Surprise Daddies (#1-4 Box Set)

by London James

  I want to ask how the hell he would tell a plausible story about being caught with a hand up my dress, but he plunges two fingers inside of me, making the words that come out of my mouth turn to gibberish. He presses a hand to my mouth while continuing his movement between my legs.

  “Can you stay quiet for us?” he asks, the hand across my mouth amplifying my feeling of absolute need. It sends delicious chills up and down my skin, as does the intensity of his eyes. “Can you stay quiet while I make you come all over my hand?”

  I can only whimper and nod back at him as I lose myself in sensation.

  I throw my head back, biting the inside of my cheek. I’m already so close. With the sound of the party, it’s hard to hear the sound of him fingering me, but I know it probably sounds wet. I grind against his hand, the chance of getting caught making my heart flutter even faster.

  Ash’s talented fingers make me lose control. My orgasm rips through my body hard and fast. I feel overwhelmed; the fire in my body spilling over and rushing through every nerve. It’s the best orgasm I’ve had in, god, I don’t know. Too long. I try to keep my voice down, but I’m panting as if I ran up all the steps in the building.

  “Good girl,” he grins, sucking my wetness off his fingers again. I’m so paralyzed from my climax that I can hardly react to how hot that was. I almost feel completely boneless. “Need a second?”

  I nod, sliding off of his lap, but remaining close. Once I recover enough, I pull him in for another kiss, only to be startled by some people stumbling into the garden.

  “Guys, speech!” One of Ben’s college friends—Mya? Myra? It doesn’t matter—yells. “Ben wants everyone out there.”

  Her voice snaps me out of my stupor, making me slide away from Ash’s lap so quickly that I nearly topple onto the ground. Can she tell what we were just doing? If she can, she isn’t showing it. I can’t even meet Ash’s eye. Oh my god. We did that.

  “Ben cannot know about this,” I hiss, adjusting my hair and dress. I dig into my purse to find my travel-sized perfume. Oh god, what if we smell like sex? What if I have a hickey somewhere? I accidentally smashed my compact last week, so all I have is my phone camera. I turn on the selfie mode and look myself over. I definitely look like I’ve just been making out with someone, and there isn’t much I can do about it.

  “Of course.” Ash is back to his normal, aloof self, as if he didn’t just make me come so hard that my legs are still quivering. “You’re good on hickeys, by the way. Just move your hair to cover a spot.”

  He brushes my hair over my shoulders before walking out, like nothing is wrong, his hands tucked in his pockets. And of course, my dumb brain is all out of sorts, going in fifty different directions. An endorphin high. Irritation at myself for letting my control go. Irritation at him for not even acknowledging me after, like he was walking out of a train station. Just because he said he only did hookups doesn’t mean he can just walk away like we don’t even know each other after, like I’m just a disposable paper cup in his eyes. Goddamn it. How could I have been so stupid again, as if he hadn’t done the same thing to me ages ago?

  I lose him in the crowd and take a spot near where Ben’s standing with a microphone. What is he doing?

  “Hey guys,” Ben starts, waiting for the sounds of the party to die down. He checks his watch. “It’s July 4th—”

  “No shit!” one of his friends yells, making the people around him laugh.

  “Which happens to be a special day for another reason,” he continues, reaching out toward Daisy. “Babe, come here.”

  She walks up, obviously confused, and takes Ben’s hand.

  “Do you remember what happened on July 4th four years ago, at 8:50 p.m.?” he asks.

  “No?” She looks around at the crowd, as if any of us have the answer. Her eyes are filled with nervous laughter.

  “It was the date and time of our first kiss—which I only remember because my fitness tracker vibrates ten minutes before the hour to remind me to walk around. I’m not that weird, I swear.” Ben laughs. “We were sitting down at a rooftop party just like this, talking, and half the time I was so shocked that a woman as beautiful as you was giving me the time of day.”

