The lingerie shop was small, tucked away in a town where no one knew them. Marc had hoped that would make this easier. He'd been wrong.
"Marc, look at this one."
Chloe emerged from between the racks holding up a scrap of black lace that could barely be called a bra. At seventeen, his daughter had developed a taste for pushing every boundary he'd ever set, and today's excursion had become her latest game.
"We're here for practical things," Marc said, not looking at the garment. Or at the way her sundress clung to her frame. "Sports bras. Maybe one nice one for—"
"For what? Church?" Chloe laughed, stepping closer. "Come on. I thought we were past that."
A saleswoman appeared at Marc's elbow. Middle-aged, professional, with a measuring tape draped around her neck.
"Can I help you folks find something?"
"We're looking for bras," Chloe said before Marc could answer. She slid her arm through his, pressing close. "I want something that'll make my boyfriend's jaw drop."
"She's kidding," he told the saleswoman, but Chloe was already shaking her head.
"I'm really not." She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes that held nothing innocent at all. "Are you, baby?"
The saleswoman—Sylvie, according to her nametag—smiled warmly. "It's refreshing to see a young couple so comfortable together. How long have you two been dating?"
Marc's mouth opened, but Chloe answered first.
"A while now. Isn't that right, honey?" She squeezed his arm, her breast pressing against him through the thin cotton of her dress. "He's a little shy about it. Thinks people will judge."
"Well, not here," Sylvie said. "We see all kinds. Love is love." She gestured toward the back. "Why don't you let me help you find some things to try on? We have a private fitting room."
"That would be perfect." Chloe was already moving, pulling Marc along by the hand. "Come on, baby. You can tell me what you like."
He should have stopped it. Should have corrected the misunderstanding. But the words stuck in his throat as Chloe led him past racks of silk and lace, her hips swaying with each step.
The fitting room was larger than most, with a bench against one wall and hooks on the opposite side. Soft lighting. A full-length mirror.
"I'll bring you a selection," Sylvie said. "What size, dear?"
"34C." Chloe turned to Marc, looping her arms around his neck. "Unless you think I've grown, baby."
Sylvie disappeared with a knowing smile.
"Chloe, this has gone far enough." Marc tried to pull away, but she held on. "We're not—I'm not your—"
"Boyfriend?" She stood on her tiptoes, her lips brushing his ear. "That's what she thinks. That's what everyone in this store thinks. And you haven't corrected her once."
"For the right moment?" Chloe laughed softly. "Face it, Marc. You like this. You like people thinking we're together."
His hands found her waist—steadying her, he told himself. Not holding her.
"Not right now I'm not." She pressed closer, and he felt her nipples, hard against his chest. "Right now, I'm your girlfriend. Right now, you're the man who gets to watch me try on lingerie."
Sylvie returned with an armful of bras—black lace, red satin, sheer white cotton. She hung them on the hooks, then turned to Chloe.
"Would you like me to help with the fitting, or—"
"I think my boyfriend can help me." Chloe glanced at Marc, something challenging in her expression. "Can't you, baby?"
Sylvie looked between them, then nodded. "Of course. I'll be just outside if you need anything. Take your time."
Marc exhaled. "Chloe, please. Let's just pick something and go."
"You heard her. Take your time." Chloe reached for the hem of her sundress. "I need to try these on."
"Where else?" She pulled the dress over her head in one smooth motion.
Marc's brain stopped working.
She stood before him in nothing but bikini-cut panties—white cotton, damp at the center. No bra. Her breasts were bare, full and round, pink nipples already hard in the cool air. She made no move to cover herself.
"Chloe—" His voice cracked.
"You've seen breasts before." She hung the dress on a hook, casual, like this was nothing. Like she wasn't standing half-naked in front of her father. "Unless you're telling me you've never looked at porn?"
"That's not—" He couldn't finish. Couldn't look away.
Her body was perfect. Creamy skin, smooth and unmarked. Breasts that sat high on her chest, nipples the color of strawberries. A flat stomach that tapered down to the swell of her hips.
"Which one first?" She turned to the selection on the wall, giving him a view of her back, the curve of her waist, the roundness of her ass in those thin panties. "The black one?"
Marc sat heavily on the bench. His heart pounded against his ribs. Blood rushed south despite every effort to stop it.
Chloe turned back, the black bra in her hands. She stepped closer—close enough that he could smell her. Vanilla and something else. Something warm and distinctly female.
She held out the bra, and his hands moved on their own. He took it, felt the delicate lace between his fingers.
She turned around, and he stared at the smooth expanse of her back. The curve of her spine. The way her panties sat low on her hips.
His hands trembled as he wrapped the bra around her. She held her arms up, and he slid the straps over her shoulders. His fingers brushed her skin—warm, soft—and she shivered.
"Good?" His voice was hoarse.
She turned to face him. The bra was sheer black lace that hid nothing. Her nipples were dark shadows through the pattern, the shape of her breasts fully visible.
"What do you think?" She turned to the mirror, examining herself. "Sexy?"
He should say no. Should tell her to put her dress back on so they could leave.
"Just nice?" She faced him again, hands on her hips. "Be honest. Does this make you hard?"
"Because something in your jeans says yes." Her eyes dropped to his lap, where his cock strained against the denim. "Looks like someone likes seeing his daughter in lingerie."
The word hung between them. Daughter.
She stepped closer, standing between his spread knees.
"It's okay. I won't tell anyone." She reached out and touched his jaw, tilting his face up. "Do you want to see more?"
He couldn't speak. Could only watch as she reached behind her back.
