My Mom's Fiance: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  Slowly, oh so slowly, I gazed at myself in the mirror, licking my lips, still a little nervous. But the image of Tristan filled my mind, his dark hair, those massive shoulders, the knowing gleam in his eyes. And before I could stop myself, I’d slipped my bra straps over my shoulders, setting my girls free, and hitched up my skirt so it was bunched up around my waist. Oh god, that was already better. My pink pussy lips gleamed in the mirror, a drop of arousal visible at my slit and I slipped a finger to caress it, to smooth the wetness into my skin.

  Balancing in my high heels, I spread my legs as best I could and began running my fingers over my pussy, running up and down my soft labia before pushing deep into the wetness, stimulating myself while my other hand tugged at a dusky nipple.

  “Ohhh, ohh,” I moaned, my eyes closed, mouth half-open with pleasure. “Ohhh Tristan,” my breathy cries came.

  And the image of my handsome, imposing guardian was enough to make me come. With a sudden jerk, my pussy snapped and clenched around my fingers, a gush of cream running out onto my wrist, dripping off hotly. My snatch pulsed, spasmed and shivered, tingles running through my body until I was limp, my legs wet noodles, backbone like mush. With a strangled sigh, I propped myself up against the counter, pulling my fingers out with a wet squelch. Oh god, oh god, it’d been so good and all I’d done was think about Mr. Marks, imagine him in my mind’s eye.

  But time was a-ticking. I glanced at myself in the mirror, hurriedly rinsing off my hands, pulling down my skirt and fixing my hair again. Was there a difference? Was it obvious that I’d just touched myself, had a blast dreaming of the billionaire? There was a flush on my cheeks now, a sudden dreamy aura, and I hoped to god everyone would attribute it to my love of school, my natural enthusiasm for books. It was go time … and I hoped my guardian was ready too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tristan

  The minute Daisy walked in, I knew something was different. She was beautiful of course, completely appropriate with her brown curls swept up, smooth and sleek in a blouse and skirt. But the air around her was humming somehow, crackling even, and her eyes sparkled, teasing me as soon as she entered the room.

  “Daisy, welcome,” I said smoothly, drawing out a chair for her. My desk is enormous, nothing more than a giant pane of glass, big enough to serve as a conference table if needed. And the brunette smiled warmly at me.

  “Tristan, thanks for making time for us,” she replied, “This is John Ranger, my English teacher.”

  I smiled courteously, indicating the chair next to Daisy. Daisy was so magnetic that I’d barely noticed the man at her side, my senses on high around the teenage girl. But now I turned to the opposition. The motherfucker was good-looking, I had to give him that. This Lone Ranger dude was athletic, muscled-up in a bodybuilder kind of way, like a pitbull on steroids. And his voice boomed immediately, seeking control.

  “Thank you for having us Mr. Marks, I’ve heard so much about you,” he boomed sonorously, practically squeezing off my hand during the shake.

  But I wasn’t having any of that.

  “Always happy to help,” I said smoothly. If this guy thought he could rattle me, he was dead wrong. I was the czar of billion dollar deals, what was one suburban English teacher here to ask for money?

  And as if on cue, the man began babbling, revealing his nervousness.

  “Yeah, we’ve talked about you in teacher conferences, you know the District is always sussing out potential donors and your name has come up multiple times,” he confessed. “I wanted to meet you personally because there’s a bonus for the person who finally lands you, we get a thousand dollar prize for bringing you into the fold so to say.”

  I was stunned but didn’t show it. This mofo was beyond ballsy, he was plain-out rude and out-of-touch. What happened to tact, subtlety, and nuance in fundraising? Instead, this dude was blabbering about money first thing, without the niceties of small talk. The first rule of development is to go slow, get to know the client first. No one wants to feel like they’re being hit up, even if the motive’s clear, so I shook my head and glanced at Daisy.

  And the girl was just as embarrassed for her English teacher. Her face flamed and she crossed her legs nervously.

  “What Mr. Ranger is saying,” she interjected, “is that Central Prep needs a little more this year because of that big library they’re building out back and thought you might like to contribute to the effort.”

