Please, Daddy (Love, Daddy)

She runs her tongue along the plastic lid, a drop of coffee making contact, and I hate that fucking coffee all of a sudden.

I don’t even know who I am right now. I’m taking a girl—a girl I’m not even sure is legal—with me, along with my depraved thoughts. I’m not this guy, I don’t take girls with me, especially in my cruiser, in my uniform.

“I can’t wait to see whatever this special place is.” She runs a finger over her bottom lip. “I can’t wait to show you something as well…”

Holy fuck.

Her words run through me like an electric shock, creating a new, manic throbbing in my cock as I jerk the cruiser into reverse, throwing caution to the wind as I pull away.

Chapter 6

Kezia

I’ve been playing this part for a long time but I’ve never felt like this.

I think the sheriff is playing me back but I can’t be sure. I try my best to not look down below his belt, but I’ve failed more than once and I know what I see.

It’s not the first erection I’ve seen through the fabric of a man’s pants or otherwise. I’ve been taught well, my genetics making me something most men desire. My youth and innocence seem to only entice even the most monogamous, loyal man to drool for what I have between my legs.

My mother and other sisters in our group taught me how to entice men long before I should have known, and it’s become second nature in a way. But right now, I feel confused.

Nervous.

Excited.

Things I’ve not felt before because I was always just playing my part. Doing my job. I know if I fail, I’ll suffer the wrath of Thadius. But if I succeed, I may be drawn into something I’ve never known before.

I should be scared. Small town sheriff, taking me who knows where to do who knows what with me. If something happened, it would be his word against mine and most courts and judges would surely take an upstanding sheriff’s word over a nomadic dancer who makes her living teasing men.

But, I’m not scared. Not of him, anyway. My father, on the other hand, would kill me if he knew what was happening.

I’m never, ever to let a man take me somewhere private. He would expect me to stay at the coffee shop, flirting just enough, teasing just enough, but always staying in public.

I push it all away, something feels different and I want to count on my own instincts for once. We drive in silence, out of town, then onto a winding patch of two-lane asphalt. Tall pines and thick trees start to fill the roadside and fewer and fewer cars are passing us going the other way.

Finally, he takes a turn onto a dirt road and my prior confidence about my instinct wavers. There’s no one around. What if he is like the others? Crooked cops, on the take, lawless.

“We’re here.”

They’re the first words Merrick has spoken since we left the coffee shop. His knuckles were an angry white the entire drive and my training has taught me that anticipation is the most fragrant of aphrodisiacs, so I simply wiggled in my seat a bit, used my tongue around the rim of my coffee and squeezed my upper arms into my chest so my cleavage was more prominent.

It was from my training I knew to do these things, knew how they would push him to his limits, but this time I felt I was using them for myself instead of for the family.

As Merrick gets out of the car, I wonder how far I’m willing to go. Using my talents for myself, pushing the limits, skirting the edge of what’s acceptable.

He opens my door and I don’t look away when I see the obvious bulge under his zipper. He’s big everywhere it would seem, and I look up into the intense gaze locked on my face.

Not my chest.

Unlike most men I’ve played with in my life for the first time I want to make a man smile. This man. Only him. I want to see him truly smile so I can see the flicker of joy reach up into his eyes and know I’m the one that put it there.

His air of possessiveness should put me off, but it doesn’t. It makes me think there’s something more here and all my assumptions start to fall away.

He looks at my feet as I turn in the seat and put them on the rocky ground.

“Wait. Don’t get out yet.” He turns and goes to the trunk, popping it open, then closed, returning with something in his hand.

Before I can ask, he couches down, one knee on the ground, one bent like a man proposing, unwrapping something in his hands. “Put your foot here.” He points to his bent knee and I realize he has a pair of brown socks he’s going to put on my feet.