns, and no matter how much he or his team tries to persuade me to show up, that’s not going to happen.

I'm sure all this defiance will land me in trouble with him. The memory of one of the times he’s punished me sends a tingle through my body, straight down to my pussy, but I try to ignore it. I shouldn’t be feeling that way about my own father.

I return my gaze to my laptop screen, which has gone dark from inactivity, and my dark-eyed reflection stares back at me. My blonde hair, which I forgot to pack into a bun, cascades down the sides of my face. I can just barely make out my pink blouse, cut low enough that my cleavage is visible.

My lips part with a sigh. I’m not going to get anything done today if I don’t look for help. With a heave, I get to my feet and head out of my cubicle, heading past other studying students as I make my way across the library.

There’s got to be a book or two that could help me with my paper. Honestly, I could’ve written a lot since I sat in the library, but if I want my paper to stand out, I need some original material. I keep moving until I reach a section of the library I’ve never been to before. I don’t think anyone ever comes this way. It’s dark and secluded, and there’s so much dust that I can barely hold back a sneeze.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter.

I pull a couple of books off the shelves, holding my breath as I dust the covers. Since no one ever comes here, I’m in luck. My paper will be unique, after all.

The sound of movement a couple of aisles away reaches my ears and the book I’m holding nearly slips from my fingers. So much for uniqueness. Some other student must’ve gotten the same idea I did and come here. I swivel my gaze through the shelf. Who could it be?

“I knew I’d find you here,” says a familiar voice. “You’re even more predictable than I thought.”

My breath freezes in my throat. That’s not a student. I’ve heard that voice enough times to know exactly who it belongs to.

“Dad?”

A figure steps out from behind the nearest bookshelf, making toward me. The sandy-haired man is tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit and a tie. He comes to a stop in the middle of the aisle, staring daggers at me.

“Isabella,” he says through gritted teeth.

I drop the book this time, shooting him a scowl in return. “I can’t believe this. How did you even know where to find me? Have you been stalking me?”

“I simply tracked your phone.” He keeps his voice low, which is just as well. I don’t need the entire library knowing my dad’s come to see me.

Crap. I shouldn’t have kept my location turned on. “And you came all this way for what? To drag me to your dumb fundraiser? I already told you, I’m not interested in showing up.”

“It’s important that you’re present, Isabella,” he says, drawing closer until he’s standing right before me. He’s almost twice my size, towering over me. The faint scent of aftershave tickles my nostrils. “I need all my kids at the event, or-”

“Or it’ll affect your chances of being senator?” I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. “That’s all you care about? What about my grades? I’m not interested in failing at school, Dad. I’d expect you to understand that.”

His jaw clenches, the way it did on the video call yesterday. I have to admit, it’s kind of hot. Okay, very hot. My dad’s in his late forties, and he’s still one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’ve always thought so, even before I walked in on him semi-nude in a sauna last year.

When the towel dropped and his cock sprang free, I knew our relationship would never be the same.

I swallow hard, staring at his broad chest and mentally stripping him naked without really meaning to. The last time my dad stood this close to me, he wasn’t wearing any clothes, and neither was I. It was months ago, but looking at him now, it feels like just yesterday that it happened: my dad bending me over his lap and spanking and fingering me until I was a soaking mess, then fucking my throat and making sure I didn’t spill a drop of his cum.

Just thinking about it now sends a throb into my pussy. I rub my thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice. Getting sexual with my own father is wrong. After the last time it happened, we agreed it would never happen again. But we said the same thing the other times he fucked me.

The last thing I need right now is a repeat experience. Especially here in the library, where someone could easily walk by and catch us.

“I understand how important school is to you, Isabella,” my dad says. His voice is a pitch lower, and I feel my nipples harden against my folded arms at the sound. “But you could always get extra time to turn in your paper. I can’t get a replacement for my daughter. What will it take for you to go to the campaign with me?”

“Nothing,” I spit. “Nothing you say or do will make me show up.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Is that right?”

His gaze travels up and down my body as he speaks. My breathing quickens. What the hell is he thinking right now?

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound defiant despite my heart hammering in my ribcage. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I open my mouth to make a retort, but he moves quickly, clamping a hand over my mouth. I blink at him in surprise. He still looks super pissed, but there’s more to it. It’s the same look that flickers in his eyes whenever he’s about to bend me over and spank me.

“You’re an impertinent piece of work, Isabella,” he says, his voice thick with barely suppressed lust. “Do you need a reminder of your place?”

His words send heat washing over me, pooling between my thighs. If he slips his fingers, he’ll find me soaking wet. But he won’t do that because I’m not letting him know what his mere presence is doing to me.

He keeps his hand over my mouth. I gulp, my breasts heaving, my nipples poking against the front of my blouse. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as dominant as my dad. He might be infuriating, but it’s hard to pretend I don’t get turned on whenever he gets bossy with me.