by Layla Frost
Her spine straightened as she lifted that stubborn chin of hers. “I can take care of myself. I always have.”
“And that’s exactly the fucking problem.” My plans to ease her in shot right out the damn window. Seeing the residual pain, betrayal, and sadness that shadowed her eyes, I muttered, “Fuck, you need a Daddy bad.”
Juliet scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No, thanks. I had a dad and he caused more than enough problems.”
“I didn’t say a dad. I said a Daddy.”
Her eyes went big as her full lips parted. Chest rising and falling, she shook her head. “I know Shamus fucked me up, but I don’t have daddy issues. I’m not that damaged and dysf—”
“Watch your words carefully, Juliet. This has nothing to do with dysfunction and everything to do with letting someone take care of you for once. And based on the way your pulse is pounding, you know that.”
“I’m not interested in that kind of thing,” she claimed, despite her body’s reaction contradicting her words.
“Don’t lie to me. More importantly, don’t lie to yourself.”
I couldn’t stop myself.
I didn’t even try.
Giving in to the twisted need that’d haunted me for a whole fucking year, I pressed my mouth to her lie-filled one in a hard kiss.
She tasted like sunshine and Diet Coke, and I wanted to plunge my tongue in and memorize the flavor.
But I didn’t.
Pulling away, I stepped back. “We’ll talk more later.”
Dazed, she nodded before hurrying out the backdoor.
I’d done the honorable thing.
I’d waited for her birthday.
I’d been patient.
And I was done.
Juliet
A Daddy.
He kissed me.
A freaking Daddy.
What’d that mean?
He freaking kissed me.
What did that mean?
My thoughts whipped around as I sat in the hot tub. My muscles were so tight, it was a wonder my bones didn’t turn to dust. I was tense and confused and surprised and…
Needy.
I was needy and restless and the kind of hot that had nothing to do with the water temp and everything to do with the thrumming between my legs.
God, for such a quick kiss, it’d been amazing. Intense. Controlling. As dominating as his personality.
I couldn’t deny I wanted Maximo. Ever since the first night I’d thought of him while I’d touched myself, he’d turned into a secret fantasy.
An unattainable fantasy.
Or so I’d thought.
But thanks to his abrupt change—going from avoiding me to kissing me—I wasn’t so sure he was as cold and unattainable as I’d believed. Add in his Daddy comment, and I wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore.
Giving up on relaxing, I climbed out and wrapped a towel around myself. Maximo had said we’d talk more, and before that happened, I needed to get my racing thoughts together.
And that meant I needed to do some research.
I was relieved I didn’t run into him as I hurried to my room because there was no way I’d be able to hide how affected I was by our conversation or his kiss.
Grabbing my MacBook, I started by Googling the most important thing.
Daddy kink equals daddy issues?
I was relieved to see that, like Maximo had claimed, it had nothing to do with anything revolting. Therapists and experts agreed it was about the power dynamic of one partner being in charge and the other being submissive, with an emphasis on care and nurturing.
I wasn’t sure about all that, but I was relieved it wasn’t indicative of some secret desire that would have made me barf up everything I’d ever eaten in my entire life.
Broadening my search, I skipped past the erotica that came up and focused on the real-life blogs and articles.
All of it was gross.
It did nothing for me.
It was wrong.
That’s how I should have felt.
Because in actuality, there was a lot I found appealing.
It did so much for me, I couldn’t stop from shifting and squeezing my thighs together.
And even if my brain was trying to tell me it was wrong, the idea of Maximo taking care of me the way the blogs described filled me with this sense of… rightness.
Not that I was into all the things people described. I knew I would hate any form of humiliation. Trading partners or sharing made me feel sick and pissed off. And I didn’t judge, but age play was definitely not for me.
After a while, my head was swimming with information, and I felt even more confused than when I’d started researching.
Did Maximo want a sugar daddy thing? Was he into age play? Did he want to trade his partner or watch them with others? Was he a Dom who liked the occasional ‘scene’? There’d been a couple guys at the gym whose girls had called them papi, and those guys were selfish assholes who slept with anything that breathed. Maybe Maximo just liked being called Daddy and there was nothing more to it. I wasn’t sure it would do anything for me, but I could probably just say it for him.
That was, of course, if I decided to do it.
It was not a one-size-fits-all kink, and there were so many variables and variations. I couldn’t decide if I was interested until I found out what he was interested in.
Someone knocked on the door, and I slammed the laptop closed like I’d been looking at something dirty.
Which I kinda had.
Ms. Vera opened the door and tsked. “You’re still in your suit. Go get ready.”
“For what?”
“Go shower.” She shooed me. “Hurry.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, rushing into the bathroom to shower.
Standing under the hot spray, my thoughts on what I’d read, Maximo, and his kiss, I wanted to touch myself. But I could hear footsteps outside the door, and that acted like a bucket of ice water.
