Cherry Cake for Daddy (Forbidden Father Figures #6)

Chapter 1

Lina

There are still tears in my eyes as I wait for the security gate to swing open before driving through, then watch it swing closed behind me in the rearview as the sun starts to dip toward the horizon.

My stepfather bought this Spanish revival colonial estate a year ago, and I don’t think my mother has ever visited. It has ten bathrooms. Ten.

My stepfather lives here alone, and sometimes I wonder…does he pee in all the commodes like on rotation? Like giving every one a chance to serve its purpose? Or does he only use one, or two, and all the others just sit there…unused.

I shake my head. I have weird, childish thoughts like that more than I should.

But that one in particular, about the bathrooms…

it also gives me a funny, butterfly fluttery feeling down in my girlish parts, because it makes me think of my stepfather’s own man-ish parts.

Something I definitely should not be thinking about.

This place is not my mother’s style. This is old-world and classic, with white walls, red tile, and the sound of California Quail in the spring.

Mom, who prefers penthouse suites, glass and chrome, and luxury that shows off, would call it ‘charming’, which in her language means not new money fancy enough to impress whoever it is she is currently trying to impress.

I wipe a hand over my face, sniffing and trying to force a smile as Daddy appears in the doorway ahead of me, and I pull my Lamborghini Temerario in beside his plum-colored Bentley Continental GT.

Before I open my door, he’s already there.

Dex, my stepfather, taking my hand to pull me out.

I struggle to tug down the hem of my pink Oscar de la Renta dress, the one he sent over for me a week ago, to avoid flashing him my panties, and pull back to grab the cherry cake off the seat beside me before he hauls me out onto the gravel drive.

When he sees my puffy, tear-streaked face, his own darkens.

“Who hurt you?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Just me being a silly goose—”

“Like fuck. Who was it, Lina?” His eyes are on mine, his mouth set in a line behind the salt-and-pepper beard.

My gaze is drawn to the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and the scars from his semi-pro boxing days.

He still fights, but it’s only for fun now.

Mom always complains about the scars, calling them common, but I always thought they were comforting.

I always knew that Daddy was afraid of nobody.

I swear I can hear his jaw clicking as his teeth clench. “Give me a fucking name.”

“It’s… It was just, someone honked and flipped me off. They were trying to pass me on Miller Road, and there wasn’t another lane, or anywhere to pull in and let them by, and I didn’t want to speed up… I think… I think they thought because of my car…”

“You get a license plate?”

“No…”

“Next time, baby girl, you get a license plate, and I’ll make sure they know not to hassle you again. You hear me? You remember what I told you about fast cars?”

I nod, sniffing. “Yes, Daddy, but—”

“No buts. You drive carefully, or I’ll take away your car, and you can have me drive you everywhere.”

I don’t answer that.

See, the thing is, I love my car. He owns like twenty luxury car dealerships across ten states, and he got me the Lamborghini for my sixteenth birthday.

Daddy had them respray it in pink, because he knows that’s my favorite color, and it’s such a pretty little car, but…

I don’t know. It’s a Lambo, so yeah, I could go fast, like super, super fast, but he always said if he catches me driving in a dangerous way, he’ll take it away.

I think part of me would prefer if he drove me everywhere. I like spending time with him. Always have, ever since he came into my life when I was thirteen years old.

Before that, the most parenting I received was my mother telling me not to slouch, or that I’d never attract a man if I kept putting on weight.

Well, I did anyway. I don’t think my body was made to be a size zero like hers. I guess I must take after my biological father, but since I have no idea who that is, I can’t say for sure.

All I know is, by the time my mother married Dex Walsh, I was already starting to fill out, and I haven’t stopped since.

I hold up the cake. “I baked this for you.” His frown softens, and I feel my own body start to relax.

I smile and shiver as his eyes rake over my body in the pink chiffon dress.

It’s a little bit see-through, and I self-consciously try to cover myself as I stand in front of him.

“It’s cherry. Your favorite. Happy birthday, Daddy. ”

“Not just for me, though,” he points out. Then he opens his arms.

I fall into them gratefully, suddenly feeling so much safer wrapped in his big, strong embrace.

Dex is massive. Over seven feet tall, with a body honed by a home gym, all those years of boxing, and an attitude of never being too good to get his hands dirty.

Objectively speaking, my stepfather is hot.

In fact, when one of my school friends told me she had a little crush on my dad, I nearly clawed her eyes out.

That was when I was sixteen. I never spoke to Georgia again, and she was not invited to the pool party I had for my seventeenth birthday.

The thought of her size two perfect body in a bikini, trying to tempt the man who was not only married to my mother but also shamefully filled my every naughty dream, was more than I could take.

Dex still puts in an appearance at his car dealerships every week, even though he has managers and staff that could run the company and leave him to cream off the profit, but that’s not all.

When he bought this house, it was collapsing into the ground.

He’s done all the work himself to bring it back to the showplace it is now.

He’s smart and strong, and all the things a little girl wants in a daddy.

Including a big allowance every week that appears in the bank account he opened for me the week he and Mom married. The money pours in there faster than I can even spend it, and he’s still always asking me if I need anything else. Including more money, which is ridiculous.

I won’t even mention the gifts that he sends me constantly.

Two days ago, a package with all the newly released Warmies showed up at my door.

He knows how much I love them. And last week, it was tickets to see The Music of Square Enix, where there’s an orchestra that plays videogame music.

Me and my best friend, Lulu, have been wanting to go ever since we heard about it.

Daddy sent a limousine ride to take us both to the show, with security to escort us and five-thousand dollars to spend on whatever we wanted while we were there.

But he also always listens. Pays attention. Gives me room to be myself while still making sure I do what I should to be the best I can be.

He’s the perfect dad.

I remember when he was doing the work on this house, and I would watch him. He told me no matter what, any house he had would be mine as well, and I never needed to ask permission to come over.

So, come over I did. Often. His hard chest would be gleaming in the sun, the flex of his muscles when he swung the hammer…how it made me clench and flutter down low in the parts that shouldn’t when you are looking at your dad.

His salt and pepper beard brushes against my cheek as he leans in to kiss it, and I giggle, shrugging my shoulders against the way it tickles my chin.

“Happy eighteenth, sweet girl,” he whispers. “Have you been taking the new vitamins I’ve had sent? I had the doctor adjust them to your latest bloodwork.”

I nod. He’s always looking out for my health. Having doctors check things, adjusting my vitamins and supplements, tracking my sleep. “Three times a day, right when the alarms go off you set for me.” I smile up, and he nods.

“That’s my girl.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “I’m proud of you.”

Heat engulfs my face, and ripples of excitement tingle over my skin. I can’t help it. When he calls me good girl and tells me he’s proud of me, my whole body reacts. It’s like he has a direct connection to my little girl heart, and when Daddy praises me, I just—gah, I melt.

I giggle and breathe deep, his spicy cologne smells so good. “Happy birthday to us both.”

So strange that we share a birthday.

The hug tightens, and then I feel it.

The bulge against my stomach is undeniable. And oh my God, what a bulge. My mouth is suddenly dry as all the moisture in my body drains down between my legs. Is Daddy hard because of me? What does that mean?

A squeak chirps from my throat as dampness seeps down where my thick thighs are always stuck together.

“Let’s go inside,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest where my cheek rests, setting my nipples into hard peaks. “I want to get a taste of that cherry.”