Fuck me, Daddy—make me come!
More than one young actress had screamed a safe-for-television version of that when Jamison Thorn was on top of them. I gave in to the fantasy and it took on a life of its own. My pussy began to spasm as I climaxed, and it was the most intense orgasm of my life. It wasn’t just a release that lasted for a couple of seconds and faded. It peaked a couple of more times while I was locked in ultimate bliss. It made my head spin faster and my whole body jerked on the bed. I wanted to pull my finger away and just end it, but I couldn’t—I wanted every single second of that fantasy. It was so hard to stay quiet that I had to pull my pillow over my face and bite down on it. The euphoria finally passed, and I felt my clit start to get numb. My hand fell away, and instead of being exhausted, the first thing on my mind was how long it would take me to recover so I could do it again.
Why does he turn me on like that?
The next day
I had to get up early, shower, and change my sheets after the night I had. Even after I finally went to sleep, I woke up a couple of times with the burning desire resonating from me like I had been turned into an out-of-control nymphomaniac. It was messing with my head in ways that I didn’t understand. My arms and legs were still shaking when I got out of the shower. I went to the kitchen, popped a pod in the Keurig, and waited for it to quickly produce a cup of caffeine. I didn’t have a restful sleep at all, but I didn’t feel like I could go back to bed. I wasn’t even sure I could trust myself if I was alone in my room.
“Why are you up so fucking early.” Madeleine walked into the kitchen and rubbed her eyes. “It’s Saturday…”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well, but I’m not tired.”
More like exhausted…
“I didn’t get anywhere near enough.” She shook her head and blinked a couple of times.
“Have some coffee. That will wake you up.” I motioned to the Keurig.
“It’s too fucking early for coffee. I’m going back to bed.” Madeleine yawned and gave me a wave as she turned around to go back to her bedroom.
I walked into the living room with my cup of coffee and turned on the television. I kept the volume low so that I wouldn’t disturb Madeleine. There was no reason for the chaos in my head to keep her from being able to sleep in on a Saturday like she planned. I thought about trying to watch something on Netflix, but I decided to flip through the channels first. There were a few movies that looked interesting—but what piqued my interest most was the Dangerous Thorns marathon running on Soaps 2, the channel that usually played the entire week of programming for people who didn’t DVR their favorite shows. I knew it would be a mistake to turn that channel on, but I did it anyway.
Blah, all they focus on now is Dean and Bianca. I never liked either of those characters…
There had been a shift across most soap operas in recent years. The characters that were once cornerstones of the shows were getting phased out for younger actors and actresses. It wasn’t the first time they tried to launch a youth movement, and if memory served me correctly, they quickly backtracked once they lost viewers. I didn’t pay close enough attention to that sort of thing, but my mother followed the soap opera gossip like it was a religion. It was a family tradition for her. She grew up watching soaps with my grandmother, and I think part of the reason she never married was because she compared every guy she met to the men on the screen. It might have also been why she ended up pregnant by some guy that cheated on her before I was born and left while I was in diapers.
If she met Walker Delaney in a bar, she would have probably started doing cartwheels—and I don’t even want to think about what she would have done if he was interested in her.
My eyes drifted down to the twenty dollar bill that was still laying on the coffee table. I reached over and picked it up. After the intense fantasy that consumed me the previous night, I was actually tempted to dial his number. I knew exactly what he wanted. That made it—simpler than it would have been if he asked me out on a date. It would certainly be a night that I never forgot—and maybe losing my virginity to the guy I had always fantasized about wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It might make things easier for me—I wouldn’t be constantly worried about dating guys at college who were only after one thing. Madeleine certainly believed that college was supposed to be four years of experimentation.
Why am I even thinking about this? It’s ludicrous.
I threw the twenty dollar bill back down on the coffee table, and then I heard Jamison Thorn’s voice coming from the television. I stared at him—getting lost in those mesmerizing eyes that were a lot more intense in real life than they were on the screen. He was just—so fucking hot. Seeing him brought the fantasy from the night before the forefront of my thoughts and I felt my pussy starting to get wet again. I literally didn’t know to stop it—well, turning off the television or changing the channel would be a good start, but I didn’t want to do that. I slid my hand into my pajama pants and started playing with my clit through my panties as I stared at Jamison Thorn.
I can’t do this again. I need to get him out of my head.
I pulled my hand out of my pajama pants and turned off the television. My pulse was racing, and my heart was beating hard in my chest—just from seeing him on the screen. I needed to burn off some of the sexual energy without making myself come again, so I decided to go for a run. I changed into my workout gear, grabbed my earbuds, and headed out the front door. I wouldn’t be able to disturb Madeleine if I was out of the apartment, and there was no way that I would be thinking about Walker Delaney once the runner’s high kicked in. I normally walked to campus and ran around the track when I wanted to put a few miles on the soles of my shoes, but I decided to just stay on the sidewalk. It was still early. There weren’t many people out, and the cool California breeze in the morning hours was refreshing.