Once I showered and dried off, I wrapped a bathrobe around myself and opened the door to see Ms. Vera waiting with a blow-dryer and round brush. She marched me back into the bathroom, sitting me on the closed toilet before going to town on my hair. It felt like it was going to have some eighties height, but when she let me look, I saw there was just a little volume and flip to my usually straight locks.
It was pretty.
“Do your makeup.” She gestured to my stash. “You only have fifteen minutes.”
“Until what?”
“Your birthday dinner.”
“Aren’t I just eating up here? Freddy said he was making something special.”
“No, downstairs tonight.” She shooed me again. “Makeup.”
“Has anyone told you that you’re bossy?”
“Yes, but only a few lived to tell about it.” She winked, but I wasn’t positive she was joking.
Erring on the safe side, I jumped up and did as she said.
Walking out to my bedroom, Ms. Vera wasn’t there but a garment bag and a shoebox were.
Since I’m leaving soon, one last present won’t hurt, right? Who knows how long it’ll be before I get one again.
I unzipped the bag to see a gorgeous little black dress. One side had a long sleeve but the other was completely bare. After pulling on panties, I slid the dress over my head and tugged it gently into place.
I grabbed the silver pumps from the box and put them on before walking to the mirror in my closet.
Oh, I have to learn to sew this because I want one in every color.
It was overkill for dinner in the dining room, but I didn’t care. I loved it.
“Time’s up!” Ms. Vera called from the sitting room.
“I’m coming!” I hurried out and opened the door.
Ms. Vera gave a small gasp. “Pretty girl.”
“Thank you. I love how you did my hair.”
“Of course. I’m very good.” She fluffed her short hair for emphasis. “Now go.”
Hours in the po
ol meant I was so hungry, I almost missed it.
Her tell.
I eyed her skeptically. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing. Go before you’re late.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because if you’re late, Freddy is going to eat your mac and cheese.”
“Freddy made me mac and cheese?”
“Yes, now go.”
I may not have trusted her, but the mention of mac and cheese was enough to put some fire in my steps as I rushed downstairs.
When I turned into the dining room, all that fire moved somewhere much different, and I came to a halt.
Maximo.
Sitting at the head of the table in a black suit and white dress shirt with the top button undone, he looked like an ambitious businessman about to take over the world.
And all that arrogant authority was focused on one thing.
Me.
Standing, he came over and put his palm to my lower back before kissing my cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I forced out.
He put some gentle pressure on my back, guiding me to the table and pulling out the chair to the right of his.
Why is he here?
There’s no way I can eat with him.
I can’t even look at him without thinking of… everything.
Seriously, why is he here?
“Relax,” he said, easily reading my freak out. “This is just dinner. Nothing more.”
I still didn’t think I’d be able to stomach any food, but my shoulders lowered slightly as I exhaled. “Okay.”
Freddy came out from the kitchen carrying two shallow bowls. His accent was exaggeratedly thick as he announced, “Two salads,” before disappearing.
Silently, I picked at my salad, mostly eating the blueberries and feta. I should’ve said something—anything—but my brain was blank as blank could be.
“Tell me what you’re making.”
My gaze shot to Maximo’s. “Pardon?”
“Your sewing. You finished the shirt for Vera. What’s your new project?”
My brows shot up that he knew about the top, but I hurried to answer since I got the feeling he was a man who didn’t like to repeat himself. “I’m trying the sleep shorts again. Last time I messed up the elastic and the leg holes were different sizes.”
“Are you having better luck this time?”
“So far. I learned a new measuring trick that’s more accurate.”
“What other plans are on your list?”
Before I could answer, Freddy came in with two plates. As he set them down, he did his accented spiel. “Lobster mac and cheese with buttered French breadcrumbs, lemon goat cheese, and a sherry reduction. Plus, roasted green beans that no one is going to eat but that needed to be included for color. Enjoy.” He looked at me and added, “But save room for dessert.”
Usually that wouldn’t be an issue, but as I drooled down at my plate, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from eating my serving and Maximo’s.
Picking up my fork, I speared a few cavatappi noodles when what I really wanted to do was shovel all of it directly into my mouth.
“Your list?” Maximo prompted.
“Ms. Vera brought me some really soft fabric that I want to make pillowcases with. I also have a dress pattern, but I think I want to try making it as a skirt and top. It should be easy so long as I don’t mess up the elastic again. I have this really pretty color in mind.”
You’re rambling. He doesn’t care about this.
“And it should be nice,” I finished lamely.
“That’s it?”
“What?”
“You’ve been working in that room from the time you get up until dinner, and you’ve only got two things on your list?”
“Well, no, but—”
“If I ask you a question, Juliet, it’s because I want an answer. And I expect to get one.” He picked up his water and drank, his throat working in a way that was distracting and weirdly sexy. “Now what else do you have planned?” At my hesitation, his tone was filled with warning. “Juliet.”
“I’m just trying to get my thoughts in order. Sheesh.”
His dark eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Brat.”
The way he said it made me squeeze my thighs.
