Well, she's got a point. After all, it's not like the needles he uses for his dilaudid aren't clean, and it's not as if he doesn't know where his drugs are coming from. And it's not like they're passing diseases back and forth to each other. He's fairly hygienic about murdering people and cleaning up after, too.
But still, he snorts mildly. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I hear. I've already cut back for you, baby, let a man have his post-fuck cigarette and the occasional one during a roadtrip or in times of stress. I'm not going to die of lung cancer, trust me." No, he foresees a bloody demise for himself, either murderous or sanctioned by the government. But that's still an abstract, for all he knows he'll die at eighty after a long and comfortable life of evil. It's not worth speculating about, as far as he's concerned.
Though it's adorable, how concerned she is.
Lip curling back into a half-grin, Richard offers a helpless shrug. "You get it from me, kiddo. They'll probably have some idea, though. After all, a nubile young girl who might or might not be eighteen on the arm of a man who is--clearly older than that. I'm sure that'll be enough to make it apparent that I'm a creep, if nothing else." The entire time, he seeks to see her better in the periphery of his vision.
Then, of course, she brushes up against him, and he grips the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white as her hand paws between his thighs. "I should hope so." Richard chuckles, his right hand lifting to graze over the smooth flesh of her stomach, his eyes darting over the highway. Traffic's nothing too bad yet, they might very well make it out of the outer belt and onto the proper road before rush hour. And that makes him feel slightly better about his shirtless daughter feeling him up and making his already nagging hard-on that much worse.
His hand slips around to her back, his fingertips twisting the latch of her bra. Arm draping around her, his palm slides under the wire to cup and squeeze her breast, his eyes flickering between the road and his daughter and that infuriating little hand. "Naughty kitten, you shouldn't get daddy worked up like this. People on the road might see. We could crash. A cop could pull us over."
Of course, all these possibilities only make him harder, so, you know. Take the psychopath's warnings with a grain of salt.
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But still, he snorts mildly. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I hear. I've already cut back for you, baby, let a man have his post-fuck cigarette and the occasional one during a roadtrip or in times of stress. I'm not going to die of lung cancer, trust me." No, he foresees a bloody demise for himself, either murderous or sanctioned by the government. But that's still an abstract, for all he knows he'll die at eighty after a long and comfortable life of evil. It's not worth speculating about, as far as he's concerned.
Though it's adorable, how concerned she is.
Lip curling back into a half-grin, Richard offers a helpless shrug. "You get it from me, kiddo. They'll probably have some idea, though. After all, a nubile young girl who might or might not be eighteen on the arm of a man who is--clearly older than that. I'm sure that'll be enough to make it apparent that I'm a creep, if nothing else." The entire time, he seeks to see her better in the periphery of his vision.
Then, of course, she brushes up against him, and he grips the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white as her hand paws between his thighs. "I should hope so." Richard chuckles, his right hand lifting to graze over the smooth flesh of her stomach, his eyes darting over the highway. Traffic's nothing too bad yet, they might very well make it out of the outer belt and onto the proper road before rush hour. And that makes him feel slightly better about his shirtless daughter feeling him up and making his already nagging hard-on that much worse.
His hand slips around to her back, his fingertips twisting the latch of her bra. Arm draping around her, his palm slides under the wire to cup and squeeze her breast, his eyes flickering between the road and his daughter and that infuriating little hand. "Naughty kitten, you shouldn't get daddy worked up like this. People on the road might see. We could crash. A cop could pull us over."
Of course, all these possibilities only make him harder, so, you know. Take the psychopath's warnings with a grain of salt.