Chapter 8 #2
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 I am your 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 my neck, 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. ”
“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. ”