Possessive Baby Daddy

I don’t think she understands half of what she does to me.

If she did, she’d know that I’m hers to use whenever she wants, however she wants. I’ll give her anything, buy her anything, use my power to make anything happen. I’m hers, and she’s mine just as much.

But the idea of her meeting my fucking mother drives me insane with anxiety.

I’ve had other girls in the past. I can’t pretend like I’ve been a saint up until the point that I met Klara. But none of those women did anything like this to me, and I never once considered letting Sylvia Lofthouse meet them. I know my mother, and I know she will instantly start looking for any advantage, any weakness she can.

That’s just how her mind works. It’s why she’s so good at running our family. It’s why we’re at the peak of our strength, despite being around for so long. Sylvia Lofthouse saved this family and made it what it is today.

But that also makes her a terrible mother.

I don’t say that lightly. She was not a nice person. We were raised by a series of nannies, some of which disappeared, and I suspect that my father was sleeping with them until mother found out. I can’t prove that, of course, but it’s an educated guess at least.

That’s the sort of woman my mother is. She finds out her husband’s cheating and she just fires the maid. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t divorce him. I’m willing to bet she used it against him somehow, did something much more devious. I’m willing to bet he wished she divorced him when she was through.

And god, letting her meet Klara scares the shit out of me.

It’s a sunny Friday afternoon when I pick Sylvia up at the airport. She flew private, so I can park at the private terminal, which is basically right on the tarmac. She walks over wearing her tasteful designer clothes, pulling a small designer bag, and frowns as I get out.

“You drove?” she asks.

“I drove,” I say.

“You should use a service, darling.”

I grab her bag and throw it in the trunk. I slam it shut and open the door for her. She climbs into the back.

I sit up front like a chauffeur. “I could use a service, Mother, but I thought this would give us a chance to talk.”

She sighs and looks out the window. “I suppose.”

Sylvia Lofthouse is a pretty women, even in her sixties. She’s thin and has short, light brown age-appropriate hair. Everything about her is appropriate, measured, and controlled.

“How was the flight?”

“Boring,” she says. “Roger kept talking my ear off.”

“You brought Roger?”

She nods, watching the road out the back window. “He has business for us out here.”

“What business?” I frown and look at her in the rearview. Roger is the family lawyer. “If you’re doing business on the West Coast, you should run it through me.”

“Oh, I suppose, but aren’t you busy buying up trashy television studios?”

“Yes, mother, and a few pornography companies as well.”

She sighs. “I know you’re just trying to antagonize me.”

“Oh, no, the porn industry is booming.”

She smiles. “Well then, I suppose we should get involved.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You really will do whatever you can for the family, won’t you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she says. “But dear, power and influence are one thing, but you need money to back it all up. Money made us what we are, and money will sustain us. I’m not so foolish that I’d turn away from a good deal.”

“I like to hear you say that, mother,” I say. “Because I’m introducing you to someone.”

“Oh?” she asks, sounding bored again. “One of your little ventures?”

“No.” I hesitate. “A woman.”

She laughs but doesn’t say anything. I scowl back at her.

“What?” I press.

“Nothing, darling.”

“Say it.”

“Do you really want me to?”

“Just say it, Mother.”

“Fine.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “I’m surprised you’d want me to meet a woman you’re seeing, based on your past experience.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have bad taste in women, darling.”

I clench my jaw. I knew that’s what she was going to say, but hearing it out loud still pisses me off.

She’s not entirely wrong. In my youth, I was attracted to a certain kind of woman. They tended to be young, attractive, and very, very sexual. That didn’t necessarily add up to the kind of woman my mother would approve of. I learned very quickly that I had to keep any woman I was seeing regularly away from my family, as far as humanly possible.

But Klara’s different. I know she is and my mother’s going to see that too.

“Keep an open mind,” I say.

“Oh, I always try to.”

“No, you don’t.” I shake my head. “You’re judgmental, Mother. You’re quick to hate things that don’t fit into your worldview. But in this instance, please keep in mind that this particular woman makes your son very happy.”