Dear Diary (Love, Daddy)

He flips me over until I hold my weight against the back of the couch, and he comes up behind me, his hands catching my breasts as they hang down.

His arms are rock hard and flexed as he squeezes my flesh just to the point of pain, then releases. Then again, making me hold my breath, making me count, knowing I can take it just a little further...a little further...then just when I think I might cry, he lets go.

His palms glide over every exposed inch of me, leaving my flesh burning behind his touch. He grunts into the curve of my neck, squeezing the side of my ass cheek.

I hold my breath, waiting for whatever comes next when an unfamiliar ringtone pierces the silence of my apartment. My eyes snap toward the sound where his suit jacket rests.

It’s as if the clock has struck twelve and Cinderella’s naughty fantasy has come to a dramatic end.

He freezes, his hand still gripping my flesh.

For what feels like ages, we’re locked in the silent moment. If I had to guess, he’s probably not the kind of guy who generally ignores his phone.

“Fuck it,” he growls, and I turn to see conflict twisting his features.

The ringing stops and once again his mouth is on my neck and I let out a long sigh of pleasure and relief.

Then, it starts again.

“Fuuuuck,” he curses.

While his head is lifted from my neck, I take the opportunity to plant my lips against his trying to keep him here with me. It works. Our tongues collide as he grabs a handful of my hair and pulls exposing my throat to him.

His teeth graze over my pulse. “Whose is this?”

“Yours, Daddy,” I answer the ache in my neck making it a challenge to think straight.

“Louder.”

“Yours, Daddy.” My voice shaking but louder.

“That’s better.”

His mouth moves again to my chest as the phone’s damn cock-blocking ring goes off again.

“I’ll turn it off,” he says. “It’s my private number, I don’t usually get private calls. But my father has been ill. I left it on just in case my mom needed me.”

Watching Jack stomp across the room as I sit back onto my heels, half-naked, watching this monster of a man moving through the small space of my apartment like a beast.

I'm high on a drug called Jack and every part of me wants him to come back. I want so much I know it must be bad for me. Nothing good ever felt so sinful.

“You should definitely check it and probably not turn it off, just in case,” I say, my breasts rising and falling with each labored breath.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Check it anyway, you’ll feel better. So will I.”

I slide off the couch, pulling the fabric of my dress back over my breasts, suddenly conscious now of how naked I am. My other hand jerks the hem down, covering my lower half. An awkward stiffness seems to have taken the manic lust from the air.

His gaze trails over my body. Maybe he doesn’t want this to end, but it sure feels like the magical moment has passed.

I lower my gaze, feeling like an intruder in my own apartment. “I’ll go freshen up. Give you some privacy.”

I slip into the bedroom and as soon as the door shuts behind me, I collapse in a crumpled heap on the carpet.

I want him to stay. Even as the twist in my gut tells me this is going too far, too fast, the new wild part of me thinks of what to do.

I crawl to my dresser and open the bottom drawer. I shove the t-shirts and leggings out of the way.

There are all my diaries, going right back years. So much of me is in those pages. And then there are my books piled next to them… even the first one about Penelope.

I flip to the center of one of my favorite Daddy books, the purple bookmark guiding me to a well-read chapter, and my heart pounds. The page is worn at the edges. The emotion as the Little Girl and her Daddy finally let themselves go.

Jack could give me this…

I thought I was bad. A bad girl for feeling like I needed to be protected from the evils of the world, spanked when I step out of line. Punished when I’m wrong and praised when I’m right.

And above all, loved and protected.

I want to believe Jack is the answer to all my dreams.

I hold the book to my chest closing my eyes.

Somehow, I have to convince him to stay…

Chapter 8

Jackson

As she slips behind her bedroom door, that sense of loss overtakes me again.

I’m craving ownership. Permanence. A paternal sense of protectiveness along with a filthy, depraved Daddy fantasy that for the first time feels like so much more.

More than just a fantasy.

A possibility.