Mastering Her Heart (Love, Daddy 2)

And I have left it at that. As all of us have, because we’ve all gone a bit quiet, which is leaving me looking out of the window and staring in awe at a mansion so enormous it puts Downton Abbey to shame.

Once the limo comes to a stop in front, and we have been escorted through a ten foot tall door that looks like it belongs somewhere in Mordor, the first thing I see inside has my girl parts tightening up and my head tossing up a whole stack of question marks.

“You’re going to cum for me again, aren’t you?” A man’s voice, such a deep bass that it shakes my core, coming from a frame dressed impeccably in a dark suit that isn’t quite black. He’s standing behind a gorgeous blond, his hand touching her only at her neck as her head rests back onto his shoulder. Her dress is black and white lace, an evening gown that covers everything and yet somehow seems to accentuate her sensuality.

I note the veins on the back of his hand, standing over the bones. I’m that close as we pass by that I see him squeeze. The woman’s eyes roll back in her head and I watch her shudder. And this is no ‘When Harry Met Sally’ fake-it, restaurant orgasm. The woman cums so hard she passes out and the man behind her smiles, catching her before she crumbles to the floor.

I’ve never been to a club like this before. When my friends said let’s go out, they didn’t give me specifics.

It’s an invitation only club and we have an invitation for four. Club Tower. I’ve been dying to go.

I should know better than to trust Murphy. She’s been my alter ego since we were ten. We met in the bathroom at the country club where our parents belonged. Well, my mom and Murphy’s mom and dad belonged. I didn’t have a dad. Not until later.

That single thought has my belly flipping. All these years later just the thoug

ht of him sends my senses into overload.

That day in the bathroom, Murphy was smoking and I was crying. I don’t remember why, because it happened so often. Something my mother had said to me. I remember that much. Enter Murphy, the sarcasm to my sweet. The next year, we ended up at Wentworth Academy in the same class and the rest is history.

“What the heck.” I mumble, tearing my eyes away from the beautiful couple and such a public intimate sight. They were completely unaware of the throngs of people around them. The depth of his attention to her almost scared me.

How can someone cum, fully clothed, from just a few words and a hand clutched at her throat? It seems unreal, and yet it was ever so real.

The scent, sound and vibration of lust is everywhere here. It’s in the spaces between the words I hear all around me. Twisting into the perfume of my friend Whitney, who is leading me through the crowd. My eyes dart to and fro. I’m not sure how I feel. I want to gawk. Rubber neck and giggle like a nervous little girl.

Instead, I grab the back of Whitney’s perfect little black dress and let her drag me along. She’s as tall as most of the men around us and my own five feet two inches dwarfs me in the crowd. Even if there are women here my height, with all the six inch stilettos I see you would never know it. I’m the token munchkin it would seem.

I’ve been back in New York two weeks and it’s already home again. My two years in Paris were wonderful, but my Manhattan heart is beating again and it’s amazing to be back with old friends as so many things in my life are new.

I compare my own outfit to Whitney’s and roll my eyes. When her limo picked me up outside my mother’s apartment on Central Park South I knew I was out of my depth.

All three of my friends were dressed in black. Me? No one bothered to give me the dress code, did they? So here I am in my boho-chic, multi-colored patchwork skirt and hemp tank. Both of which are a bit too tight. The button on the back of my skirt threatening to pop off and nail one of these uber elegant club goers in their lustful eyes.

My matching canvas shoes top off my elegant ensemble. I’m surprised they let me in the door. A sore thumb would blend in better. My entire body feels tight and a headache is threatening to erupt behind my eyes. This is so not my world. And yet, I’m captivated by everything here.

There’s this sudden realization that I’m counting.

One, two, three, four, five...

I’ve done it three times in a row.

Breathe. Count to ten. When you get to ten, then start again.

It’s what he taught me to do when I was younger. When I was scared, or thought something was too hard, he taught me to count.

Count to ten, then if it’s still too hard, still hurts too much, go back to one and start again.

I’ve been doing that ever since. When I’m uncomfortable. When it hurts or I’m just confused or in a place of indecision. I count and it centers me. Tough, I’m not sure it’s the counting that achieves that goal.

It’s who taught me to that. When I count like this, I feel him with me.

The calm. The power and the peace I felt around him.

“Come on!” Adam reaches back and tugs at my upper arm. He’s 6’6” and weighs about the same as I do. “Table!” His voice is always tinged with laughter, no matter what the subject. He’s been a touchstone in my life, just like Murphy and Whitney. I appreciate having them more than I think they even realize. When I landed my first real, paying design job at Tuck and Burton I was over the moon. Knowing that Adam works there as well, I was over the moon and stars.

I use the term ‘paying’ loosely here. I’m a glorified gopher for Lucielle Gladstone, the CEO of the design house, but a thousand girls would give their eye teeth for my job. It’s make or break. With Lucielle’s endorsement, careers are launched. So for now, I’ll take the measly paycheck for the expected payoff later.

If I survive Lucielle that is. And survival is no gimme, let me tell ya. I’ve averaged four to five hours of sleep a night since I took this job. There are no off hours in Lucielle’s world. I’m as apt to get a call at 3:00 AM to run some errand or make hotel reservations as I am to get her coffee every morning.