Page 6 of The Daddy’s Girl

In my fantasies, that’s what happens every time.

In reality, he sees right through me.

“I will, Trouble,” he says with a coy smirk as he stands from my table and moves to the door, using a nickname he gave me years ago when he used to joke that I always seem up to no good. The truth is I’ve never gotten in trouble in my life. But he calls me that, almost as if he wishes I would.

Then, with that, he retreats from my office and walks back down the hall to the staircase. I collapse pitifully against the table, my cheek pressed against a swatch of crushed blue velvet.

One day, I’ll look at Matis Moreau and feel nothing. It sure as hell isn’t today, but I have to believe in my heart that I’ll get there. I mean, how long can I really go on like this? Not dating? Not even having very much sex. I’m twenty-five. I should be in my prime of getting good and laid as often as possible. Instead, I’m too busy crushing on a guy over twice my age.

It’s time to move on. It has to be time. One way or another, I will get over him. I’ll build my brand as a designer. I’ll carve out a place for myself in the world. I’ll finally be free of this relentless obsession.

Coco Chanel once said, “In order to be irreplaceable, one must also be different.”

And that’s what I have to be…different. Different from this lovesick, pathetically obsessed young woman.

So with that, I grab the palm green and start to sketch. I decide that I will be different. I will no longer fixate on one man. I will no longer create designs for others.

I will be me, uniquely and irreplaceably me, whatever the hell that means.

Rule #2: Old men need to know when it’s time to grow up.

Matis

It’s lost its luster. Sex, of course. Here I am with a beautiful woman in my arms, and while everything feels good, the pleasure is empty.

My dick is hard, and I should not be complaining, but it’s becoming monotonous.

There was a time in my life I thought I’d never tire of sex. In my younger era, I was having it every single day, usually multiple times a day, with multiple partners. It’s a wonder my dick didn’t fall off in my twenties.

But now, at fifty-three, I worry those carefree years are behind me. And sex has just…lost its shine.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s been three and a half decades of every type of fucking you can think of. With men, with women, younger, older, in small groups and in big groups, on nearly every continent and sometimes with people who didn’t even speak my language. Sex is my language. Sex is my life.

I knew this day would come, didn’t I? The day I just stopped caring so much about it.

Before this moment right now, how long has it been? Three days? Four? Twenty-five-year-old me would be horrified.

“Are you all right?” The woman currently riding my dick pauses, her soft fingers pressing into my chest, and I feel like a royal asshole for not paying her more attention.

Vite, Matis. Think of something.

“Am I okay?” I ask with a charming smile. Then, with a deft maneuver, I flip her onto her back, lifting her leg and playfully slapping her ass before driving harder into her at an angle I know does the trick every time.

She giggles before her eyes quickly roll to the back of her head with a high-pitched moan.

“My only concern is you, ma belle.” I keep up my rapid thrusts, moving my thumb to her clit to help her through.

And for the next five to ten minutes, I successfully manage to keep my mind cleared and focused on fucking. Once she screams out her orgasm, her legs shaking around my hips, I struggle my way through a weak and lifeless climax myself, filling the condom between us.

This is pathetic.

When we’re both done, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. The woman, Francesca, crawls up to my side and rests her head on my arm. Her dark black hair tickles my skin as we catch our breath, and I berate myself for not enjoying this more.

“The rumors are true, monsieur,” she says with a laugh before lifting up and placing a quick kiss on my cheek.

I slip my hands behind my head with a proud smile. “And what are the rumors?”

“That you’ve still got it,” she replies with a sheepish smile.