Dear Diary (Love, Daddy)

“Well, you must be a weirdo then.”

My mouth twitches into a smile. Who the fuck says weirdo these days?

“Most definitely. Aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah.”

She takes a step closer and my cock aches to snuggle inside her.

Her eyes narrow. “So, what's your story, weirdo?”

I picture that luscious mane spilling over my pillows in a tangled mess, while I pin her wrists to her sides and make room for myself between her legs.

“My story is boring, angel. You don’t look like you’re too happy to be here.”

“Well, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.” She frowns and her lashes flutter. Something about the expression, makes my heart sink then reality comes crashing in again.

She’s jailbait.

My gaze desperately searches for proof that I’m wrong. I stare at the untouchable gem. Everything from her bangs to her flawlessly plump skin to the rounded-toes of her pumps, tells me she has the power to destroy me.

Fuck.

Too fucking young to be in this bar. Too fucking young to be giving me a hard-on.

The object of my dirty, delirious, hair-tugging, ass-spanking fantasy could get me arrested.

I need to know. I need to be sure. I’m ready to wait for her.

“Why did you order a club soda? Not old enough for something stronger?” My question wipes the sweet smile off her face.

Her brows lift. “Because I don’t like alcohol.”

“Why?” My sharp question sounds like an accusation.

When she shrugs, she looks like a little girl. I want to break something. Or set the world on fire for this injustice. For bringing her to me when I cannot have her.

Not yet.

“Believe it or not, turning into a stumbling, puking mess never seemed appealing to me.”

“How old are you?” I snap. I have to know how long I need to wait for her. How long the law tells me I have to wait...

Her mouth falls open and she backs up a step. “What are you, a cop?”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

I take a slow breath, forcing myself to use a softer tone. “Tell me how old you are, princess.”

The change in my voice seems to work.

“I just prefer to not drink. And, anyway, asking for a princess’s age is very ungentlemanly of you.”

She’s teasing. She thinks this is funny. My newly vulnerable heart is breaking. “Are you old enough to be driving at least? Can you tell me that?”

She bites her lip. “Absolutely.”

I swallow past the knot of dread in my throat. “Are you old enough to be drinking?”

She frowns. “No, okay? I’m nineteen, but I’m old enough to be in a bar. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Thank fucking God.” The relief rushes through me in a hot wave.

She blushes as I run a hand over my jaw, suddenly more aware of the bit of silver that’s decorated my temples and beard the last few years. Her entrancing eyes follow my hand, over my lips, then snap to my eyes.

I need to know more about her. I need to know everything.

“I'm Jack.” I don’t want to give her my full name. I want her to know me for me, not for what I have. I extend my hand toward her, the girl that’s now shamelessly ruling my vivid, depraved fantasies.

“Chastity.”

It suits her. Her small hand slips into mine, looking like a child’s. The touch sucks the air from my lungs. My grip tightens—so soft, I’m suddenly doused with fear that I might unknowingly hurt her with my grip.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Chastity.”

Her shoulder curls closer to her jaw, and the pink stays on her cheeks.

She feels it, too. This electric crackle in the cursed space between us.

“Chastity!” A voice from behind breaks the magical moment and her hand slips from mine.

She whirls toward an approaching leggy blonde, her fake eyelashes dragging her eyelids down with their weight. She’s wearing a dress so short, I can see the crease where her thigh ends and her ass begins.

A scowl lines the blonde’s face. “What are you doing? What's taking so long? I need to talk to you.”

“I was just…” My angel’s eyes connect to mine.

I’m not sure if she’s seeking my permission to leave or awaiting an order to make her stay. I want to believe she would prefer the latter.

The woman yanks her arm. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”

“No, I—”

I don’t hear the rest of it. I'm drawn into the pool of vulnerable, pleading eyes.

As Chastity walks away, she glances back twice. My girl wants to stay.

I place my drink on the bar, ready to follow, ready to bring her back. To fucking lift her over my shoulder and drag her back to my cave like some sort of Neanderthal if I have to.

But, just as I start in her direction, a hand smacks my shoulder and I turn toward the interruption, anger already pulsing through me at the touch.