Rancher Daddy

by Lexi Whitlow

  After walking for an hour – long enough that the straps on my sandals wear raw spots on my heels promising to become blisters – I decide that since I've made my point already, the best thing I can do is head home.

  Settling in on the stone landscaping at Willard Park, I book a Lyft for the short ride home. Once there, I settle down to enjoy the rare treat of not being watched like a cell on a slide under a microscope. I know it won’t be too long before Maddox figures out where I am.

  Sure enough, twenty minutes after I settle in to my easy chair with a good book, the intercom sounds. I don't even worry about who it is, I just buzz them into the building. A few minutes later there's a knock at my door. There’s a tightening in my core, and a small flame of excitement starts in the very pit of my gut.

  Maddox.

  I walk over to the door, trying to prepare my words.

  I had to get away. I had to be alone. Just give me this one thing—

  I open the door.

  Instead of the towering monolith of muscle that is Maddox, I’m greeted by a five-foot-five ice queen who’s recently frosted her reddish-gray hair blond. For her constituents, no doubt.

  “Mother,” I say. “How great to see you.”

  My voice falls, and I realize how much I wanted it to be Maddox.

  "I hope you don't usually just buzz people into the building without checking who they are. What does Maddox say about that?"

  Standing outside the door are my parents.

  "For goodness sake, Avery, close your mouth. You’ll catch flies."

  "I was... I was expecting someone else,” I stammer, breathless.

  I can't help but notice the slight rise of my mother's eyebrows. "Were you?" she asks pointedly.

  "Ella," I clarify, my mood plummeting beneath the floorboards. "Why do you always think the worst of me?"

  "Past experience,” she replies, her tone as dry as chalk. “May we come in?"

  My mind races. Maddox is going to be here any second – probably in a pissy huff. “It’s not really a good...” I start to say, but my answer doesn’t matter. It never matters. My mother pushes straight past me without waiting to be asked, followed by my father, who smiles almost apologetically.

  "Did you want something?" I ask, closing the door behind them.

  Mother is looking around the room frowning. I assume initially she's disappointed to find nothing she can criticize, but it's something else.

  "Where's Maddox?” she asks. “He should be here." She strides to the window and stares out across the street to his apartment."He's not there either. He hasn't got eyes on you at all? Where is the man? What the hell am I paying for? For all he knows, you’re out drinking with inappropriate men again.”

  "Or getting killed," I observe.

  Mother has the decency to look a little embarrassed by the slip. "Well that goes without saying. The point is — why isn't he here?"

  There it is. The opportunity I've been waiting for. All I have to do now is tell them that this is pretty typical behavior, that Maddox usually pops out for a few hours during the day.

  I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. I could easily convince them that Maddox hasn’t been doing his job, that he’s been slacking off and ignoring me. It would be easy, and it would solve my bodyguard problem, at least for a little while.

  "How long has he been gone?" my father asks while I'm still thinking.

  "And what have you been doing in his absence?" Mother wants to know.

  You've got to admire her consistency in mistrusting me. She just assumes that as soon as my bodyguard is out of the picture, I throw caution to the wind. She must think that I keep an on-call supply of 'inappropriate' men on speed dial for just such an opportunity.

  "What do you think I've been doing?" I ask, crossing my arms across my chest. I glance down at the book I was very intently reading when they arrived. It’s McBriar’s Fabian Socialism & English Politics, 1884 – 1918, from Cambridge University Press. Great light reading if you’re into that sort of thing, which I am.

  "I'm sure I wouldn't know," says Evelyn, primly unapologetic.

  "Would you like to search the apartment? Check under my bed?"

  "We just want to keep you safe,” my father says.

  "And you have to understand how important this election is," Mother adds, emphasizing the most important aspect of this whole exercise.

  "Oh, I understand how important it is," I say sharply, feeling my ears fire like hot coals. "I saw you on the news."

