SINFUL HOUR COLLECTION: Creaming on daddies spicy erotica

Chapter 1

WAIT! Don’t fuck me, I’m her twin!

I stared at the closet, my fingers brushing over endless hangers. So many clothes—Jessica’s clothes—and not a single one seemed to fit right. When did she even get this skinny? She wasn’t always like that. Back then, we wore the same size. We shared everything.

I paused, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. My forehead creased, lips tightening as I studied myself. Was I… getting fat? No. No, I couldn’t be. I’d been dieting forever. It had to pay off.

Instinctively, I rushed closer to the mirror. I twisted my body in a full 360, eyes tracing every curve, every soft swell of my hips, the dip of my waist. I didn’t look fat. I looked… perfect.

My breath came a little shallower, chest rising and falling as I turned side to side, hands smoothing over my stomach. Jessica really nailed it, though—without dieting, without going to the gym. She just had that natural body everyone else worked for. Her frame was sleek, effortless, like she’d been carved that way from the start.

I’d been dieting for ages, yet she was still slimmer than me.

The worst part? If I lingered here too long, she’d send me home plump. I couldn’t let that happen. I’d worked for this pear shape for years—hours of skipping meals, measuring portions, feeling the gnaw of hunger like a constant companion. But resisting her food? Impossible. She had skills I never nailed, even as the so-called “lady twin.” The way she seasoned things, the rich aromas that filled the house—it pulled me in every time.

I loved my twin sister so much. Sometimes I still saw her face from those nights years ago after Mom died—tired eyes ringed with dark circles, ink-stained hands trembling slightly from exhaustion, yet always smiling for me, forcing warmth into her voice. Even when she was drowning in assignments and projects, she picked up extra shifts just so I could study at Cambridge. I used to fall asleep to the sound of her typing, the soft clicks echoing in the quiet room, whispering promises to myself that one day, I’d pay her back for everything.

Now she barely blinked at money. She was married to Tyler—a billionaire sailor who disappeared into the sea for months. This time, though, he was home. Six whole months. His presence filled the house in a way that made the air feel heavier, charged.

I’d finished my master’s, and for the first time in forever, I was breathing again. Just staying here with her, in this quiet space, felt like catching up on all the lost years. My shoulders relaxed a fraction just thinking about it.

Modeling was next—my dream. So close I could taste it, feel it in the way my pulse quickened. Tyler knew the director of Elysian Faces. They were all about face models, not bodies, but still… I’d worked too hard sculpting my body to let it go unseen. The curve of my hips, the fullness—I wanted it captured, admired.

I’d figure it out later. This—right now—was my little pause. My mini vacation.

I let out a slow breath, feeling the tension ease from my neck. Sometimes, I still felt the weight of the past pressing at the edges, like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake. The endless exams, the sleepless nights with my heart racing from stress, the therapy sessions where I couldn’t even find words for what I felt—my throat closing up, hands clammy. I was losing it, slipping.

But I made it out. Somehow.

My fingers tightened on the hanger I still held. I didn’t think I’d ever forget that version of me—the one sitting on a thin mattress, knees drawn to my chest, staring at unpaid bills scattered on the floor, praying for just one more chance to try again. Tears stinging my eyes back then. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even my worst enemy.

Especially being broke through it all—the constant knot of fear in my gut.

My stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger.

Kitchen time. I was starving.

Then it hit me.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, cheeks flushing hot. “The pastries.”

I forgot them in the air fryer. They’d burn.

I gasped, spinning toward the door. Just as my hand reached for the handle, fingers curling around it, the door turned from the other side and swung open slowly.

My heart skipped, thudding hard against my ribs.

Tyler.

He stood in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, the faint smell of whiskey wafting in with him. His eyes were slightly glazed, posture relaxed but commanding.

My breath caught, chest tightening as I froze.

“Shit—” the word slipped out before I could stop it, my voice higher than usual. “I’m sorry for barging into you and your wife’s room,” I stammered, voice cracking, hands fidgeting at my sides. “I totally lost my manners. I didn’t know you’d be back this early. I was just—uh—checking out designers for my videos.”

He didn’t blink at first. His gaze softened gradually, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he stepped closer, his movements deliberate.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” His hands came to rest on my shoulders, firm but gentle, palms warm through the thin fabric. His breath was warm, laced with whiskey, fanning over my face. “Jessica, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. You know I adore you, right?”

My stomach twisted sharply, a rush of heat and panic mixing.

“Sir… Tyler.” My voice trembled as I looked up at him, neck craning, eyes wide. “This isn’t Jessica. It’s Joyce. Me—Joyce. Jessica’s identical twin.”

He blinked once, confusion flickering across his face, brows drawing together briefly. Then he shook his head slightly, his thumbs still brushing against my shoulders in slow circles, as if he didn’t hear me—or chose not to.

“Shhh, babe,” he whispered, leaning in closer, whiskey breath scalding my ear, voice raw and dripping with intent. Goosebumps rose on my skin. “But I’m not babe, I’m your wife’s sist—”

He pressed his lips on mine, cutting me off.

I froze, body going rigid, lips parted in shock. He held my face tightly, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head back. He kissed my lips slowly, sucking my lower lip gently and biting it with just enough pressure to send a spark through me.

My hands hovered, unsure, heart racing.

Fuck! I didn’t expect my first kiss to be this way. It was supposed to be with my husband, on my wedding day—soft, romantic, promised. What the fuck!!

He pressed his body into mine, hard muscle against my softer curves, then pushed me toward the bed, guiding me with insistent hands on my waist. I gasped, stumbling back.

“Pl… please… I’m not your wife.”

“What’s wrong with you, Jess? You always want this. You’re always so sexually active.” He smiled—slow, predatory, eyes darkening as he loomed closer. “Jessica never says no,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “She begs for it. Every single time.”

I scrambled back on the bed, my heart hammering, palms sliding over the sheets, breath coming in short bursts.

“I’m telling you I’m not your wife.”

“Shhh.” He crawled over me slowly, knees pressing into the mattress, pinning my wrists above my head with one strong hand. His body hovered, heat radiating. “You’ve been starving yourself just to look like her, wearing her clothes, sleeping in our bed while she’s out… Tell me, Joyce, at what point did you think I wouldn’t notice the difference?”

His lips brushed my ear, warm breath teasing the sensitive skin. “Or did you want me to?”

The words sank in, twisting something deep inside—jealousy, desire, resentment all surging hot. My chest heaved, lips parting as I stared up at him.

You know what… fuck it.

I surged up suddenly, straddling his hips in one swift motion. My hands trailed over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, sliding downward to his throbbing bulge. I pressed my palm firmly against it.

“Hmm, hard for me already, daddy…” I whispered slowly, voice husky, lips close to his neck.

My hands unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers, unzipping his trousers. I licked his nipples slowly, tongue circling, tasting the salt of his skin. I sniffed his body—the musky scent making my head swim—then kissed him, giving him hickeys, sucking marks into his chest.

My tongue trailed down toward his cock. I kissed it through the fabric, my lips pressing hot and needy, then seized it with my hand through the material, squeezing gently, feeling it pulse.

Damn, that’s a huge cock right there.

My sister has been selfish for the longest.