Dangerous Daddy

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “Honey, I’m home!” she called into the room, grinning at me.

  Chapter 31

  Becka

  When we pulled back up to our apartment, the crowd of journalists had dwindled down to practically nothing, but there were still a few creeping around. When I saw them, the reality of my situation hit me in the face like a shock of fire. Everything I’d lost: my college, my advisor, my boyfriend, my dissertation, my job, my future…all of my research… I was empty.

  I looked at Lisa and I knew she knew exactly what I was thinking. We walked quietly up to the apartment. I went straight to the couch and laid down. The time in Vegas, seeing Marcus… it had been fun, but I wondered if it had led to a larger emotional fall coming home. I felt, truly, like I could die.

  “You know,” Lisa said, sitting beside me, her hand on my thigh, “you still haven’t talked to Oliver since the morning he supposedly took your research. Maybe you should call him.”

  I looked at her, surprised.

  “It’s just that… you’re miserable without him. I can see that. Anyone with eyes can see that. Do you truly believe he’s the monster the media and Ethan are making him out to be?”

  “That’s the whole thing,” I said. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Here’s what I know. You’ve always had amazing intuition when it comes to people. I know that you would never date anyone that you didn’t trust. You would never be around someone you didn’t have a good feeling about long enough to actually date them.

  And, you’ve never had a good feeling about Ethan. Sure, you were attracted to him, but not enough to throw Oliver over for him. Oliver is your man. And the only person who has been feeding you negative information about Oliver is his brother.” Lisa shook her head. “I just can’t believe that Oliver is as bad as Ethan said, and you wouldn’t have seen it a mile away.”

  I thought about that. I knew, through my depression, that she was right. I looked at my phone. A minute later, I brought up Oliver’s number. Imagined myself dialing. Imagined him answering. Imagined us having a conversation. What would we talk about?

  I was nervous… but I dialed the number anyway. When it began to ring, my stomach jerked nervously and my mouth suddenly became as dry as a desert. When I heard his voice on his voicemail, I closed my eyes and hung up.

  Lisa stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Did he answer?”

  I shook my head.

  “Get your purse,” she said. “I’m driving you over there.”

  I didn’t have the energy to argue. Within a few minutes, we were back in the car and Lisa was driving me to Oliver’s mansion. I had no idea what I’d do if he wasn’t there. We were silent as we drove, my nerves working up to full blast.

  “Do you want me to go in with you?” she asked. “I will, if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. We pulled into his circular driveway. There was a car near the front door, but that didn’t mean he was home; he had several cars.

  “I can walk to the door with you?” she offered.

  “Just wait until you see that he answers. If he’s not home, I don’t want to be stranded here alone.”

  “Sure,” she said, and pulled up right behind the other car. “I’ll be right here until I’m sure you’re safe inside. If he answers and you decide you don’t want to stay, just wave at me and I’ll come get you.” She hugged me.

  I got out of the car and walked slowly to the door. I knocked, looking back at Lisa. She smiled, encouraging me.

  The door opened. Oliver stood before me. He looked at me, his eyes boring into me. I opened my mouth to speak, though I had no idea what I was going to say, and I burst into tears. He put his arms around me and brought me into the house, closing the door behind him.

  He kissed me and I melted into him. I felt my anger both rise and fall; I didn’t know where to begin. I was so furious, but the sense of relief I felt at being in his arms battled that sense of fury into submission.

  “I’m so pissed at you,” I said. “My research, you don’t know what you’ve done!” My anger made a resurgence and I pushed him away. My shove surprised us both, and he stepped back, nearly losing his balance.

  “Honey, I watched the news and, of course, the cops and the media have been crawling around all over Neurotova. None of what they’re saying is true.”

  “How can you say that?” I demanded. “You disappear every five minutes, and every time you leave, there’s Ethan right there telling me that you’re doing all of this stuff, that you stole my research, which is pretty believable considering you were at my house and then you were gone and so was my research, and you’re never there to contradict it!”

  “It’s pretty convenient that Ethan is always right there to put everything on me,” he said bitterly.

  “Well, where are you? Where are you every time I need you?” My tears came back, spilling down my cheeks.

  “I’m right here,” he said. He stepped back toward me and put his arms around me. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” I began to object, but he kept talking. “I know, I know, I’ve said that before. But, this is stopping right now. I have a plan.”

  “A plan?” I asked.

  “Ethan is going down for everything that he’s done. He’s not going to end up the hero in this, no way. I’ve been thinking about all of this, everything that’s happened going all the way back to the beginning, back before you and I met, back before Ethan and I even created Neurotova, before we were partners. I’ve been doing nothing but thinking for days, and I have a plan.

  “I promise,” he said, looking into my eyes, “This plan will work. Everything will be okay. We just need to get things in motion. We’ll do that tomorrow. Right now, I want to take you upstairs and make love to you.”

  I nodded, wiping my cheeks. “That sounds like the perfect plan,” I said. “Then, I want to know everything.”

  He smiled and pulled me to him, lifting me up against him. I wrapped my legs around his hips and he carried me upstairs, kissing me. He set me gently on the bed.

  His plan had better be a good one.

