5. Impress Me, Princess
IMPRESS ME, PRINCESS
SEAN
I didn’t have to ask her for her answer.
I knew she wanted it. Her pretty doe eyes were glazed, thinking about it.
My cock filling up her pretty mouth and stretching her plump lips. My dick twitched at the fantasy as sexual tension hovered in the air.
I wanted to bend her over and spank her for teasing me. Instead, I nodded at the paper.
“Bank details, Princess.”
She licked her lips, looking down at the plain page before looking up at me. Her doe eyes gleamed with lust as she asked, “What do you mean by services?”
I didn’t like it when she didn’t address me by my name or Daddy. But I had met her a few hours ago, so it was fair.
Soon . I will make her scream my name soon.
“You spending time with me. Non-sexually.” I knew she had more questions, wondering why didn’t I want to fuck her, but I continued, “I’ll show you the guest room so you can shower, and then we can eat something.”
She closed her mouth and even though there was defiance in her blue eyes, she scribbled her details. Her handwriting was a small scrawl with neat letters.
I took the paper once she was done and showed her the guest room on the second floor, near the master bedroom. I wanted her near me; that’s why I offered her the room closest to my room.
Seeing her eyes shine as she looked around the cozy king size bed with simple bedsheets and duvet, it made me wonder how her room looked. Definitely girly and full of innuendoes, judging by her t-shirt.
“I’ll leave some clothes for you,” I said, leaving her alone in the room. I sighed, tugging at my tie and removing it from the shirt’s collar. Walking to my walk-in closet, I found a clean, baggy tee shirt and the smallest sweatpants I could find.
When I walked back to the guest room, my steps slowed down hearing the shower in the ensuite bathroom. I swallowed and kept the clothes on the bed, eyeing the warm light diffusing from the small space between floor and bathroom door. I heard her humming and a small smile curled on my lips.
Stop being a creep, Sean .
Right. I left her room and took a quick shower, trying my best not to think about the sweet girl showering under my roof.
* * *
“ Mmm ,” she moaned, eating the noodles, a pleased expression on her face. “This is so goof!”
I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Yesh, daffy,” Chelsea rolled her eyes, making me want to bend her over and edge her until she’s crying for a release.
But I remained civil. And patient.
She looked like a chipmunk with stuffed cheeks, scarfing down the noodles like it was her last meal.
I had preheated the black bean noodles my housekeeper had made for the dinner.
I was serving the food on two plates when she had appeared in the kitchen with wet hair soaking the tee I gave her, while discreetly avoiding to look at her chest.
Even now, I had to clench my jaw and eat the kimchi, focusing on the sweet and sour taste instead of how inviting her flushed skin looked.
The ends of her blond hair were wet, the cotton t-shirt soaking the water, and the fact that she wasn’t wearing any bra made it more apparent. I shifted in my seat and gave her kimchi with my chopsticks.
“It’s good for you,” I said and asked if she wanted more noodles.
Chelsea shook her head, swallowing her food and flashing an innocent smile. “If this is what you do to every woman you bring home, sign me up.” She was joking, eating kimchi and frowning at its taste before slurping on some more noodles.
“I don’t,” I said, taking a sip of ginger beer.
Chelsea looked up from her bowl and tilted her head in question. Her doe eyes soft.
“I don’t bring women here. Ever.” The only women who had been to my home were my mom and my ex-fiancée.
I thought she’d get defensive or consider herself special—which she should—but instead, her reply surprised me.
“Why not?” She waved her hand around the dining area. “You’ve such a cool penthouse! You should bring women home. Maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
She nodded sympathetically, tapping my hand as if she was some love guru giving advice to her client, aka me.
I stared at her.
What the fuck?
Did she just… accused me of not having a romantic life? Like Cillian, my best friend? Like Caleb, his son, who was engaged to not one but two people?
My jaw tightened, and I finished my food, keeping the utensils in the dishwasher before leaning on the countertop. I was seething. I had bought her time for the night and instead of getting all over me, which most women did, she was giving me relationship advice?
I shook my head, finishing my beer.
I was angry because she was right. I never brought any woman home because having one-night-stands at the club in my VIP room was easier. That way, we knew it was just a hookup and never see each other again. I had never thought about being in a relationship since?—
“Do you have any dessert?” Soft voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around to see her finishing her meal.
“Not sure,” I lied. I didn’t have any dessert. I don’t have a sweet tooth. “Let me check.” I opened the fridge and pretended to look around before closing it.
“No dessert.” I remembered her ‘Pound my Cake, Daddy’ tee and asked, “Do you want to eat something sweet? I can order something for you.”
She shook her head, and I leaned closer to wipe the corner of her mouth with my thumb, her eyes glittering. “I… I can make you something if you want?”
I raised my brow as her cheeks flushed when she stood up to clean the bowls and I helped her. “Like what?”
“Anything you want to eat!” she beamed, not knowing the dirty thoughts that were running through my head. How much I wanted to raise the baggy t-shirt she was wearing and taste her tits. Taste the heaven that was between her thighs. “I may not look like it, but I’m a great baker.”
“ Hmm ,” I crossed my arms and pretended to give it a thought. “Go on. Impress me, Princess.”
Her lids fluttered and breath hitched every time I called her that or praised her and— fuck , what I wouldn’t do to have her writhing underneath me when I praise her for being a good girl for me.
“You can find all the stuff… somewhere,” I said to her, looking at the cabinets.
“You don’t know where you keep all the baking stuff?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “Like baking powder, baking sheets, whisk, cocoa powder, vanilla essence?”
“I don’t use the kitchen.” I shrugged. “My housekeeper would know where everything is.”
“ Oh .” She blinked. “Well, I’ll see what ingredients you have and make something for you. But you might have to eat it tomorrow since it takes…” she rambled on and I nodded patiently with a small smile playing on my lips.
She was so nervous when I brought her home, as if I was going to eat her, and now, she was demanding me to get her stuff from the top cabinets because she couldn’t reach it even when she tipped on her toes.
Cute .
Chelsea moved around my kitchen as if it was her own, her voice, eyes and body full of determination. I watched her from the island stool where she had ordered me to sit so that ‘I don’t get in her way’—her words, not mine.
I wanted to tuck her in my pocket and have her bake all the desserts she wanted. I would gladly eat anything she made and work out more to burn off the calories of her sweetness.
Licking my lips, I felt the once familiar desire bubbling up inside me. I wanted to keep her, even though I knew I couldn’t. I wanted her to be mine.
I wanted her to be my good girl.