  I nodded slowly. Even my eighteen year-old ward was better at client development than this lug, what was the school district thinking?

  But I gave nothing away.

  “I see,” I said slowly, steepling my hands under my chin. I’ve been approached for donations many times and often open my wallet, but not without some kind of long-term plan. “Tell me more about the library,” I rumbled.

  And despite Daisy’s efforts to keep Mr. Ranger in line, he was a bumbling fool, babbling on and on and on.

  “You could put your name on top for a cool hundred million,” he said, “you know ‘The Tristan Marks Museum,’” he giggled.

  “You mean ‘The Tristan Marks Library,’” I corrected. Personally, I hate having my name on stuff, preferring to make donations anonymously but this guy was so off his rocker that it was becoming comical, I wanted to bait him just to see how far I could get.

  “Oh right!” he giggled, “it’s a library, sorry forgot that detail,” he said, winking. But I was fast losing patience.

  “Do you have blueprints, a proposal, a white paper?” I asked. These were the basics of fundraising, surely he’d come armed with a package.

  And the dude scrambled to unzip his backpack, pulling out a tatty folder.

  “The District’s put together a brochure,” he said, pulling out a sad cardboard brochure folded into thirds. It wasn’t even in color, a grainy black and white thing from a dot-matrix printer.

  “Thanks,” I ground out, taking it in hand. “I’ll take a look. Now if you don’t mind, I have another meeting in a few minutes.”

  “Oh sure,” he mumbled, stuffing his things back into his knapsack. “Daisy and I, we just wanted to make sure we hit all our big donors, didn’t we?” he said, throwing my little girl a wink.

  And the brunette just smiled faintly back before turning to me once again.

  “Thanks for seeing us Tristan,” she mumbled, face flaming. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed, but I could see that she was mortified on John Ranger’s behalf.

  “No problem,” I rumbled, showing them out. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

  And with a small smile, she was out the door, the big slab of wood shutting softly behind her.

  Except as the brunette passed, a drift of air trailed in her wake and my nostrils flared, big body on alert. Was that … holy shit, was that pussy cream I smelled? Oh yeah, my delicious little ward had been getting it on right before she came into my office, frigging her cunt, the aroma unmistakable, my male hackles immediately on high. Daisy had come right before entering my office … and it drove me over the edge.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Daisy

  The meeting couldn’t have gone worse. I’d counted on Mr. Ranger to be prepared, to be smooth, dominant, alpha and instead he’d melted into a bumbling fool in front of Tristan like a grade-school boy.

  I’d cringed almost from the very beginning.

  “Oh I used to be in the military,” Mr. Ranger growled, “you know, Army and all.”

  “And what did you do?” asked my guardian, eyebrow cocked.

  “Paratrooper,” Mr. Ranger bragged smarmily. “You know, dropping out of planes at five hundred miles an hour with just a parachute on your back.”

  My guardian nodded in acknowledgement.

  “I assume you’ve seen combat,” he said, “since we’ve been at war almost continuously for the last twenty years.”

  But here, Mr. Ranger bumbled.

  “Well, sort of, kind of, not really,” he admitted, biting his lip. What the hel
l? I swiveled in my seat to look at my teacher. He was always talking about how he’d been in the trenches during his service, exchanging fire with this and that bad guy, sneaking behind enemy lines, all sorts of things. Where had it all come from?

  And the big man turned to look at me, coloring slightly before protesting.

  “I didn’t get a deployment after graduation,” he protested. “The guys in charge said there was no suitable position so I was released into the civilian world immediately. I did do some time with the FBI before entering Teacher’s College,” he added helpfully.

  And I could only stare, my cheeks coloring. No deployment? That meant that the Army thought you sucked, they’d rather not have you despite funding a four-year West Point education. My mouth gaped before I remembered where I was and snapped it shut, gulping loudly.

  Tristan was amused, I could tell. I’d envisioned two alpha males at war, a clash of the minds, but instead Mr. Ranger was turning out to be a beta, no, a zeta male. He’d been passed over as a soldier, taking a desk job at the FBI, and was now here to feel-up my guardian, see if he could shake some dollars loose from the money tree.