  Chapter 32

  Becka

  Oliver may have had a plan; I trusted that much. However, as the days stretched on that we stayed in his house, I grew restless and bored. At least I was getting some work done; Oliver had several mergers in the making and I was busy for a few hours a day with email communications and setting up scheduled meetings for Oliver, both in person and on the phone.

  But, though some parts of my days were busy, more of the day I wandered around the house bored out of my mind. I wasn’t a tv person, and, though I tried to get into the soaps and court tv, they drove me nuts.

  I read the few books Oliver had on his shelves that were of interest to me… and then I read the ones that weren’t. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t return to my own home because the media had camped outside my building like it was the night before Springsteen tickets went on sale. The media were also flocking to as close to Oliver’s house as they were allowed to get.

  He had a fenced-in property, of course, gated far at the perimeter of his lawn. I could have gone outside, at least, but for the photographers’ telephoto lenses that would have taken pictures of me that looked as though they were standing an inch from me.

  Every night I watched the news, waiting for a bigger story, something to come along that would make the business with Oliver and Neurotova disappear. One night, about a week after Lisa had dropped me off at Oliver’s house and we’d had that argument, what I considered to be our first fight, I turned to him after the news ended.

  That night’s story had featured two reporters, one outside my apartment and one outside his house, recording “live and on location.” What were they reporting? Absolutely nothing. They were rehashing the same commentary and discussions, the same business about Neurotova that had been cycling through the news since the first day. They had nothing to report since we were in hiding. I wondered briefly where
Ethan was; I hadn’t gotten so much as a text from him.

  “It’s been a week,” I said. “How much longer are you going to let them keep us prisoners in your home?”

  He looked at me. “How long am I going to do that? What do you mean?”

  “You said you have a plan,” I said. “A week ago, you said you had a plan that would end this. Yet here we are, still trapped like rats in an expensive cage.” I was trying to stay calm. I didn’t want another fight; I just wanted some answers. Yet I found myself getting both angry and anxious at the same time as the feelings of claustrophobia moved through me.

  Oliver’s eyes clouded over. “You said you would trust me.”

  “I said that a week ago!” I exclaimed. “And you promised!” I took a deep breath. I sounded like a teenager talking to her father, the exact opposite of how I wanted to come across. “Honey,” I said, trying to be calm. “I just don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m not used to this lifestyle, all of this attention, in the same way you are.

  Up until a few months ago, the most attention I received ever was when I was guest lecturing in a class. Now, I’m on the damn news every night. I’m sorry, but that’s exceptionally stressful for me. And you know that.”

  Oliver’s face softened. “I do know that.” He moved toward me and put his arm around me, drawing my head to his chest. I leaned in, feeling comforted by his touch and his presence. At least he hadn’t disappeared during the week. That was an improvement.

  He stroked my hair and I snuggled in deeper to his chest. “I know it’s been hard for you, Becka, and the only thing I can promise you is that I do know what I’m doing. There’s a lot of history here, a lot of details that I haven’t been able to share, for one reason or another. You’ve been so patient and understanding,” at this, he moved his hand to my cheek. Its warmth surged through me and I felt a wave of desire for him.

  “I don’t want our life to be like this,” I said. “I don’t care about money, fancy things, any of that. I just want you.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, lifting my chin with his fingertip. I felt tears poking at my eyes, but I blinked them back. I hated to cry, and I had done it enough in front of him to last a lifetime.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s go to bed and have make up sex.”

  I looked up at him. “But we didn’t have a fight,” I said.

  “Details…” he whispered, and he kissed me again.

  He led me upstairs, a path that once upon a time had been unknown to me which I could now walk with my eyes shut. In the bedroom, a room I now considered to be “ours,” he leaned in and kissed me again. I put my arms around him, drawing him to me. His hands circled my waist and I stretched tall, onto my tip toes, to kiss him.

  “You are so gorgeous,” he said. “So sexy.” He took off my shirt, a long sleeved, loose top that he had bought for me, and brought me to him once again. My breasts pressed against him and I could feel my nipples hardening to his touch.

  He pulled away and nuzzled his face between my breasts, holding one in each hand and pressing them together. He ran his thumbs across my nipples and I shivered. “So gorgeous,” he said again, and he took my hand and led me to the bed.

  He took off his shirt and I pulled off my black yoga pants. I was wearing panties only, and I saw him scan my body from top to bottom, smiling. He was aroused; I could see it. I smiled and turned, giving him a view of the curve of my waist and hips as well as my ass. His smile broadened.

  “So sexy,” he said again, and he took off his jeans. His boxers tented around his erection and I smiled, licking my lips.

  “Speaking of sexy,” I said playfully as I walked toward him. I dropped to my knees on the plush carpet and put my hands on his waist, teasing him by putting my mouth centimeters from the rise of his boxers.

  I felt the heat emanating from his body and smiled. He groaned softly, and I could feel him resisting the urge to grab the back of my head and pull me to him. Instead, he flexed his hands and put them on my shoulders. I smiled up at him, teasing.

  “Anxious?” I asked sweetly. I didn’t intend to torture him for very long, but I was enjoying myself.