  “Oh my god, Ben,” she says quietly, her cheeks flushing.

  “It was the best night of my life at that point, so I thought it would be an appropriate time for me to create the newest best night of my life.”

  He gets down on one knee, and Daisy immediately bursts into tears. I shriek in a totally undignified way, forgetting all about my angst in an instant.

  “I forgot what else I was going to say. I had a whole speech memorized and everything. This was a lot more nerve-wracking than I thought it would be,” Ben admits, holding up a tiny black box. “But, uh, yeah?”

  The crowd falls utterly silent for just a split second. All eyes are on Daisy.

  Daisy nods and throws her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder.

  “Yes!” she shouts, her voice echoing into the evening air.

  Everyone cheers, phones up to record the moment. Ben finally slides the ring on her finger and kisses her, full-on movie style. Daisy keeps staring at the ring in disbelief, mouthing “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  Ben assures her that he’s dead serious, despite still laughing. People crowd them to say congrats once they finally stop smooching. I push my way through the crowd when I find an opening and practically tackle the two of them.

  “Is this why you were acting weird as hell?” I ask Ben once I stop hugging him. “I’m so excited for you two.”

  “Was I acting weird?” Ben asks, looking between me and Daisy like this is complete news to him.

  “Yeah,” Daisy and I say at the same time before bursting out laughing.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I ask.

  “I thought I would completely blow it and ruin the surprise if I told anyone.” Ben shrugs. “I was just excited.”

  “Oh, Ben.” Daisy gives him a big kiss. Ugh, they’re two of my best friends, but can they be cute somewhere else?

  “Bro, you’re getting married!” one of Ben’s college friends yells, literally picking him off of the ground in a bear hug. They swamp him and pull him away, chanting some fraternity song that I don’t recognize.

  “Now that he’s otherwise occupied show me the ring,” I whisper to Daisy, reaching for her hands.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Daisy says, her fingers trembling as she shows me her ring. It’s a gorgeous, vintage-style silver ring with some pale blue sapphires around a diamond in the middle. “I know we literally got engaged like two minutes ago, but will you be my bridesmaid?”

  “What?” I grab her wrists and squeeze. “Seriously?”

  She nods. “And maybe you could do some of the flowers?”

  “Um, yes to everything.” I throw my arms around her, feeling overwhelmed in a good way for once. The optimist in me sighs in relief. See, everything’s going to be okay. I’ll just put my mishap with Ash behind and throw myself into making Ben and Daisy’s wedding events fun and memorable. I don’t need Ash. I don’t need that jerk who ghosted me, either. In fact, I think I’ll take a hiatus from men. Intentionally. And as of now, it has officially begun.

  Chapter Two

  Ash

  I can afford to get a car out to my father’s house on Long Island, but I still always take the train. Not out of false humility, but because it takes quite a bit longer to get there by train, considering the fluctuating train times and all. I know I’m only putting off inevitable suffering, but the ritual of standing in the station, finding my seat amongst the crowds, and looking out the window is soothing.

  It reminds me of college, when I actually enjoyed going home. Dad’s second-to-last wife, Ada, was lovely to have around. Too lovely for him, because they got divorced when I first entered the service. I still keep in touch with her. She got remarried to a guy who’s not a verbally abusive asshole.

 
I find a seat nestled between a group of young guys going to the Hamptons for the weekend and a couple who are visiting someone outside the city. I place my closed laptop on my lap and whip out my phone. I have a text from Ben.

  Gym Monday AM? Getting my groom bod. He included a flexed-arm emoji and I snort. Ben’s always been the bright half of our duo, and now that he and Daisy are engaged, he’s practically brighter than the sun. So bright that I’m more excited for him than I’ve been excited about… well, anything, in a long time. He and Daisy deserve happiness. Even my less-than-optimistic self can’t deny that.

  I text back: as your best man, can I even say no?