  It would be nice if she looked a bit shame-faced now, like she has been caught in something and knows she should have talked to me before making certain career decisions, but she has no such scruples.

  "There are sacrifices you have to make for the privileges you take for granted," my mother states. "One of them is privacy. Your life will be under public scrutiny, and since you cannot be trusted to behave as if people are watching you – or don't care what impressions you make – you need someone who can bring some discipline to your life.”

  Where is Maddox?”

  The last part, she almost barks. She would have made a wonderful poodle — yappy, mean, and inclined to bite.

  At that instant, Maddox bounds through the door.

  "I warned you what I would—” His intent at delivering on his earlier threat to me is halted short by the sight of my parents. He flushes a deep red, then, with a pulsing vein popping at his temple, he shades to a subtle shade of purple. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or scared to death — or embarrassed that he was about to shout out something about spanking me.

  “Where—” My mother enunciates the word in a tone like a pistol being cocked. “Have. You. Been?”

  “I ditched him,” I say, before Maddox can speak.

  I don’t like the way Maddox treats me, and I don't like the way he judges me, but I don't want to put him out of a job. I could do it, without question. My mother is already so angry that all it would take would be a word from me and Maddox would be back where he came from — unemployed and unemployable. But however much I’m annoyed with him, I don't want to do that. I don't like the way he looks down on me or feels like he has some sort of moral superiority, just because he went and joined the Marine Corps.

  My mother looks at me with daggers in her eyes. "You did what?"

  “I’m sick of Maddox,” I say simply. I cross my arms and look between the three of them. “I don’t like him following me around.”

  "He's supposed to. He's your bodyguard. That's what a bodyguard does! Were you unclear on this?"

  "I didn't ask for a bodyguard," I bite back. "And I don't need one." I stomp my foot, just to emphasize the point.

  Evelyn snorts derisively. "That you would do something so childish is proof that you do, in fact, need adult supervision."

  “This is bullshit,” I say.

  My mother fights for words to express her rage. She comes up short. "I don't have time for you now,” she says, her voice dripping with rage.

  "That implies that you did at some stage,” I spit back.

  She levels a malevolent glare at me, locking her beady black eyes on mine. "When this election is over, I will make you wish you had never been born."

  Bingo. There’s my opportunity. "At least then we'll have something in common." I strike back with a shattering upper cut to her flimsy pretense at love of family, home, and apple pie.

  The sad part is that this isn’t just a game I’m playing with her. Often, I wonder if I was just a necessary component that had to be plugged in to the machine propelling her career to make it go faster. Politicians with a family – with kids – are more successful than those without. Still, I see the tremor shudder across my mother's face when exposed to her own cruelty. I landed a blow that stumbled her, and she has to draw back to her corner to regroup.

  She turns to Maddox. "Is this the first time she's done this?"

  "Yes, ma'am,” he answers honestly. He doesn't mention that it's not the first time
I've tried to ditch him, just the first time I succeeded.

  "What else has she been up to? Anything we need to know about?"

  I try not to look worried but if he tells them about me going to have passport photos taken, then my plans are sunk.

  Maddox shakes his head. "No, ma'am. She maybe goes out drinking more than you'd like, but nothing untoward. And I’m always right there."

  He stays within the confines of the truth but walks right up to the line. That's probably as close as Maddox gets to lying. God, he’s such a squared-away, good little soldier boy.

  Mother is genuinely pissed that there's nothing else she can seize on to criticize, so she just replies, "I'm glad to hear it." She meets Maddox eyes. “We just stopped in to check up on things. See if you can keep her on a leash from here on out. If you lose her again, you’re done. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes ma’am.” He stands square, shoulders back, meeting her eye as coolly as he can contrive without spitting in it. I know that look and I know what he’s thinking. He thinks she’s as much of a dragon as I do.

  When my mother and father have gone, Maddox and I look at each other and haul in a collective sigh. We're probably both thinking the same thing, but I speak first.