Her breasts were right there—bare, beautiful, inches from his face. This was the first time he'd ever seen them fully exposed, and the sight hit him like a physical blow. He'd noticed her developing, of course—hard not to when she wore those tight tops around the house—but nothing had prepared him for this. The fullness. The perfection. The way her nipples tightened further in the air, begging to be touched.
"Well?" She turned slowly, letting him see every angle. "What do you think of your little girl now?"
"You want to." She took his hand, guided it to her chest. His palm met warm flesh, and his fingers curled instinctively. Her breast filled his hand perfectly. "See? Your body knows what it wants."
He should pull away. Should stop this.
His thumb brushed her nipple instead.
She gasped, a soft sound that went straight to his cock. Her head fell back, exposing the line of her throat.
He did it again—watched her nipple pucker and harden under his touch. Watched her lips part, her breath come faster.
The way she said his name made him dizzy. Not Dad. Not Father. Just Marc, like she was any other woman.
"Someone might come in," he managed.
"Then let them." She pulled away, reaching for the curtain. "Sylvie? Can you help me with something?"
Marc's stomach dropped. "Chloe, what are you—"
"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips. "Just watch."
Sylvie's voice came from outside. "Of course, dear. Is everything alright?"
"Perfect. I just need a proper fitting. My boyfriend doesn't quite know what he's doing."
The curtain parted. Sylvie stepped inside, her eyes moving from Chloe's bare chest to Marc's flushed face.
"I see." She smiled, not leaving. "Well, let's get you measured properly."
Marc started to rise. "I should—"
"Stay right there," Sylvie said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You'll want to see this."
Chloe turned to the mirror, facing away from Marc. Sylvie stepped behind her, wrapping the measuring tape around Chloe's ribcage, just beneath her breasts. Her hands were professional, efficient—but Marc noticed how they lingered.
"34 band," Sylvie murmured. "Now for the cup."
She repositioned the tape, wrapping it around the fullest part of Chloe's breasts. Marc watched in the mirror as Sylvie's arms encircled his daughter, her fingers brushing the sides of Chloe's chest.
"You have lovely breasts, dear. Symmetrical. Good shape." Sylvie caught Marc's eyes in the reflection. "Your boyfriend is a lucky man."
Chloe smiled. "I think so too."
"Let me check the fit on that black one again."
Sylvie picked up the discarded bra and helped Chloe into it. Her hands adjusted the straps, then reached inside the cups to position Chloe's breasts properly. Marc watched his daughter's nipples disappear beneath the lace, felt his cock throb at the sight of another woman's hands on her.
"Perfect fit." Sylvie smoothed the fabric, her palms brushing over Chloe's hardened nipples. "Though this style might be a bit revealing for everyday wear."
"That's kind of the point." Chloe turned to Marc. "What do you think, baby? Does it make you want to take it off me?"
Sylvie laughed softly. "Young love. Enjoy it while it lasts."
"Can we try the red one?" Chloe was already reaching for it. "With the plunging front?"
"Of course." Sylvie unhooked the black bra, letting it fall. Chloe stood topless again, and this time she made no pretense of modesty. She faced Marc directly, letting him see everything.
"Like what you see?" She cupped her breasts, lifting them slightly. "I know you do. I can see it in your pants."
Sylvie handed her the red bra, watching the exchange with an amused smile. "You like to tease him, don't you?"
"I like to keep him on his toes." Chloe pulled on the bra, adjusting herself. "A man should always want what he can't have."
"Smart girl." Sylvie positioned the plunging front, her fingers tracing the inner curve of Chloe's breasts where they pushed together. "Though from the look of things, he wants it pretty badly already."
Marc couldn't breathe. His daughter was being fitted for lingerie right in front of him, and the saleswoman was commenting on his arousal like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"One more?" Chloe reached for the sheer white bra. "For comparison?"
"Go ahead." Sylvie helped her switch again, her hands professional but unhurried. The white cotton was so thin her pink nipples showed through clearly, the dark circles of her areolas plain beneath the pattern.
"Innocent," Chloe said, examining herself. "That's the look, right? Sweet and pure?"
"Deceptively so." Sylvie adjusted the straps. "The kind of thing that drives men crazy because they think they're corrupting something pure."
Chloe turned to Marc. "What do you think, baby? Innocent enough?"
Marc stood abruptly. "We're leaving. I'll buy whatever you want. Just—let's go."
Chloe's face lit up. "Whatever I want?"
"All of it. Every bra. Just get dressed."
"Deal." She stripped off the white bra, stood topless for one long moment while she watched him watch her. Then she pulled her sundress back on, leaving the bras on their hooks.
Sylvie gathered the selections with a knowing smile. "I'll bring these to the counter. Take your time coming out."
At the counter, Marc handed over his card without looking at the total. Three bras. Matching panties Chloe had added at the last moment. A silk chemise she'd sworn was practical.
Sylvie bagged everything with a smile. "You two have a lovely afternoon."
"We will." Chloe took the bag, threading her arm through Marc's. "Won't we, baby?"
Outside, the sun was too bright. Marc walked quickly toward the car, Chloe keeping pace beside him.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" She squeezed his arm. "Just a little shopping trip."
"I saw everything, you know." She glanced up at him. "Every time you looked at me. Every time your cock got harder. Every time you wanted to touch me."
He unlocked the car, yanked the door open.
"And now we get to go home." She climbed into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt across her chest. "Where I can show you everything again. Slowly. Without an audience."
Marc got into the driver's seat. His hands shook on the wheel.
"Unless you want to tell me to stop?" She placed her hand on his thigh, high up, her fingers brushing the seam of his jeans. "You can still say no."
"That's what I thought." She settled back in her seat, smiling out the window. "A fashion show, Marc. Like you've never had before."
The drive home was the longest twenty minutes of his life.
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