  A typing bubble pops up on Ben’s end: Nah :)

  It’s still crazy to believe that he’s getting married. Not that it’s unusual to go to weddings—we’re in our early thirties, after all—but it’s Ben. The same guy who I had drunken conversations with about being bachelors forever, hooking up with chicks left and right. Then again, he and Daisy almost make me believe that being in a traditional monogamous relationship can be a wonderful thing. ‘Almost’ being the keyword here.

  The last time I had an honest-to-god girlfriend was when I was in high school, and even that didn’t end well. I sabotaged it for reasons I still can’t figure out. Deep-seated issues I still don’t want to address, probably. I was just a piece of shit to the girl—my moods were hot and cold, and I hardly called her back.

  When I dumped her, I used the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, which was actually true in that case. She was a perfectly nice girl who didn’t do anything wrong. After that, I cut out the middleman, and these days I just sleep around, which I don’t intend to stop doing any time soon. It’s all the fun without the difficulty of emotions or the inevitable unhappiness or divorce that happen in relationships. Once I clarify what my intentions are, of course.

  Which reminds me of Briony, the whole reason why I’m extremely up-front about the fact that I don’t do relationships. Instead of a flare of shame and embarrassment, which I used to feel thinking about how I’d treated her, I feel a blast of lust. Goddamn.

  The 4th of July party was a week ago, but I still can’t get her out of my head. I’ve only seen photos of her on Ben’s Instagram from time to time, like at her college graduation in boxy robes, or at Christmas, wearing purposefully dorky holiday sweaters that coordinated with Ben, their parents, Daisy, and the family cat — yeah, if I wasn’t Ben’s best friend, I’d think they were nuts—the tradition is a running joke in the family, apparently—. Her pretty face, with those full lips and huge, golden-brown eyes, stuck out to me in every picture, every time. Always grinning, always happy.

  Seeing her in person after all that time, with that white dress on, nearly killed me from surprise. The last time I saw her in person, she was eighteen, still pretty but a little awkward physically, like a baby horse trying to figure out what to do with its legs. The years have been extremely kind to her body. She’s lush and soft-looking in the most feminine way, her pale breasts pushed up just right. I want to bury my face in between them. The modesty of the rest of the dress only turned me on even more that night.

  She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl to show off her body, even though it’s smoking hot, so the little taste of it was like a drug. So was making out with her, how she turned to putty in my hands when I tugged on her hair. How she blushed when I slid my hand under her dress and then slipped a finger into her slick tightness. I wonder if she would be loud in bed. I have my own brownstone, so we wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone.

  It had been a while since I’d gotten so turned on so quickly. The contrast of her good-girl image with that unexpected naughty streak was like a chocolate truffle topped off by salt. The perfect blend.

  I open my laptop on my lap to hide the half-mast I’m now sporting so I can check my email. It’s exploding, of course. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I went for Briony so quickly, despite our history—my company has been growing so fast that I haven’t gotten laid in over a month, a new record for me. Briony is too damn tempting to leave alone, despite my better judgment.

  I can rest assured that Ben will never find out about what we’d done—I doubt Briony would dare mention it, considering the near friendship-ending meltdown Ben had before. And I definitely won’t mention it. Why would I, anyway? I can’t just drop in a ‘Hey, by the way, I finger-blasted your sister at your party’ into any conversation. She is an adult. I am an adult. We can do whatever we want, as long as we both consent.

  The only problem is that now I want more of her. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other in the coming months, since we’re going to help Daisy plan her parts of the wedding. Ben has the actual event under control, but Daisy wants help with the pre-wedding events. I guess that falls under best man duties, or at least good friend duties.

  I sigh and look back at my emails. I need to focus if I’m going to have time for dinner with Daisy and Briony tonight.

  I make my way through my inbox, sending tasks off to my assistant and answering the questions that are relevant. I actually feel better after I get through the bulk of it, and not just because I’m being productive.