  “Horny,” he groaned back. I watched his cock pulse against his boxers, its head exploring, wondering what the holdup was. I pulled his boxers down and his cock lengthened in front of me. I took his balls in one hand, holding the soft sack of skin, stretched with his arousal, and his cock in my mouth. I began to suck his head, swirling my tongue around first slowly, then picking up speed as I reached my other hand up to grip his shaft.

  I began to stroke him as I simultaneously licked and sucked him, feeling his pre-cum on my tongue. It tasted salty; my mouth watered for more. I licked the underside of his shaft, feeling him harden even further. He groaned and put his hands on the back of my head, moved my mouth in a rhythm that suited him. I pressed my warm palm against his balls, and he exploded into my mouth. He held me in place and moved his cock in and out as he came, pressing toward the back of my throat.

  When he finished, he pulled back and sat on the bed. I dropped back onto my heels and looked at him, enjoying the dreamy expression on his face.

  “That was fucking incredible,” he said. “You’re amazing. You really are. Come here.” He held his hand out to me and I stood, walking over to him. He drew me to him, my belly against his mouth. He kissed my stomach, letting his tongue trail down to my hips. I crawled onto the bed and laid on my back. He moved between my legs and began to kiss my inner thighs, small kisses that lingered, his breath warm on my skin.

  I sighed happily, feeling his lips teasing against my flesh, sending tingling sensations through my entire body. He moved upward and spread my labia with his fingers, moving his tongue inside me. I let my legs fall open wider, inviting him in. He looked up at me and I smiled.

  He buried his face in me, letting his tongue swirl around my clit. I felt it hardening under the motions of his tongue and lips. He slid a finger into my vagina, then another, and a third. The sensation of fullness as he gave full attention to my clit was magical. I groaned and pressed into him.

  He knew exactly what to do to meet my arousal head on and satisfy it. As he pulled my legs over his shoulders and moved his hands to my hips, he buried himself deeper into me, until I felt as though he was making contact with every wet, aroused cell in my body.

  My orgasm thundered through me and I gasped, then cried out at its intensity. Oliver stayed with me, continuing to stimulate me until a second orgasm replaced the first. I felt my orgasm in my fingertips and toes and everywhere in between.

  When the third came upon me, I shuddered and held on to Oliver’s hands, stabilizing myself with my legs against his back. When my multiple orgasm concluded, I was a sweaty, shaking mess and Oliver slowly pulled back from me, then laid beside me and stroked my hair as I slowly came down.

  “I hate you,” I whispered.

  “I hate you, too,” he said, grinning.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about my life with Oliver. Nothing complex or philosophical; I thought only of the fact that I was with a man who could give me multiple orgasms at the drop of a hat. Who knew my body nearly better than I did, and who was willing to go to whatever lengths were necessary to completely satisfy me. I smiled. That was a rare man.

  I felt conflicted. Would I have put up with the back and forth from Oliver, with the danger, with the constant stress, if he wasn’t such a fulfilling lover and partner? Would I have put up with those things from anyone? I didn’t know.

  What I did know, as I watched Oliver sleeping, his breath smooth, his chest rising and falling, was that I couldn’t imagine my life without him anymore. But, as I thought about everything that I had lost: my apartment, my job, my dissertation… I wondered… what kind of a life did I have with him?

  Chapter 33

  Becka

  “Wake up, sleepy head!” I heard Oliver’s voice come through my dreamless sleep from a distance. It took me a few mome
nts, still, to open my eyes. In spite of my initial falling asleep the night before, I had woken up a few times and it had, ultimately, taken me quite a while to finally find sleep for the night.

  “I don’t wanna,” I said. I did smell coffee, though, so I lifted my head and looked at him. Next to me was a tray holding a steaming mug of coffee with a cup of milk and a saucer of sugar cubes. “Except maybe I should have some coffee,” I said. “Possibly.”

  It was then that I looked at him standing next to the bed. He was grinning, a wide smile stretched across his face, and, in his right hand, he held my suitcase.

  “What are you doing with that?” I asked.

  “Getting it out for you. You should get up soon. Our plane leaves in just a few hours.”

  That got my attention, and I sat up in bed. “Plane?”

  Oliver had whisked me away on vacation before, to Italy, and I’d thought it was a one-time thing. Apparently, he thought it worked well enough the first time.

  “I thought about what you said last night,” he said, “and I feel like you have put up with quite a lot from me, both with Neurotova and with dealing with my ridiculous brother.” At this, his voice changed to a bitter tone and his eyes narrowed. “I forget that you’re not used to being in the public eye. In short, I forget that this is hard on you, sometimes. Harder on you than it is on me, and it’s been pretty stressful for me.”

  I smiled at his understanding. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep could do.

  “After you fell asleep last night, I booked us a flight to Paris. I have a friend who lives in a small suburb of the city who travels extensively. A quick phone call to him, and he gave us his condo for the week.” He continued to grin, incredibly proud of his thoughtfulness.

  As touched as I was, a week away from home right now didn’t sound like a good idea. “I love that you did that for me,” I said carefully, “but I don’t really think we should leave your house right now. I mean, how are we even going to get to the airport?”