I guess I can just punish my body with a few extra miles every time I think about Walker—I’ll either pass out from exhaustion or run until he’s out of my head.
A few hours later
“Ah, I wondered where you went.” Madeleine was sitting on the couch and looked over at me as soon as I walked through the door.
“Yeah, I decided to finish waking up with something besides coffee.” I leaned forward and put my hands on my knees. “I might have broken a few personal records out there today.”
“I don’t know why you don’t try out for the track team. You might as well have a shot at a scholarship if you’re going to spend so much time wearing out your tennis shoes.” Madeleine paused the movie she was watching on Netflix and chuckled under her breath.
“The people on the track team have been running for years—I just started when I got to college.” I shook my head back and forth. “Okay, I need a shower…”
My second today and this one is going to be ice cold.
I thought the run would make me stop thinking about Walker, but it didn’t work. I could hear his voice echoing in my ears, and it drowned out the music, even when I turned the volume up. My body was practically screaming out for him, and there didn’t seem to be any way to make it stop. I couldn’t get him out of my head, even after spending most of the night masturbating, and a run didn’t do anything but leave me wired. I didn’t even feel like I could take a nap when the adrenaline wore off. Whatever it was—I had it bad. I finished my shower, changed back into my pajamas, and joined Madeleine in the living room.
“You still aren’t tempted to call him?” Madeleine motioned to the twenty dollar bill on the coffee table.
“No.” I reached over and grabbed it. “I’m going to spend that the first chance that I get.”
“I bet you could sell it for more than twenty dollars.” She chuckled under her breath. “It has Walker Delaney’s signature and his digits. I’m sure someone would buy it—just so they can annoy him until he finally changes his number.”
“Maybe that’s what I should do…” I narrowed my eyes. “Nah,
that would be cruel.”
“I still think you could do worse.” She lifted the remote and hit play.
I decided to try and study in my bedroom, but that was an effort in futility. The moment I was alone, the brief encounter with Walker started playing in my head. He was—stuck there, like some sort of sickness that I couldn’t shake—a sickness that I wasn’t sure I wanted to shake. I let the conflict resonate in my head for several hours while I stared at a blank piece of paper and barely flipped more than a couple of pages in my textbook. I was wasting time—hell, I didn’t even know how I was going to focus on Monday morning when I had to go to class if something didn’t give. Before I really knew what was happening, my phone was in one hand, and the twenty dollar bill was in the other—and I was dialing.
Oh god, I’m actually doing this.
My finger got to the last button and hesitated. A part of me was screaming for my finger to press the button, but there was a small voice in the back of my head trying to silence the scream with reason. I was nineteen-years-old—I was a virgin. Walker was twice my age and then some. He only wanted one thing from me, and it certainly wasn’t a night out on the town. He wanted me in his bed, with my toes pointed at the ceiling for the first time ever while he devoured my cherry like he did to all of the girls that were tempted on Dangerous Thorns. The voice of reason was losing the battle, even when I managed to clear my screen. I stared at my phone for a couple of seconds, then immediately started dialing again. When I got to the last number, I didn’t hesitate. I hit it and lifted the phone to my ear—it started to ring. I still wanted to end the call, but then I heard his voice…
Hang up. Just hang up.
Four
Walker
There was rock bottom, and then there was my version of it, which made a downward spiral look like a vacation. I woke up on the floor of my kitchen with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a broken glass next to me, and a gash on my arm. Luckily, it wasn’t deep enough to actually bleed out, or else I might have died there. My death wouldn’t have been nearly as poetic as the one Jacob had written for my character on Dangerous Thorns. I picked myself up, cleaned up the mess, and then tended to my wound. I had a hangover that made my head feel like it was going to split in two—or maybe I hit that too when I decided to kiss the damn floor after I had so much alcohol in my system that I literally passed out standing up.
I’ve had worse moments than this, but I was twenty years younger…
The best solution for my hangover would have been the hair of the dog—I could just start drinking again. I resisted the temptation and went upstairs to take a shower. The water felt good on my head at least, so I stayed there for so long that my skin was almost scalded. I was losing my sanity—over a fucking character I played on a stupid daytime soap opera.
It was more than that though. I had movie deals when I was younger, but I always turned them down. I loved being Jamison Thorn, and I was incredibly protective of the role. I didn’t want to dilute the image of the character. It was rare for someone who had been on a soap opera as long as me to find success elsewhere. Killing Jamison Thorn was literally the end of my career. I might get a guest role on another soap, but they would never build one around me again—I was doomed by the typecast I embraced.
I feel good enough to lay down now. Maybe I can sleep some of this off…
Everything in my house reminded me of Jamison Thorn. I had several Daytime Emmy Awards, Soap Opera Digest Awards, framed magazine covers, a—rather regrettable Playgirl centerfold, and pictures with most of the notable celebrities in Hollywood. My bedroom had stacks of manuscripts that I rejected over the years, props that they let me keep when they weren’t needed any longer, and a closet full of clothes that defined the man people saw on their television screen. I wasn’t the type of guy to show up in a t-shirt and jeans to get changed for my scene. I looked like Jamison Thorn whether you passed me on the street or turned on your television. I lived and breathed that character—often to my detriment.