  And his tactics were embarrassing to say the least, openly stating that Tristan was a “high-value target,” that the billionaire had been the subject of several school board meetings, that there was even a bounty on his head for whoever brought him in the door. The worst part of the meeting was when Mr. Ranger pulled out that sad piece of paper he called a brochure. Because I knew the district had something better prepared, but he’d forgotten it at home like a kid who hadn’t done his homework and was blaming the dog.

  “It’s perfect, your name on the museum, doesn’t that sound great?” Mr. Ranger snickered. And I just couldn’t take it anymore. We were here to discuss a library, not a museum, and it was time for the crossed-wires, the dumb innuendos, to be over.

  “Come on, Mr. Ranger, I need some help with my homework,” I said meaningfully, gesturing for him to stand up. “Maybe we could head back and talk about Jane Austen’s character development techniques, I know Mr. Marks is really busy.”

  Tristan smiled wryly at me, amused. I swear, my teacher was a clown to entertain him, provide a couple chuckles for the day.

  “Sure but Mr. Marks, did you want to make a donation today?” the dude wheezed hopefully. “Maybe something small to begin with, to be followed up later by something bigger?”

  And to my surprise, my guardian got his checkbook out.

  “Take this as a deposit,” the big man said, scrawling out something with a flourish. “I’ll make up the balance later.”

  John gasped as he took the paper. Because Mr. Marks had made out a check to cash for five thousand dollars.

  “Tristan, you didn’t have to,” I gasped. “I mean, thank you, but you didn’t have to, not today.”

  “No worries little girl,” he said smoothly before escorting us to the door. “Glad I could help,” he said meaningfully before opening the big wooden door and tipping his head.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” the big man rumbled, and I smiled gratefully once more before stepping out.

  “Thank you Tristan,” called Mr. Ranger from the elevator, his voice raucous across the foyer. “We’ll be back for the difference!”

  And I stiffened again at the ballsiness, the sheer tenacity of my English teacher. WTF had happened? I’d thought Mr. Ranger was so amazing, so knowledgeable about classics and literature, and yet he’d turned into a bumbling fool in front of my guardian. I blamed myself, there was no one else, I should never have been so intimidated by the girls at school.

  And the drive home was just as cringe-worthy. I’d immediately ignored Mr. Ranger once we got into the car, barely even able to look him in the eye.

  “No I don’t need help with studying, thanks so much,” I mumbled, furtively looking out the window. “Just drop me off, please.” I was so embarrassed at his performance that it was hard for me to acknowledge his presence now.

  But Mr. Ranger wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Sure you do,” he murmured lasciviously, his face close to mine in the little Jetta, his big hand on my knee. “Sure you do.”

  And sighing, I gave up.

  “Fine, you can come over for a half hour, tops,” I said shortly, before we pulled into the driveway. True to my word, I let him into the drawing room to read for a bit, answering his questions with sound bytes, barely looking up as he prattled away. And after a trying twenty minutes, I asked him to leave, nicely of course.

  “Mr. Ranger, I’ll see you tomorrow in class,” I promised, holding the big door open. “Thanks for coming by, it was great that you met Tristan.”

  “Sure thing,” he growled, shooting me a smile, swinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I bet I’ll get more from Tristan Marks,” he boasted as he bounded down the front steps, “Just you wait!”

  And the shitshow didn’t stop because Tristan’s car had pulled up to the house just then, and there was my guardian unfolding himself from the backseat. Had he overheard? I flushed again in embarrassment for this mess of a guy, what had I been thinking introducing them? Cursing Trina and her crew, I swore never to be influenced by peer pressure again, not if it meant exposing my guardian to people who had no boundaries, much less common courtesy and manners.

  But Tristan gave no indication that he’d heard anything.

  “Mr. Ranger, we meet again,” the big man said courteously.

  “We do,” chirped my teacher. “We do, and I’ll call you about the rest of the money,” he reminded, his hand to his ear in the time-honored gesture of telephone. I sighed again, shoulders slumped. God, this had completely gone off the rails, it was an open-handed money grab, blatant and embarrassing. So as soon as the front door shut, I turned to face my guardian apologetically.

