by Lena Little
Possessive Daddy
Yes, Daddy: Book 8
Lena Little
© 2020 by Lena Little
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Also by Lena Little
Preview
I feel a surge of heat rush through me at the sight of her.
Jewel, her name tag reads.
There’s a reason I come here every day, making sure there are no other little boys her age looking at my Jewel. Making sure everyone around here knows who she belongs to.
Even if I’m too old for her, and forty-one is way too old for an eighteen-year old, as I keep reminding myself, I still need to be here. To protect her. To watch over her. To be here just in case.
She’s the light to my darkness, the smile that can give my scowl balance, and more accurately wipe it from my face forever.
I don’t care if she deserves better than me, it’s me she’s going to get. No other is ever going to lay a hand on her. No one will take her from me.
She’s my little Jewel and I’m her Daddy. Forever...
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1
Jewel
I carry an iced white chocolate mocha, iced coconut latte, a pumpkin spiced latte, and a cappuccino toward the table of boys my age at the coffee shop where I work.
Just as the saucer carrying the cappuccino makes contact with the worn-out wooden table, one of the boys is whipping out his phone and taking pictures of the teddy bear I made in the foam. “It’s so cute!” he says, clasping his hands together in the lap of his mustard-colored khakis before taking more pictures from every angle possible, and with every filter known to man. “I can’t wait to show my girlfriend.”
And I can’t wait for the oversized clock on the wall to show ten so this double shift, consisting of standing for sixteen hours straight, will end. I just want to go home and take a bubble bath and have a soothing sugary drink of my own. The only problem is I don’t have a bath, a tiny closet converted into a shower the only bathroom in my studio apartment, and I can’t even afford the drinks I serve up where I work. Where do people who are just out of high school find the money to buy eight dollar drinks…daily?
But that kinda money is not going to find its way into my low three-figure bank account anytime soon, and even if I could afford to buy a sugary caffeine concoction I wouldn’t. I’d use the money to buy more dog food for the stray who lives out back. Thankfully just giving the poor Labrador I’ve nicknamed Ramsay, after the name of the man who voiced the Labrador retriever in One Hundred and One Dalmatians, the scraps from the uneaten ham or chicken sandwiches here at work has helped him put on a solid ten pounds since I first started working here.
Speaking of pounds, I need to put on a few myself, usually choosing to skip lunch all together in order to work the extra forty-five minutes to increase my tips. And more importantly not to miss my favorite customer of the day.
Like clockwork, the front door comes flying open so abruptly it practically makes contact with the big windows we have lining the front of the shop. I turn on a heel and despite the aircon blasting just overhead I feel a surge of heat rush through me, a bead of sweat trickling down my spine and a whole lot more suddenly dotting the small amount of cleavage that I do have. Freezing in my tracks it’s like his gaze grabs a hold of me and refuses to let me go. Every. Single. Day.
Stepping over the threshold in his Steve McQueen style desert boots and throwing his massive leg up and over the back of a chair before sliding down into it is Jake Stone. He doesn’t even take the time to properly pull out his chair, nor does he come to the counter to order his drink. We both already know what he wants, although from the way he’s been looking at me since the first day he ever came in here I’d swear he’s more interested in something that’s not on the menu.
Me.
Not for my lack of want though. It’s just that considering how inexperienced I am, completely inexperienced in fact, I have no idea what the man who wants for nothing, could want from me. Half of the women in town are doing everything they can to get his attention and the other half seem to be taking a break, after spending their whole lives trying…unsuccessfully.
Despite being a jeweler with clients flying in from as far as New York and Hollywood just for his unique designs and extreme attention to detail, it seems that he hasn’t been caught paying attention to any of the women around here. And this being a small town, rumors would spread fast if he had.
His hands grab the sides of the table, the expanse of his shoulders equally as wide as the table for four where he’s sitting. My eyes move from his boots up and across his worn-in jeans and the snug T-shirt which stretches to its limits as his thick chest inhales to take in the scent of the freshly ground coffee that I prepare each and every day just before he arrives.
His head cocks to the side and he eyes me curiously, his grip on the table tightening as the corded ropes he calls forearms tighten, his biceps flexing as well.
I extend my neck, swallowing hard but my mouth is completely dry, my tongue thick, as I imagine those protective arms wrapped around me, providing me with the kind of safety my life has never known, my absentee father having left town the minute he found out my mom was pregnant. Never having that older man, that father figure in my life, is all I’ve known over the course of my eighteen years.