  "So, we both had the opportunity to screw the other, and neither of us took it."

  "Is that your way of saying thank you?" he asks me, his color finally returning to normal.

  "Was that yours?" I ask, hands on hips.

  He offers a reluctant, crooked smile, which is actually kind of cute.

  "Thank you,” he says, nodding once.

  I demur. "My pleasure. I don't want her to fire you."

  "Why?" He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms.

  "I want to make your life unpleasant enough to make you quit.” I quip. “And thank you, too."

  Maddox shakes his head at me. "You've never had to worry about work in your life? Or paying bills. Or being responsible for anything heavier than a term paper? Have you?"

  "No.” I say, bristling. “Which is hardly my fault."

  "You don't even try to understand other people's point of view. You’re entitled. Self-absorbed. Not willing to see anyone else’s point of view.”

  "You're not exactly stretching yourself to see mine," I snap back, cutting him off.

  "I know you," Maddox snarls in reply.

  "You used to know me," I correct.

  "And that's the point. I know who you were, which is how I know that you don't have to be the person you are now. You made a choice."

  He stalks closer to me, looming over me while leveling his judgments.

  "You chose to be what you are — spoiled, entitled, and rude." He almost spits, his nostrils flaring, his pupils narrowing to pinpricks. He presses into me, trying to back me up. I stand my ground obstinately until we are chest to chest, staring one another down, unblinking, breathing each others air.

  This time it's Maddox who instigates the kiss. If he hadn't, I would have. His presence so close, the scent of his aftershave, his sweat, the anxiety of losing me – it’s all wafting about him and it’s intoxicating. He grabs the back of my neck roughly and slams his lips to mine, our teeth clashing, his tongue thrashing, until I suck him in and then shove him back.

  "And you’re a boring, uptight, pain in the ass,” I growl, my hands still pressed hard against his chest, the flush in my cheeks still pinking.

  I grab his head and pull him down for another kiss, biting his lip and tugging on it till he pulls me hard against him, sucking me in with an aggression I’ve never felt from anyone previously.

  “I’m so fucking pissed at you.” I growl as he pulls back for air.

  “I know,” he whispers, just before landing his mouth to my mouth again, his right hand wrapped firm around my nape, his thump pressing my jaw, tracing the hard line around to my chin while his left hand slips around the small of my back and falls down, taking a handful of my ass in his grip. He breathes me in and he doesn’t stop. I don’t want him to stop. This is everything I’ve wanted since — since as long as I’ve known him.

  Chapter Nine

  Maddox

  It’s become glaringly obvious to me that I seriously suck at being a bodyguard. I think that if there was some actual danger present, then I'd be good at that bit. But there's no disguising the fact that today I lost track of my principal. And now, I’m kissing her soft, full lips, with my fingers tangled in her fiery hair.

  I'm aware of this, but the idea of not kissing her, not pulling her so tight against me that I feel the heat and pressure of her tits, hard against my chest, isn’t even on my radar. Her hands slide around my hips, then up my back, then lift further, cupping my neck, gliding into my short hair. As I suck her tongue into my mouth and nip at her sweet cherry lips, her fingers slip under my shirt, caressing my bare skin, tracing the path of my abs, down, and down. Oh, good lord, she goes there, dancing her fingers over my bulging cock, pressed uncomfortably inside my jeans. This girl apparently runs incredibly hot, and it seems to be infectious as I'm following suit, grabbing handfuls of her fabulous backside, trying to shove her into me in some kind of simulation of what I really wish we were doing. Fuck.

  I'm not sure when she unbuttoned my shirt, but it's open, fully un-tucked, and Avery's hands graze my stomach like she’s fondling something precious. Without warning she grabs me by the lapels, pulling me forward on top of her as she tumbles backwards onto the couch.

  "I think we need to get this out of our systems," she murmurs, gnawing her way down my neck, kissing my skin, finding my nipples and biting. My cock feels like it might explode inside its prison of clothing.

