Secret Daddy (Dark Daddies Book 8)

by B. B. Hamel

  She glares at me for a second and I can tell she wants to argue. Fuck, I want her to argue. That incredible fucking body sways every time she moves and I can feel myself getting hard all over again.

  But instead, she stomps over to a chair next to the pool and parks herself in it. She tilts her chin up to the sun, away from me, and she closes her eyes, headphones plugged into her ears.

  I smile to myself. God damn, what a job. She may be a brat, but she’s something else to look at, and I’m not about to be shy.

  I spend the next couple hours watching Katie and imagining what I’d do to that bratty little body. I know how to bring her down to earth, and I think she’d like it.

  I’d start by making her take my big, thick cock between those pretty lips. I bet she sucks cock like she loves it. I want to see her gag, choke on my thick shaft, and beg for more as she strokes me. Then I’d lick her pretty little asshole, suck on that delicious little clit, and finally slide my cock so deep she shivers for weeks just thinking about it.

  I’d fuck her rough right here next to the pool. I don’t give a fuck who catches us. I just want to be deep in that tight, wet, perfect little cunt. I want to hear her begging for more as I thrust harder and harder, make her moan, make her scream. I’d get her off, make her come on my thick cock over and over before finally filling her up with my hot seed.

  Fucking hell.

  Two hours slowly drift past. She catches me watching but I don’t really care. Eventually, she gets up, and I stare at those perky little tits as she walks up toward the house.

  “Having fun?” she asks me sarcastically.

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Best show I’ve seen since coming home.”

  She hesitates. “Coming home?”

  “Sure. Been overseas a long while.” I smirk at her. “Or did you think I was just some washed-up asshole?”

  She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  I bark a laugh at her. “I was a sergeant with the United States Marine Corp. I know that don’t mean shit to you, but it means a lot to me.”

  She doesn’t laugh, just watches me carefully. “You’ve been serving all this time? I mean, how old are you?”

  “Old enough to be your father.” I cock my head at her and grin. “On second thought. I’m old enough to be your Daddy. Are you looking for a new Daddy, sweetheart?”

  She glares at me after that. “Stay downstairs,” she says. “I’ll be up in my room. I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow.”

  “Fine by me,” I say, grinning huge. I watch her walk away.

  Hell, yes, that ass is gorgeous.

  I think I am going to love this posting after all. I mean, that brat needs a Daddy, and who better than the baddest marine in the fucking world?

  That night, I bunk downstairs on the couch. I figure, she wants me to stay downstairs, so I’ll stay downstairs.

  Plus, I think I can react to any threats more easily from down here. Up there, I’m basically cut off. Downstairs is a little more open and I feel like I have access to more of the house.

  Doesn’t matter, though. All is quiet all night, and I even get a few hours of sleep. More than I’d get on a late-night patrol out in the desert, at least.

  In the morning, I get up and head into the kitchen. I’m tired but it’s warm out, so I leave the shirt behind and put some coffee on. She has some fancy drip machine and fancy coffee, the sort of shit I never even tasted before. Takes me a bit to figure it all out, but once I do, it smells damn good brewing as I lean up against the counter and wait.

  I hear some soft steps on the stairs. I tense a little, not sure why. Maybe because I left my shirt behind. I’m supposed to be a fucking professional, after all, but oh, well.

  Katie comes into the kitchen. She’s wearing these tiny little shorts, basically panties, and this practically see-through white t-shirt that clings to her body. Her hair is a little messy from sleep and even with dark circles and a yawn on her lips, she looks fucking gorgeous.

  She stops and stares at me. I feel her eyes roam my body, looking at the scars from countless shrapnel wounds and even a couple bullets, and the tattoos that crisscross my skin. I bet this girl’s never seen the likes of me before in her too-perfect little life.

  I grin at her. “Morning, sweetheart. Want some coffee?”

  That seems to snap her out of it. “Uh, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

  I grin a little at that. “It was warm so I left it behind. Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

  She winces a little and I wonder if she hadn’t planned on getting up early, either.

  “We’re leaving today so I thought I’d get an early start,” she says breezily.

  She still lingers on the threshold, not sure what to do. The coffee finishes so I pour myself a mug and her one.

  “Cream and sugar?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Black.”

  I grin. “That’s my girl.”

  “Not your girl.” She finally walks over and takes the mug from my hand. “Keep your shirt on from now on.”

  “Too distracting?” I grin at her. “You’re pretty distracting yourself.”

  She glares at me, but she turns a little red. “It’s unprofessional.”

  “Understood, sweetheart.”

  “And stop calling me that.”

  “Nah. You need a new Daddy, just like I said.”

  I can see the anger flare up in her. I like that, the fight she has.

  “You should stop saying that,” she warns.

  I let that slide past. “You want breakfast?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I open the refrigerator. “Breakfast. You know, eggs, bacon, all that shit. You got any bacon in here?”

  “No, I don’t have bacon,” she says.

  “Eggs then? Got any Bisquick or something for pancakes?”

  “No,” she says. “Wait, you’re cooking me food now?”