The strange thing is despite never having that paternal role model in my life, and never caring about it for a single second, the sight of Jake makes me want that more than anything. There’s just something about him that screams ‘safety, possessiveness, protection.’ It sure doesn’t hurt that he’s somewhere in the neighborhood of six and a half feet tall with muscles as hard as the wooden chair he’s sitting on.
I’m not the only one who notices it either. The boys my age who were updating their social media with their collective forty dollars in drinks, edge their seats further away from him, the sounds of their chairs sliding across the floor making it obvious they want no part of the alpha lion who’s come to claim the watering hole as his.
Just like animals recognize who the biggest, baddest member of their species is, and search him out for mating, humans do the same. We just do it in a little more civilized manner, until a man comes into our lives who’s so feral, so everything which other men aren’t, that we can’t help but resort to our most primal of ways.
“Coffee black,” the barista, Ella, whom I’ve nicknamed Cruella de Vil for her lack of empathy for Ramsay, says as she winks toward Jake who doesn’t even look in her direction, let alone give her the time of day in any way shape or form.
I take a step toward the counter, nearly tripping over my own two legs as I feel my pulse quicken, a vein throbbing in my neck and my breath becoming ragged as I imagine the sure-handed Jake doing things with those big hands of his to me.
I reach for the most basic drink we offer, one that’s not even technically on the menu, almost knocking it over with the back of my hand before my other hand shoot
s up just in the nick of time and I wrap both hands around his piping hot mug containing what coffee professionals would call an Americano.
Although he’s an American all right, using the term All-American would be the last way I’d ever think to describe him. He’s not clean-cut, instead sporting a five o’clock shadow along his chin. He’s not pretty by any stretch of the imagination, looking more like he’s short on sleep and long on his desire to squeeze the table in half if he doesn’t get his way soon.
Oh, I’d like to give him his way all right. As in let him have his way with me. All. Night. Long.
2
Jake
My need has been out of control ever since I pushed open the front door to the coffee shop where she works, the extra pair of underwear I’m wearing and the thick denim I’ve got on doing nothing to conceal my raging erection that I can’t contain for one second, the second I so much as think of her.
I slowly exhale, catching myself holding in a breath that I’ve been holding since I walked into this place, the place I’d never come to in my life and would never come to again if it wasn’t for her working here.
Jewel, her name tag reads, and she’s drawn a little gemstone next to her name. Does she make that same design on the tops of the coffees she prepares for the patrons of this place? I grit my teeth at the thought of her giving even a little piece of herself to anyone but me. Sure, a design like that would just be a play on her own name, but I’m not playing around when it comes to her.
There’s a reason I come here every day, making sure there are no other little boys her age looking at my Jewel. Making sure everyone around here knows who owns this coffee shop and who she belongs too, even though I’ve made no effort to claim her…yet.
It’s just that she’s too damn young and I’m not about to lay a finger on her. Sure, I first laid eyes on her when she was already clearly eighteen, needing to be that old to work here in a coffee shop that also mixes in Bailey’s into some of their drinks, but still…too young. Too innocent. Not the right kind of nice little girl for a messed up man like me. And as messed up as the thoughts I have about her are, I know there’s no way I can ever voice them, let them be known, or she’ll go running for the police station to have me locked up. And that’s not gonna happen, because if I’m behind bars I can’t at least do what I’ve been doing…come in here every damn day and stare at her like the stalker she’s turned me into. I’ve already lost my mind over this beautiful little creature. I should stay away, but something inside me just won’t allow it.
Even if I’m too old for her, and forty-one is way too old for an eighteen-year-old, as I keep reminding myself, I still need to be here. To protect her. To watch over her. To be here just in case. In case of what? I’m not sure yet, just as I’m not really sure about these feelings she’s dug up inside me.
I can’t quite put a finger on it, but I can sense something is missing from her life. I can be that something she needs, even if it’s just with my presence, although I know that’s not going to satisfy me much longer. Hell, it’s not satisfying me as it is now.
I need more. More of her time. More of those innocent little smiles she flashes every which way when I see her from across the street as I approach, only for those smiles to be wiped away the second I come in each day.
I’m probably scaring the hell out of this little thing. I should quit coming here all together and stop drinking this coffee which just gets my heartbeat racing even more than it already is.
But stopping my daily habit isn’t happening, not when I know there are other boys in here all day long, probably trying to whisper things in her ear, offer the things she doesn’t want or need, and look at her in a way that only I should look at her. I hate the thought that other men come in here and ogle at her, and I could only imagine how much worse it would be if this was a bar and not a coffee shop.
