“Same,” she whispers, her sweet eyes full of conflict. And need.
I nip at her mouth and those lips blossom open, allowing me to fuck that succulent mouth with my tongue. “My little girl doesn’t cry anymore. Not on my watch,” I say, dragging my hands up the outsides of her bare thighs, rocking the furniture on its legs with deliberate humps, and ah Christ, she’s lost her reservations now, whimpering over being called little girl. Surging forward, eager for my mouth. I make out with her like we’re both in college, instead of two people staring down the barrel of an eighteen-year age difference. We’re messy and starved, gulping down air, before reclaiming each other’s lips greedily, moaning while my tongue mates with hers, our groans loud in the quiet bedroom.
My dick is aching from confinement by the time I find the wherewithal to stop mauling her sexy little mouth. “Do we have an arrangement, Shea?”
Am I wrong to do this with my daughter’s friend?
Yes.
Am I physically capable of staying away from Shea now?
Absolutely not.
I’m damned. I was damned the second I met her.
“Yes,” she whispers shakily, her fingers busy in my hair. “We have an arrangement.”
“What is it?”
“You take care of me,” she says, her fingers trailing down my stomach to trace the outline of my erection. “And I take care of this.”
Lust sinks its claws into me. “That’s right.”
She chews her lip. “But…”
“But what?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m just with you for…money. I…” Her voice drops so low, I can barely hear her. “I-I like you.”
My heart picks up speed at her admission. “I like you, too, angel. A lot.” I tuck a precious strand of hair behind her ear, mostly because I need a second to gather myself. Have I ever met someone so honest? So incredibly real? My lust has been such an immediate problem to deal with, I haven’t slowed down to acknowledge that I’ve already fallen for Shea. Hard. Fallen for her sweetness, her unique personality, how she can be bold and shy in the same breath. My God, I want to inject her into my fucking veins. “We can like each other and still have an understanding that gives you what you need.”
“Are we going to tell Emma?”
“Yeah. I think we should.” I kiss her softly, a little overwhelmed by the rapid pound of my heart. Has it ever beat this fast? “Because God help me, I’m serious about you, Shea.”
“Okay. We’ll tell her. Not yet, but soon.” Holding eye contact, she slips off the dresser, fists my shirt in her hands and uses her hold to reverse our positions. Then she kneels and rubs her mouth down my bulging zipper, stiffening my root to the point of agony. “Because I’m serious about you, too…Daddy.”
nine
Shea
I have a sugar daddy.
If you’d told me that a week ago, I would have been horrified.
That was before I met Jason.
I’m someone else with him. Someone daring. I’m safe to tell him about my secret needs. Things I’ve never told anyone. Kept suppressed and confined to my fantasies. Last night, within hours of meeting him, he fulfilled my desperate hunger for an authority figure. He satisfied my curiosity about being disciplined. He gave me my first orgasm.
He was my Daddy before I knew that relationship was a possibility.
Now I’m on my knees for him and all I can think about is serving him.
Serving him in exchange for the care he’s going to give me.
I shouldn’t find this arrangement so…arousing. Should I? But maybe I do. Maybe I like kneeling in front of this huge man, fresh from economics class. Looking up at him dutifully while I lower the zipper of his jeans, tug on the waistband of his briefsand watch his cock tumble out, veiny, stiff…as big and thick as a rolled-up newspaper.
The SundayTimes, even.