I took another drink before answering. “I’ve only been sewing with patterns, but once I get better, I want to try designing my own items. It’ll probably be a while before I get to that stage, but it would be fun.”
As we ate, Maximo asked more questions, encouraging me to go into details about things I knew he didn’t give a damn about. Even still, I talked and talked and talked, happily sharing the ideas that constantly floated through my head. I didn’t know what it said about my life that someone taking an interest in me was so unusual, but it was.
Once I was dangerously close to being too full for whatever majestic dessert Freddy had whipped up, I pushed my plate away.
Maximo had already finished his dinner, including the green beans. He pointed to the untouched pile on my plate. “Eat.”
“I’m saving room for dessert.”
“You can’t just have mac and cheese for dinner.”
“I also had a salad.”
“You had blueberries and feta.”
I shrugged. “Still healthy.”
His jaw clenched as he rubbed a tattooed hand across it, but he didn’t say anything.
A few minutes of charged silence ticked by before Freddy came out to clear away the plates.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I told him.
His chest puffed at the compliment. “Just wait, chéri,” he said with a wink.
“Freddy,” Maximo bit out.
But he didn’t look fazed. “Be back.”
When Freddy left with our plates, I shifted in my seat so I was facing Maximo. “Do you always say people’s names like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re warning them.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Usually I am.”
“I think I’ll start saying your name like that.”
“That I’d like to hear.”
I didn’t get the chance to try before Freddy came in with clean plates, forks, and a big knife. He left again before returning with a cake loaded with so many sprinkles, I couldn’t see the frosting under them. He placed the cake tower in front of me and lit the tall pink candles. “Make a wish.”
I didn’t bother to make a wish, but I did blow them out so we could hurry to the good stuff.
Freddy sliced into the beauty, putting a hefty wedge on my plate. Like the outside, the inside was filled with so many sprinkles, there was hardly any white.
“You made me funfetti cake.” I grinned up at him. “I thought it was an insult to cakes.”
“It is. But I made this one from scratch, so it’s not as bad. I guess.”
I grabbed my fork and took a huge bite before noticing Freddy had left and Maximo wasn’t having any. Swallowing, I asked, “You don’t like cake?”
“No.”
“That’s crazy. Who doesn’t like cake?”
He smirked. “I don’t care for most desserts.”
He doesn’t snack. He doesn’t like most sweets. He eats his green beans.
Weirdo.
Freddy came back to drop off a cup of black coffee to Maximo.
“May I have one?” I asked Freddy, but it was Maximo who answered.
“It’s too late for you to have caffeine.”
I thought Freddy would maybe shrug or roll his eyes, but he didn’t look surprised by Maximo’s denial.
“It’s not that late,” I argued as Freddy left.
“It is.”
“Then why’re you having it?”
He took a drink, as if to rub it in my face. “Because I can.”
I glared.
“It’s after seven.” He gave me a pointed look. “What would happen if you drank coffee this late?”
“Not
hing,” I lied.
“Juliet.”
“Maximo,” I shot back with the same dramatic warning.
He didn’t seem amused as he stared me down.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” I grudgingly admitted.
Maximo smirked, his stupid, handsome face looking even more handsome. “Exactly.”
“Is this part of your whole… thing?” I asked impulsively before wishing I could rewind and eat my words.
“Yes,” he said simply.
And even though I regretted awkwardly bringing it up, I found myself disappointed he didn’t expand.
I picked at the amazing cake that beat the pants off any box mix, but my mind was on what I’d read online.
Questions bounced through my head and swirled across my tongue until I couldn’t hold them in. “So, your thing…” At his quirked brow, I amended, “The Daddy thing.”
“What about it?”
“Is that just an endearment you like to be called?”
He gave me the look. “No.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t that time, either.
There was a glint of anticipation and enjoyment in his dark eyes, and I got the feeling he enjoyed forcing me to voice my questions.
Since I was far too curious to back down, that was exactly what I did. “Is it, like, a sugar daddy arrangement?”
“I don’t need to pay for a date.”
That means it’s the actual kink, but how extreme does he take it?
I moved on to my make-or-break questions. “Are you into age play?”
He froze with his cup at his mouth. “What do you know about age play, little dove?”
“I did some research,” I admitted.
His eyes flared, but he shook his head. “No, I don’t do age play. I know people who do, but it’s not for me.”
“What about, like, humiliation stuff?”
“Not my personal preference but I’m flexible. Is that something you’d like?”
I rapidly shook my head. “I can’t even watch awkwardness on TV. I get secondhand embarrassment.”
“Noted.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that.
“But you do like to tell your partner what to do?” I asked.
He studied me carefully. “Yes.”
I thought about what I’d read, both online and in fiction. “Why do you like it?”
“Are you asking if something shaped my preferences?” At my nod, he said, “No. There’s no tragic backstory. No outlandish reasoning. I like control in all areas of my life. It’s what I’ve always preferred and who I’ve always been. Simple as that.”