"She's a dirty liar," Jazz says with a laugh. "She had a date last night, and she's going to see him again."
"Good for you!" Mrs. Braithewaite cries softly. "You're young and beautiful. You should be out there dating. Let Olive build these dirty machines for old ladies like me."
"You aren't old, Mrs. Braithewaite," Jazz says. "You're experienced."
"Child, please," Mrs. Braithewaite cackles. "I earned every year, every wrinkle, every scar, and every memory that goes with them." Her gaze lands on me, burning through me. "Go earn yours, sweet girl."
Go earn mine.
I don't think I've ever done that. Not even once. But…I want to do it. I want it so damn bad.
My gaze flickers to Olive, guilt whispering through me.
"Yes, ma'am," I whisper anyway.
"Damn, you look good, baby girl," Jasper growls, wrenching my door open as soon as I pull up in his driveway. He unlatches my belt, hauling me out into his arms.
"Hi," I whisper, looping my arms around his neck.
His lips come down on mine, a bite to his kiss that sets my soul on fire. I whimper into his mouth, wrapping my body around his.
He slams my door, planting one hand on my ass to anchor me to his hard body before he turns, storming toward the front door.
"Missed you today," he growls, kissing me again before we're even over the threshold.
I smell food cooking, but it's his scent intoxicating me. He's everywhere, seeping into every pore. I bury my face in his throat, my tongue flicking out to taste his skin.
"Fuck," he groans, pressing me up against the door. His hand on my ass grips me tighter, squeezing. "You're playing with fire, baby girl."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, but I can't stop tasting him. I tilt my head up, skimming my lips along his throat. My tongue flicks over the pulse pounding like a drum beneath his ear.
His hand slides into my hair, craning my head back further. His gray eyes are dark, his expression searing with intensity.
"Don't you ever apologize for making my cock this hard," he rasps, his forehead touching mine. "You take what you need from me, whenever you need it. It's yours."
"Daddy," I whimper, the only thing I can think to say. It's the only word I know that comes close to encompassing the way I feel right now—on fire, desperate, safe, and so wanted I think I might crawl out of my own skin. There is no other word that holds all of that. There's just him, just…Daddy.
That word means feeling safe enough in his arms to let myself want like this. It means trusting him enough to let myself fall into it. And it means believing that I can be strong enough to hold onto it with both hands, regardless of my fears, regardless of my anxieties, regardless of anything. I can be strong enough.
The way he looks at me—like I'm his whole world—tells me that it was the right word. He lifts me away from the door, carrying me the five steps to the couch.
I think he's going to lay me down, but he doesn't. Instead, he slides me to my feet, then spins me.
"Bend over the arm, baby girl," he croons against my ear, his body plastered to mine from behind. "Lift your ass high in the air for Daddy."
My body trembles as I obey, my hands digging into the cushions as I fall forward, stretching over the plush arm of the couch. I arch, lifting my ass high.
"Good girl," he murmurs, running his hand down my back, all the way to my ass. "Stay just like that for me. Don't move."
I don't. I'm not even sure I breathe as he tugs my skirt and panties down, letting them pool at my feet. I know he can tell how wet I am. The evidence is right there in front of him, soaking through my panties, making a mess of my thighs.
One hand slips between my legs, his calloused fingertips dancing upward. "Spread wider for me, baby girl," he says, his voice soft. I love the way he speaks to me. I know he's used to barking commands, but he never does that with me, not really. Even when he's telling me what to do, he's sweet about it, patient.
I inch my legs apart, wider and then wider.
"Right there," he groans. "Stay just like that."
"Yes, Daddy."
