“Give me your cup,” her dad said, standing. On the TV, a leisurely scene unfolded in the last third of the movie. Roarke and his daughter stood in a gloomy vestibule, talking about how best to dispatch the meddling detective.
Juliet handed it to him without looking, enraptured by what was happening on screen. The tension between the two characters was undeniably erotic, from the dialogue to the way they looked at one another. Not only that, but the character of Lisbeth had traded in her chaste white gown for a scarlet dress with a plunging neckline and slits up both thighs.
“So is it just me? Ryan asked as he rinsed the cups in the sink, “or is their relationship a little out of the ordinary?”
“Uh, yeah,” she agreed, unable to take her eyes off the movie. The tension in the scene was building. She could feel it, a quiet certainty deep in her bones.
He lay down next to her again, crossing his sock-clad feet as he leaned back against the pillows.
On screen, Roarke looked down at his daughter. She swore allegiance to his dark designs, asking to stand by his side in immortality. He requested a display of loyalty. A moment of silence passed between them. Then Lisbeth went down on her knees.
“Oh,” Juliet said softly.
The action was not explicit, though it was abundantly clear what was happening. Lisbeth was performing oral sex on her father.
“Uh,” she heard her father say.
The music in the movie swelled, blaring and caterwauling as if to imply this was all terrible and evil. But Juliet found herself utterly absorbed. The scene was just short of pornographic visually, but instead focused on the emotional details – his hand on her hair; her hesitation and doubt, mixed with raw carnal lust; Roarke’s agonized and ecstatic expressions as she urged him to climax. The final shot was as close to explicit as she’d ever seen a movie get: a long shot showing Lisbeth kneeling, her father’s hand on her head, thrusting into her mouth as he, quite vocally, finished.
The scene ended, fading into a shot of the village countryside. Juliet was no longer paying attention. She realized she was flushed, breathing quickly, her skin hot.
She also realized she’d put her hand on her father’s leg, fingers clenched. She jerked her hand away self-consciously.
“Sorry,” she breathed, then cleared her throat.
“It’s okay,” he replied. If he noticed her arousal, he didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure how he could have missed it.
Neither of them spoke again until the end of the movie. From there, it grew even more sexual and extreme. Lisbeth spent much of the rest of the movie naked as she wandered the old castle. She and her father made love in a pair of brief but highly charged scenes. Lisbeth seduced the detective and led him to a grisly death, just as she’d promised.
As they watched, Juliet found herself wanting to look at her dad, to see what he was thinking. She didn’t quite dare. She could feel the tension there, like an invisible line drawn between them and pulled tight. But it didn’t feel awkward. Not in the way she’d expected. It felt strangely comfortable.