Yes Daddy (Dark Daddies 1)

“I need you to do something for me,” I say softly.

“Yes, sir?” she asks, the perfect picture of obedience.

Yes… obedience… Let’s see how much you’ll really obey.

“I need you to bow to me.”

She blinks her pretty eyes and doesn’t move a muscle as a smile plays at my lips.3Hazel“Bow to you?” I ask, head ringing with confusion. I bow slightly at the waist. “Like that?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “On your knees, forehead on the ground. Bow to me like you worship everything I do.”

I stand there staring at him. I can feel my rage starting to grow.

I’ve been sitting in that waiting room since six in the morning. It’s just after noon, and I haven’t had a damn thing to eat, let alone a cup of coffee. Rogers said I could leave that room only to go to the bathroom, and only if it takes less than five minutes. So not only am I basically a prisoner for this guy, but my bathroom breaks are timed, too.

I’m frustrated, but I’ve had worse. I can handle the boredom. I listened to Rogers at least and brought a novel, a big fat romance with lots of sex and excitement. It’ll keep me occupied, even if I’m starving.

But this…

Bowing to him?

I knew he was intense. I didn’t realize he was insane.

“You’re just going to look down my blouse,” I say to him, the words tumbling out before I realize that I’m saying. I try to say it jokingly, but the expression on his face makes me freeze.

It’s pure shock. Like nobody’s ever made a joke to him before.

Slowly, though, the surprise fades away into a smile. “Maybe I will,” he says. “Would you mind?”

“Only if you promise there aren’t any cameras hidden in here.” I give him an innocent little smile. “I don’t perform on camera.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “No cameras. I promise. And I’m not interested in looking down your blouse.”

“Your loss then,” I say, grinning.

He laughs and crosses his arms. “Are you going to obey me, Miss Cook?”

“Call me Hazel,” I say. “And yes, I’m going to obey.”

“Good.”

He has a funny smile on his face as I slowly get down on my knees. I hate what I’m doing, but at least I talked back a little bit. Sure, I made a crass joke, but still.

It took him by surprise. I like that, and he seemed to like it, too.

Finally, I get down on my knees. He stands and comes around the desk, sitting down on a corner to watch me.

“Forehead to the floor,” he reminds me. “And try smiling while you do it.”

I let out a breath. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Absolutely.”

“I guess I know why the other girls quit.”

“Oh, no, Hazel. This isn’t why they quit.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“We’re just starting.” He smirks at me, and I feel a chill run down my spine.

He’s gorgeous. He’s dangerous.

“Enough stalling,” he says before I can think up something clever to come back with. “Bow for me, Hazel.”

I stare at him, pushing back my anger and embarrassment. I lean forward and bend over in half, forehead to the floor, hands flat down in front of me.

I bow to him. I bow to my new master, the asshole billionaire jerkoff dickhead.

I stay in that position for maybe ten seconds. I don’t hear anything. When I finally raise my head, I suddenly sit bolt upright.

There’s a bucket on the floor next to me, along with rubber gloves and a scrub brush. Mason is back at his desk.

He smiles down at me. “The carpet hasn’t been cleaned in a few weeks. Clean it, please.”

I stare at the bucket. “You want me to…?”

“Scrub the carpet. The whole thing. The bucket is filled with vinegar and water, all you have to do is clean.”

I take a breath and blow it out. Of course, I wore my nicest outfit for my first day, and of course I’m scrubbing the damn floor.

“Yes, sir.” I don’t even try to hide my annoyance.

He laughs anyway as I put on the gloves, grab the brush, and get to work.

It’s actually not that bad. He’s quietly typing at his computer as I move across the room, dipping and scrubbing. I don’t soak the carpet, I scrub it just enough to wet it. I can’t really see the dirt I’m getting out, but the water slowly turns a slight brown as I dip and scrub and repeat.

I catch him looking at me as I make progress. His eyes glance over my skin. At one point, I fix my bun and roll up my sleeves, and I catch him staring at my chest, my neck, the skin on my arms.

I let him look. I don’t mind, so long as he keeps his hands to himself.

“How often do you like your floors cleaned?” I ask him as I come closer to his desk.