  “Might as well. I was about to make myself something, might as well feed you too.”

  She stares at me for a second, expression softening. “Didn’t think you could cook.”

  “Oh, we learn a lot in the marines. Gotta learn to cook, at least a little bit. Never know when it’ll come in handy.”

  I find some eggs, these little piddly free-range bullshit eggs, but they’ll do.

  “Aren’t you special?” she says vaguely.

  I laugh at that. “I know. It gets old, listening to me talk about the Corps. I guess I don’t know anything else”

  “How long did you serve?”

  I hesitate a second, frowning. “Joined up the second I turned eighteen and I’m forty-four now. So the majority of my life.”

  She looks surprised. “You’ve been in the military for that long?”

  I shrug a little. “The only life I ever knew, until they told me I got too old to fight.”

  “Too old to fight?” She sits down on a stool and stares at me. “You don’t look, uh, out of shape.”

  I smirk at her. “I know I don’t. I’m still a goddamn trim killing machine. But I guess they didn’t want an old man fighting their war anymore. Thought maybe I deserved a nice retirement.”

  “So what happened?” she asks. “I mean, something must’ve, or else you wouldn’t be here.”

  I hesitate a second and sigh. “Retirement didn’t sound fun,” I say finally. “I want to fight. Still do, I guess. So here I am, working private security for your bratty ass.”

  She glares at me, the anger back again. “I’m not a brat. You don’t even know me, asshole.”

  “Fair enough, but you’re still a brat.”

  She throws up her hands, rolls her eyes, and starts looking at her phone like I don’t exist.

  That suits me just fine.

  I’m quiet while I cook up breakfast. I’m not sure how much more I want her to know about me anyway, so I make some toast and eggs and I even find some fancy vegan sausage to fry up with it. When I’m done, I put the plate in f
ront of her and sit down.

  “Enjoy,” I say.

  She looks up, surprised. “Huh. You really can cook.”

  “Thought I was a liar?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Well, then, now you know. I won’t lie to you about anything, even if you won’t like the truth.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she asks. “So you’re the most honest man alive?”

  “Nope,” I say, “and it sounds like you don’t know many honest men.”

  I carry my plate away into the other room. She doesn’t say anything as I grab my shirt and take my food outside.

  I don’t know why but I have a strange feeling in my chest, like my heart’s beating too fast. It’s the same way I feel when I want to fight or fuck something, but right now, I don’t really want to do either. Well, maybe I want to fuck her, but that’s not this.

  It’s something else. Maybe it felt good to talk about myself to someone. She seemed interested, which is more than I can say about most of the pussy I’ve come across since being back home. Most people hear I’m some old, washed-up marine and their eyes glaze over real quick.

  She seemed interested, though. Like she actually gave a shit about me, and that freaked me the hell out.

  I’m not used to pussy giving a damn about me, or to me giving a damn about pussy.

  Fucking shit. We’re leaving for tour today, so I’d better get it together. This girl’s half my age and a damn brat. All I want from her are those pretty lips wrapped around my hard cock, I don’t give a damn about anything else. Just keep it together and get through this job, and it’ll be fine.

  And maybe I can get a taste of that pussy after all.

  3

  Katie

  Just as the limo arrives to drive me to the airport later that day, I get a text from Norah. “Sorry hon, running late, meet u there xo.”

  “Shit,” I say to myself. That means I’m stuck alone in the limo with Graham, my sexy, former marine bodyguard with a penchant for taking his shirt off and staring at me broodingly.

  Oh, yeah, and telling me that I need a new Daddy.

  I mean, how rude is that? He doesn’t know me at all and that’s way out of bounds for a bodyguard. And yet for some reason, I let him get away with it. If I told Norah what he said, she’d fire him in a heartbeat.

  But then we’d have to find someone new to take care of me, and he could be worse and who knows what’ll happen and…

  No, Graham is fine. He’s cocky and an asshole and sexy and he cooks breakfast for me and…

  He’s fine. He’ll do.

  I head downstairs, lugging a bag along behind me. I spot Graham leaning up against the doorframe, looking out at the driveway.

  “Uh, little help?”

  He looks back at me lazily and doesn’t move. “We’re taking a limo?”

  “Yeah.” I stop on the steps, huge bag threatening to crush me under its weight. “Can you help me, please?”

  He nods and walk over, easily lifting the bag up and carrying it downstairs. I sigh a little and rub my wrist as I follow him down. He carries the bag outside and manages to stow it away in the trunk.

  “Where’s your luggage?” I ask him.

  “Already in there.”

  I look in the trunk, and there’s only the single duffel he came with. “That’s it? For the whole tour?”

  “I travel light.”

  I sigh. “You can’t smell bad. Okay?”

  “I never smell bad.” He grins at me and I doubt that’s the case.

  I climb into the limo and he follows me. I know a limo is a little over the top but the label insisted on sending it. I mean, I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to the airport, but whatever.

  At least they decided to spring for the private jet, too.

