Again.
So soon, too.
But I didn’t get to hold her last night. That must be the reason, I elevate Shea off the floor with my forearm beneath her ass, grunting at her to wrap her legs around my hips. She purrs a little in her throat as she does it, and fuck,fuck, it feels so good, this forbidden position. Across the room, I see our reflections in the window.
A big older man holding a too-young college girl, his tattooed arm acting as a seat for her pert butt. She’s wearing white sneakers and tiny black bike shorts. A hoodie. Her blonde hair is in a ponytail. She is every inch the freshman co-ed. I should set her down and walk away. Get back to work.
I don’t.
I’m incapable.
Instead, I rock her side to side in my arms, my lips pressed to her fragrant hair.
Mine.
“Tell me what you need replaced, Shea, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
She tenses in my arms, her eyes shooting to mine. “But…no. What?”
Holding her like this, her eyes puffy with tears, drugs me with possessiveness. That same sense of responsibility I felt last night when she needed a man to take charge. To cover her up for that party. Then, later, to be spanked.
Maybe…Shea is simply my responsibility. Maybe that’s the end of the discussion.
Maybe I never had any choice.
I hold her gaze. “If your father can’t provide what you need, then I will.”
She blinks. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I can.” My mouth gravitates toward hers. When our lips brush ever so slightly, her breath stutters out. “Because I want to.”
“Replacing my clothes and text books could cost thousands.”
“That’s fine.”
“But you’re not my father.”
“No.” Oh God, my cock hardens into steel over what’s coming. What I’ve felt coming since last night. This force that is barreling down on me, demanding I accept the connection between me and this girl. I’m not sure I ever stood a chance against a fate this powerful. “I’m not your father, but Iamyour Daddy, aren’t I, Shea?”
Those pupils dilate again. My window into her soul.
Her thighs start to tremble around my hips.
“Daddy,” she whispers, as if testing out the word. Loving it, according to her blush. “But wouldn’t buying me things make you…my sugar Daddy?”
Semen leaks from the head of my cock.
Jesus help me.
I shouldn’t love that title so much. In fact, it’s fucking silly.
It’s the implication that has me ready to burst in my jeans.
I walk her over to a dresser that is thankfully intact, setting her down on the edge, but keeping my hips firmly wedged between her thighs. “I’m only your sugar daddy if I get to fuck you in exchange for money, angel.”
Her breath is turning shallow. “Last night, I swore I wouldn’t let this happen again.” With her wrists still locked behind myneck, she leans in, speaking in a hush an inch from my mouth. “Just this once, we said. Right?”
“We did say that,” I rasp, yanking her to the very edge of the dresser and crowding in, rocking my hips between her open legs. Goddamn. Bless those bike shorts. I can feel the shape of her tight cunt right through the thin material. “But when I look at you, Shea, every good intention I’ve ever had goes flying out the window.”