  “Tristan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, shame-faced. “I thought Mr. Ranger would be better prepared, that he’d have a speech or some talking points but …”

  “But he was different from what you thought?” asked Tristan amused, an eyebrow arched. “So good in the classroom, but not so good in the boardroom?”

  “That’s it exactly,” I said gratefully. I looked at the big man hesitantly. “You’re not mad are you? I didn’t know Mr. Ranger was going to be like that, I thought he’d be a little better prepared, a little more smooth. Turns out,” I said slowly, “he was a total lunkhead.”

  And here the billionaire looked at me for a moment, taking everything in. I was still dressed in the office attire, the pencil skirt and blouse, a few wisps of hair escaping the updo. I must have looked so out of my element, like a kid pretending to be an adult, flushing again under his gaze. Why did I always feel so off balance in front of my guardian? How did he do this to me? I took a deep breath, dizzy suddenly, wavering a little on my feet.

  But Mr. Marks said nothing, instead leaning forward slowly. And just when I thought he was going to brush my lips with his, give me a slow kiss, run his lips over mine, he pulled back at the last minute.

  “No worries Daisy,” he said, his eyes giving nothing away, face shuttered. “Good night.”

  And just like that the big man was gone, disappeared somewhere in the mansion. Stunned at the quick dismissal, I went upstairs to get changed into something a little more casual. Why had Mr. Marks left in a flash? Was he ignoring me? Or would we have dinner together? He was home after all, and might as well enjoy cook’s food.

  But I sat at the big table alone that night, chewing on a meal that had no taste, listening to the grandfather clock tick in the massive dining room. Where was Tristan? My mind reeled. Had I pissed him off somehow? Had the events of the day turned him off from me forever? It seemed unlikely, Mr. Ranger was nothing but a gnat to Tristan. So maybe it was me. Maybe he was just sick of my face and didn’t want to bother with a teen girl anymore.

  I bit down on my bread again, tasting nothing but cardboard, eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t the food. As usual, Chef had outdone herself a
gain. I just hadn’t realized how much I’d looked forward to seeing my guardian again, re-hashing the events of the day, sharing some light conversation and jokes. But maybe Tristan was done with me for whatever reasons unknown, and my special time with the big man was over. Everything that had happened, it’d just been my imagination, a magical interlude never to be repeated.

  So I finished my food, swallowing heavily, trudging back to my room, shoulders sagging. I was a no one, a teen girl, and Tristan Marks was a man of the world, an alpha billionaire. Your guardian’s out of your league, Daisy, I scolded myself. What are you thinking? He always was.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tristan

  Fuck, things have gotten out of hand. That meeting with the English teacher was nothing, that’s not what’s bothering me. It’s the whole guardian/ward stuff. I’d been prepared to acknowledge Mr. Ranger as the competition, as another man competing for Daisy’s attention when I caught myself. What the fuck was wrong with me? This was my charge for crying out loud. Sure, she was eighteen now but that didn’t mean that she was prepared to handle a man twenty years her senior, much less one who was supposed to be her informal protector.

  And the events of last week crossed my mind again. Oh god, what the fuck was wrong with me? It’d been so illicit, how she’d shown me her pussy at the table, those pink parts gleaming and moist, making me cum just from the sight. And I’d replayed the incident in my head over and over again, jacking off in my bed, heck even at work, the little girl had overtaken my mind.

  But that’s the thing. I’m Daisy’s freakin’ guardian after all, the one man in the world who shouldn’t be having these thoughts. She’s off-limits, we’re bound together by her mother’s will, and Carolyn never intended for something like this to happen. She would never have left me at the steering wheel if she knew my thoughts now, of what I’d already done, how I’d forced Daisy to show me her pussy at the dinner table, how I’d almost kissed her again just now. It was so fucking wrong, men go to jail for shit like this and I have a reputation to protect, a multinational company that’s centered around my image, my aura. So I have to keep Daisy at arm’s length going forwards. It’s best this way, my empire will be safe and there’ll be no gossip.