  “Where’s the first stop?” Graham grunts at me as we pull out into traffic. He’s sitting on the other side of the limo, practically at the other end, and I have to learn forward to hear him.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t know,” he confirms. “Didn’t care enough to ask.”

  I groan. “East Coast. New York is first.”

  “Ah. Nice city.”

  “You been before?”

  “Born and raised.”

  I bite my lip. “Really?”

  “Really. Lived on Long Island for a while, until I enlisted.”

  I let out a breath. “Damn,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “Me too.”

  He barks a laugh. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I knew I saw a little Long Island princess in you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Cut it out. Just because we’re from the same place—”

  “We’re basically the same.”

  “No, we are not.”

  “Sure, we are. You’re just running from what you are.”

  “And you’ve fully embraced it?”

  He hesitates and shrugs, still grinning. “Okay, got me there.”

  I stare out the window as the limo slowly picks its way through traffic. I try not to look over at him, but I can’t help myself. Even just wearing a basic t-shirt and jeans, he looks absolutely gorgeous and a little intimidating.

  He’s so different from all the guys I know. They’re all thin and totally vain. They’d never leave the house in an outfit like that, but I can’t imagine Graham ever thinking about his clothes for longer than it takes to put them on.

  That’s just not the world I live in anymore. All I know is Instagram reality and fake smiles, but there’s nothing fake or misleading about Graham. He’s intimidating and intense and brutally honest, and as annoyed as I am about having him around, I have to admit that I respect him.

  Grudgingly, at least.

  We eventually reach the airport. There’s no set time, since the private plane won’t leave without us anyway and we have it all afternoon, so there’s no stress when the limo finally pulls into the terminal. We park and are escorted down the runway toward the jet, parked and ready with the captain and crew standing outside.

  “Nice,” Graham comments.

  I glance at him. “Ever fly private?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. If you call a Blackhawk helicopter private.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then, nope.”

  I can’t help but smile at him. “You’re going to like it.”

  He frowns at that, which surprises me. “I doubt it,” he grumbles.

  I don’t have time to ask what he means, because the captain comes up to introduce himself and I’m led along by the flight attendants. Norah is there, and she updates me on how the tour’s coming together, and I’m basically swept up into my world.

  Graham disappears into the background, but he’s never really invisible. Even as we head into the plane and everyone takes their seats, Graham is still very much visible, imposing and intense.

  I head to the back of the plane and sit down in a corner seat, curling up and looking out a window as everyone else chatters away. I know everyone here, since they’re all part of my team, but I don’t really feel like I’m part of them. I mean, I just have to show up, do the routines, sing the songs, and that’s it. They do everything else without any real input from me.

  “You look bored.”

  I glance over as Graham sits down next to me.

  I look back out the window.

  “Not bored,” I say. “Just not needed.”

  He grunts at that. “Seems to me that you’re the most important person on this plane.”

  “Doubt it. They could find some other singer and slot her right in if they needed to.”

  He gives me this strange sidelong expression for a moment. “You don’t see yourself too clearly, huh?”

  “What?” I ask, glaring at him, but he doesn’t have a chance to response. The captain comes over the loudspeaker to announce that we’re ready to taxi, and everyone has to strap in.

  “Guess we’re sitting together,” he says
to me as he puts on the seatbelt.

  I sigh and sit up straight, putting on mine. “Until we take off,” I say.

  “What, you too good to sit next to your bodyguard?”

  I roll my eyes. “No. I just don’t feel like sitting next to you, bodyguard or not.”

  He laughs at that, clearly delighted, even though I meant to insult him.

  The jet taxis a little jerkily toward the runway. I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach I always do before takeoff, this deep, open feeling at the bottom of me. I mean, flying in planes is absolutely insane, right? It’s a giant metal Twinkie with wings, hurtling through the air at hundreds of miles per hour, and we’re supposed to just… what? Sit there? Act like it’s totally cool?

  I take deep breaths to try and steady myself as the captain says we’re ready to take off.

  “You okay?” Graham asks me, noticing my distress.

  “Fine,” I snap.

  “You don’t like flying.” It’s not a question.

  “I’m fine,” I say again and dig my fingers into the seat as the plane jerks forward.

  I clench my jaw as we pick up speed, and just before the plane’s wheels leave the ground, I feel Graham’s hand cover my own.

  He smiles at me. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let this plane crash.”

  And for some reason, I believe him.

  I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the confident smile, his hand against mine, his skin rough and callused. Or maybe it’s the way he says it, like he can’t possibly be wrong, like he’d physically throw the plane into the air if he has to. It’s an ease and a confidence and a genuine belief in himself and his abilities and for some reason, it calms me down.

  As the plane noses up and I feel the air under the wings swoop us upwards, I don’t panic. I don’t freak out. Normally, everyone just ignores me as I sit in the back, jaw clenched, trying not to cry. I’m fine once the plane is in the air, so they know the drill.

  But Graham doesn’t ignore me. He squeezes my hand, and I look back at him.

  And I don’t feel afraid.

  Slowly the plane gains more air and levels off a bit, still climbing, but not so steeply. I pull my hand away from him and stare out the window again.