As much as I feel this fatherly feeling inside me that wants to wrap her up in a big hug and then throw her over my shoulder and take her back to my house forever, I just can’t quite reconcile how to go about it.
Sure, there’s the age thing, but she also has a mother already. I know. I asked around.
But her mother’s not much better than the father that left her before she was even born. How could anyone be stupid enough to walk out on an absolute angel like her? She’s not only a blessing to any mother or father lucky enough to conceive her but this whole damn dark world. She’s the light to my darkness, the smile that can give my scowl balance, and more accurately wipe it from my face forever.
There’s just something about her can-do spirit that I admire. The way she whistles to herself when she wipes down tables. The way she bounces just a bit when she arrives at customer’s tables with their orders. The way she makes everyone’s day better, every day.
She’s got that kind of spirit that a man, a real man who’s experienced enough to realize just how rare a young woman like her is, would claim in heartbeat and nurture her, and provide and support all her dreams, forever.
But when it comes to her, I’ve got dreams of my own. Fantasies if you will, and they’re dark and depraved and keep me from taking things further, not that we technically have any kind of relationship at all at this point.
A hardened jerk like me who haggles over gems all day from some of the most cut-throat miners of precious stones around the world isn’t the right kind of man for her. I threaten Colombian drug lords who sell me emeralds out of Bogota and refuse blood diamonds out of Africa from the kind of scum I’d never do business with. And when I finally do get the inventory I need I sit for days on end, crafting the perfect piece that will be seen by millions around the world, hanging from the necks of famous actresses at the Academy Awards, or rings on the hands of famous actors as they accept their Oscars.
I could move to Beverly Hills tomorrow, and buy a mansion with the money I’ve made, but I’m not leaving here without her first. No fucking way.
I don’t even want to leave this coffee shop without her, let alone the thought of skipping town without her by my side.
For the last week, I’ve been half-tempted to tie her up and throw her in my car and just drive, taking her away from her drugged-out mother with the litany of “male friends”, and start a family somewhere, just the two of us.
But tying her up to take her from this place isn’t where it would end. I’d tie her to my bed and do things to her that would scare her to death. Things she’s not ready for now, nor will she ever be, even if she will always be everything to me in all ways.
That’s why I just have to play the fatherly role, from a distance, even if she doesn’t know that’s what I’m doing. Even though what I’d rather be doing is drawing her a bath, washing every inch of her with the finest smelling soaps money could buy, after running my tongue over every inch of her skin first. I should be massaging her feet after these marathon work sessions she’s been putting in, combing her hair, and even cutting up her food for her and feeding it to her bite by bite, like feeding grapes to Cleopatra. Just the thought of doing that to my raven-haired little beauty has my dick jerking in my pants.
A rumble forms in my chest and I suppress a groan as best as I can while that other goof of a barista practically does jumping jacks behind the counter to get my attention.
Not interested.
Is she so dense that she can’t see I only have eyes for one woman? Does she really think I come here for the most basic coffee on the planet when I could easily make the same in my shop? Are people really that unobservant or are they just selfish, like me?
Because I don’t share and once I get my little Jewel in my mitts I’m never letting her go.
My eyes zero in on her tight, little ass in those short shorts she’s sporting. She’s a billion times hotter than the scalding coffee she’s about to bring me, and my temperature is rising just as high.
I feel a vein throbbing in my forehead and know my face is turning beet red, or more likely purple or a shade of white-hot.
If I can see her legs and the line that shows the bottom of her asscheeks when she bends over then these little snot-nosed kids at the other table can too.
Wisely they don’t look. They know she’s mine and they can sense there will be trouble if they so much as look in her direction. Kids are smarter than I give them credit for sometimes.
But a kid her age isn’t what she needs. She needs a man, a man like me who can rip those jean shorts right off her and run my tongue over her body, and in places, she’s never been touched before.
My eyes rake over her body as she moves closer to my table, bringing the drink I don’t even need or want. I try and remind myself to stay calm, that ordering coffee as hot as they’ve got it gives me a reason to sit here while it cools, and try not to get caught staring at her for the next thirty minutes or more. I also try and remind myself I have no business bothering this little princess, the one who I see feeding the stray dog out back in the alley when she closes up shop at night. I really need to remind myself to quit watching her from a distance or else she’s going to freak out and ban me for life from ever coming in here again.
Not that it would matter. Nothing can keep me from her. And more than anything I need to remind myself what life was like before her, and how having enough money to last a lifetime, a stellar reputation, and everything a man could ever want, wasn’t enough.