I wonder if I could have made one of my marriages work if I hadn’t been so fucking stubborn.
My love life was one area that truly left me with more anguish than joy. I dated a lot of Hollywood starlets before I found the one that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. A year later, I was signing divorce papers. My second marriage was a rebound from the first, and we were married before the ink was dry. That one was a complete disaster on so many levels, and the woman I married had more jealousy than I realized one person could have. We called it quits after four months.
I waited a while before I even considered taking another trip to the altar. I was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t happen again, but—then I met someone that made me believe it could work. She was patient and kind, but eventually, the lifestyle I lived became too much. I chose the show over her—because that’s what I always did when I had to make a decision like that. She wanted children and a normal life. I wanted to keep being Jamison Thorn. I didn’t know how to have both, because the role just fucking absorbed me.
Now I’m just a dirty old man—who can’t even pick up a girl in a bar.
I didn’t know if bringing Lauren home would have changed anything to derail the torment spinning inside me, but it would have been a temporary high—a lot better than the drunken stupor I found myself in. It wouldn’t have changed Jacob’s decision. It would have just been a way to reaffirm what I thought I knew—that Jamison Thorn didn’t need to be put out to pasture like a racehorse past his prime. The character deserved better than that, and I deserved better for spending twenty years of my life making Jamison Thorn a household name. I wished I could be proud of that work, but realizing it was going to all come to an end just made me sick to my stomach—all of the opportunities I wasted—my chance at actually finding someone who could love a man like me—it was a harsh reflection on what could have been.
Okay, I really do need to get some fucking sleep now.
Later that day
It was well into the afternoon before I finally woke up. I didn’t feel like I was completely recovered from my bender, but I was certainly getting there. I went downstairs, made some coffee, and found enough food in my fridge to put together something that resembled a sandwich. I rarely ate at home. I normally had a cup of coffee before I darted out the door and went straight to the gym. After that, I was usually on set. They served lunch and dinner too if we worked late into the night. On the days I didn’t work, I usually ate a cafe downtown after my workout and spent the rest of the day going over lines for the upcoming week, just so I could be familiar with them before I had to commit it to memory.
Soon, I won’t know what the fuck to do with my time.
I started feeling a little better after I ate and had some caffeine in my system. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. I didn’t feel like working out, so I just went to the living room and sat down. The rage that coursed through my veins the previous day was starting to get replaced with melancholy. I shouldn’t have felt that way. I should have been grateful for the career I had—all of the success it brought—all of the nice things that I surrounded myself with. Actors dreamed of having the kind of life I had, but I just didn’t want to see it end. I felt like I was just staring into an abyss with no way out. My phone buzzed, and I dug it out of my pocket, expecting to see a message from Jasmine. Instead, it was a phone call, and I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I lifted the phone to my ear.
There was silence for a moment, and then I heard a soft breath on the other end of the phone.
“Hey.” It was a woman’s voice. “It’s Lauren—the girl you met last night.”
“Lauren?” I blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think you would actually call me.”
“I didn’t think I would either…” She sounded timid, like she was trying to carefully choose her words. “Would you like—to maybe…”
“Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at six.” I tilted my head so that
I could hold the phone with my shoulder.
“Okay.” She sighed. “I’ll be ready.”
Somewhere in that abyss was a glimmer of hope—a faint glow that was trying to get brighter. I acted like an ass when I sat down beside Lauren at the bar. There was no reason for her to even think about calling me—unless she was actually interested in what I proposed once she had time to think about it. It went against my rule to sleep with a fan, but I was willing to throw that out the window when I made the offer—it wasn’t like I was going to have fans much longer anyway. If a young woman wanted to embrace her Daddy fetish in my bed, then I had no problem stepping into the role for the evening. I had done it before, and I kind of liked it when they whispered it in my ear. I definitely needed a distraction from everything else that was going on in my life.
If I’m going to do this, then I’m going to do it right. She sounded really nervous. I’ll give her some time to make sure it’s really what she wants before I invite her back to my place tonight.
I had a standing reservation at my favorite restaurant, so I called them to make sure they didn’t give away my table. I always tried to give them advance notice if I was actually going to use the reservation because they filled up quickly, especially on a Saturday night. After that, I arranged for a car so that I wouldn’t have to drive. I was fine with taking an Uber if I just needed to go somewhere, but that wasn’t good enough for a date. Lauren might not have realized that was what she was agreeing to when she called, but it was what she was going to get. I was going to take her on a real date, and if we ended up in the bedroom before the night was over, then I would know that she wanted to be there. She would have plenty of time to work out the nervousness and make sure it was what she really wanted.
A few hours later
Once Upon a Daddy: A Romance Anthology Page 34