  My mind goes hazy. All I can see is red heat. I’m all for getting this out of my system. It’s all I’ve fantasized about for more than seven long years. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to pin her to that couch and then hammer her into it, to show her the difference between the pretty little boys she hooks up with and a real man who is devoted to her. I've never wanted a woman this much in my entire life and, as strange as it seems, with our history it really means something that she seems to want me just as much.

  At the back of my mind there is one little shred of haunting self-control that hasn't been swamped by intoxicating lust. It's that kernel of my character that never falters or gets over-run; it’s duty. It's not just that I know this is the wrong thing to do – a bodyguard should not sleep with the body he's guarding. It's also that I know she's up to something. While she was obviously having fun with me today, running off the way she did, she went to get passport photos for a reason. I need to know what that reason was.

  My cock is telling me I don't need to know right this moment. I could wait until afterwards and quiz her then, but I have a feeling I'll have more luck getting honest answers out of her when her mind is distracted by the white heat coming off both of us, and by the threatening bulge at my crotch, which she can’t seem to stop touching.

  While she's too fired up to be careful, I hold back hoping she'll be more likely to give up the truth. I've never blackmailed a woman with sex before, and I don't want to now — I really don't want to — but it might just work.

  I pull away, looking down at her, holding above her in a push-up, my hands planted on either side of her shoulders. "Why do you need to update your passport, now?" I ask, breathless, pressing my cock into her hips.

  She is, understandably, confused by my conversation.

  "What?"

  "Tell me." I rock into her, simulating a hard thrust. Fuck, I want to be inside her. I’ve dreamed of it all my life.

  Avery shakes her head, laughing. "Damn Maddox, that is just some God-awful dirty talk!"

  I sit back on my haunches, pinning her hips beneath my own. I reach out, my fingers tracing her belly, slipping higher, underneath her shirt to touch the lace of her bra.

  She whines, wrapping arms and legs around me, trying to drag me back down on top of her. I'm a lot stronger than she is; her protestations
have no apparent effect. It's not easy remaining cool and reserved with Avery gripping me and writhing her body against mine, but I manage it.

  "It's important," I say. “What are you up to?”

  "And this isn't important?" she coos into my chest, lapping at my nipples with expert technique.

  I shrug.

  "Ella and I are going on vacation next year and..."

  I unfasten her arms from around my neck. Her head and shoulders drop to the couch with a thump.

  "What are you doing?!" She sounds satisfyingly frantic.

  "I don't have sex with liars," I say as I unwrap her legs — and she’s got a promising grip — from around my waist. I push her to the side. My cock aches. He’s not happy. My poor, blue balls are even less so.

  "What are you talking about?”

  I push her away and get up from the couch. I've been in a war-zone, but this is the single hardest thing I've ever done, in more ways than one.

  "No,” I say. “This isn’t quite how I envisioned this playing out. I have too much respect for you to lie about anything, and I have too much self-respect to accept anything except honesty from you. Put your clothes back on.”

  At some point during this fiasco, her skirt came off. I gather it up from the floor and hand it to her.

  "Hey—” She starts to protest. I’m walking away, buttoning my shirt.

  "There's something you're keeping from me and you're trying to use our history to stop me thinking about it. Which isn't going to work. I don’t think with my dick."

  Avery bounces up off the couch like a red-headed jack-in-the-box. She is on me before I can stop her, thrusting her tongue into my mouth and groping at the front of my pants with her hand. "If you’re not thinking with your dick, then what the hell is that?"

  I shrug as casually as I can and remove her hand from my cock. "He's not that fussy. He takes it when he can. I do the thinking."

  "You’re a fucking asshole, Maddox Bryant,” she hisses at me, scrambling to slip her skirt back on over her hips. “Sun rising and setting on me, my ass. You’re just as bad as my folks, trying to manipulate me for your benefit.”