  Our program to train recent veterans to work in tech, particularly those who have been injured in the line of duty, is taking off. The first class of students have gone on to work at companies all over, including my own, in departments from front-end web development to IT to finance. Seeing them pop up in my email, sharing stories of their successes, is a nice, tangible reminder that good things can happen in the world if you try. I need that reminder frequently.

  The train conductor’s voice over the intercom immediately dampens my good mood. We’ve arrived. I gather my things and make my way outside, calling a car to drive me the short distance to my father’s house.

  He still lives in the house he moved into when I was in college—large, imposing, and sterile; it fits him perfectly. The gray stones of the outside aren’t exactly welcoming, despite the gardener’s attempt to make everything look cheery with flowers.

  I trudge up the front steps and unlock the door with my key. The house is silent and smells like antiseptic, even in the entryway. He always had maids come in, ever since I was a child, and insists on them using the least welcoming scents possible.

  “Dad?” I call out, kicking off my shoes. I go deeper into the house, toward Dad’s study. I can hear the quiet sounds of the TV, so he’s probably awake or has just fallen asleep.

  Even so, I knock gently on the doorframe when I arrive. The full-time nurse I hired, Nora, smiles at me and stands. Dad is asleep in his easy chair, covered in blankets. Even covered, I can tell he’s lost more weight. As a kid, he was intimidatingly large, almost as big as I am now, so it feels weird seeing him so frail. I guarantee he’ll still have a biting word ready to go when he wakes up, though, so he’s not entirely broken.

  “He’s been nodding off for a while. The blood transfusion went well, though,” Nora whispers to me.

  “Good, thank you.” I sit down in the chair next to him softly, hoping I won’t wake him. A pang of guilt hits me—I don’t want to wake him up because I don’t want to talk, not because I want him to get rest.

  I take a deep breath through my nose. I’m here, and that is a hell of a lot better than nothing.

  Dad stirs for a moment, coughing, before falling back asleep. None of the doctors know what’s wrong with him, probably because his symptoms are all so general and applicable to a range of diseases. It started right around the time I started my company, over the course of a few months. At first, he was just tired, but then that turned into mysterious pain, migraines, and rashes. Now he’s in and out of the hospital with difficulty breathing, kidney problems—basically every organ system has been touched. He’s been tested for every autoimmune disease under the sun, every cancer, and every out-there diagnosis the doctors could think of. Still nothing. All they know is that it’s probably terminal, considering his age.

/>   I stare blankly at the TV, which is playing ESPN, feeling strangely uncomfortable despite being at home. Not that it’s ever really felt homey. The interior decorators did a nice job, but it doesn’t feel like a home, like Briony and Ben’s place did when we were kids. Their house was filled with laughter and lined with family photos, decorated for whatever holiday was closest. Their mom even made after-school snacks by hand rather than just throwing a bag of chips on the counter like some parents did.

  Sometimes I wonder if Dad even thought about me at all when he made decisions about the houses we lived in. Even the room that I stayed in when I was home from college could have been a hotel room. None of my childhood stuff—the maids probably put it in storage years ago—or any family photos. Not that we have any of those framed, even now. They’re probably in storage, too. Guests probably don’t know I exist unless Dad tells them.

  I’m his only child over his four marriages. My biological mother passed away from a pill overdose when I was eight months old, and his other three exes basically ran away from him screaming and never looked back. If I’m not going to take care of him in his old age, who will?

  Ben points out that Dad isn’t exactly father of the year — in Ben’s words, my dad is a ‘fiery piece of shit’, which I don’t disagree with, but still. In my time as a Seal, I came to understand how important duty is. And forgiveness. More than one person I’ve been with close to their deaths admitted that they wished they could clean up some relationships before they passed. I have the opportunity to do that now, even if my actions are motivated by the guilt trips he took me on. I should be happy that my dad is even around, even if I feel like he doesn’t like me unless I’m making a ton of money.