Tyrant Daddy: An Age Gap Forbidden Romance

by Isabella Starling

  I allow my eyes to burn into his, hoping he knows just how much I hate him. With a frustrated groan, I pull on Mercy's hand. "Come on."

  She follows me to the pavement where we join the line for the club, sighing. "Do we have to do this? Can't we just go back to your place and watch a movie or something?"

  "No," I shake my head vehemently. "He pissed me off now. We definitely have to get in."

  But the line is barely moving. Two hours later and we're sitting on the curb, having not moved since we first joined the line, except there's now a bunch of people in line after us, too. And one of the guys in line is not so good at hiding the boner tenting his pants. He's also practically salivating at the sight of my nipples. I cross my arms. It's getting cold.

  Even though everything's going wrong so far, I don't want to admit defeat. Not yet.

  It would mean going back home, returning to Dove and Nox and their perfect little family. The one I stand out from like a sore fucking thumb.

  They never made me feel unwelcome. They always work hard to make me feel like I belong. But deep down, I know the truth.

  They don't want me. How could they? Not even my mom did.

  Mercy is texting on her phone and I'm impatiently looking around when I see him for the first time. He exits the club, eyes clouded over and darkened with anger as he walks swiftly past the line for the club. He has dark hair, with silver streaks. His jaw is chiseled and covered in stubble. He's tall, broad, and tan. His suit is crisp, and his walk is confident, unrelenting.

  Something happens to me then, like I've been punched in the gut. But the pain doesn't come. Instead, there's just stone-cold shock, a strange, quickening heartbeat that feels traitorous, and an emptiness that can only be filled by him.

  "Willa?"

  I hear my best friend call after me, but I don't react. It's as if something's pulling me toward this man. An invisible string ties us together and I gravitate to him like a puppet just realizing she has a master.

  "Hello,” I say to the man.

  He's lighting a cigarette, but when he's done, he looks at me. His eyes darken more.

  "What's your name?" I ask.

  Still, he doesn't respond. But now he looks angry. Deep brown eyes travel over my face, over every freckle decorating my pale skin. He pauses on my lips before traveling lower. It's too dark to see that well, but I don't miss how his fists tighten when he sees my puckered pink nipples.

  "You're walking around like that?" he hisses at me, pointing at my chest, exposed through the flimsy lace. "What does your daddy say?"

  I flush. "I don't have one."

  He takes in this information, dragging again on his cigarette. "What are you doing here, except for causing trouble?"

  "Trying to get in." I point to the bouncer. "That guy's being a prick."

  "Maybe he's just looking out for you."

  "I'm old enough to take care of myself," I say fiercely.

  "Sure. Trouble." He smirks and my insides flutter. Who is this man? How did he prompt such an instant, irresistible reaction from me? The moment I saw him, I had to talk to him. I had to know him.

  "You didn't tell me your name."

  "Raphael." It rolls off his lips slowly and sensually, dripping like honey. "What's your name, trouble?"

  "Willa."

  "Willa." He tries it out on his lips, nodding at me. "I like it. Suits you. Not as much as trouble, though. So, why come up to me?"

  "I couldn't help it." I nervously totter in my stilettos, not used to the height. "Fuck."

  I nearly stumble on the ground itself, but he easily catches me and holds me at arm's length. I can't even look at him. Every cell in my body is screaming for more, and I don't understand it. He must be three times my age. He could be my father. And yet I'm so completely captivated by his presence, I've managed to forget about the world existing outside of this... outside of us.

  "Stop staring and get back to your friend, trouble," he says, motioning behind me. "She's looking a little lost there."

  I toss a look over my shoulder, cursing softly when I see Mercy surrounded by a bunch of guys. This always fucking happens, and she always gets in trouble.

  "But I need..." I worry my lip between my teeth again. "Please, I need more."

  "More like what?"

  "More of you." I want to die on the spot. Where the hell is this honesty coming from? I'm not open like this with anyone, not even Mercy. "Please. Your last name?"

  He hesitates, raising the cigarette to his lips and taking another inhale. "It's Santino. Raphael Santino. You going to look me up, trouble?"

  I nod, getting ready to speak when a woman comes flitting to him the next second. I instantly recognize her as the bitch that gave me a side-eye in front of the club earlier. But now she's clinging to Raphael, the man I've already decided is mine, and giving me a saccharine-sweet smile.

  "Come back inside," she purrs against his neck, biting his earlobe. I want to fucking gag. "I want you to meet my friends, Daddy."

  I glance in confusion between the two of them. She looks younger, but not young enough to be his daughter. Why is she calling him that?

  As much as I try to ignore the fierce ache between my legs, I still feel it. Fuck. What is happening to me?

  "I'll be right there." He smiles at her. "Go back inside and I'll join you in a second."

  She must realize pleading with him won't help, so she turns around and leaves, but not before giving me a spiteful look.

  "Your hot date?" I raise my brows at Raphael, hoping he'll pretend my voice isn't shaking.

  "You could say that." He puts out his cigarette and winks at me. "Bye, trouble."

  "Wait." I grab his palm and he pulls back as if I've burned him. "I need more."

  "I already gave you more, Willa." My name feels even better on his lips than the nickname he's christened me with. Holy fuck. I'm about to beg him to give me so much more.

  "I'm a virgin," I blurt, and he pulls back. "Please. I want you to be my first time."

  "No." His answer is final and like the girl before me, I know better than to argue. "Go home, trouble. Maybe I'll meet you in another life."

  He pulls away from me and walks off. As I watch him leave, something happens inside my mind. The wheels churn and turn and click into place. Raphael Santino is my new obsession, my new need, my new infatuation. Everything that matters to me in one man. And I will have him. No matter what.

  I smile to myself and return to Mercy who's still battling with the group of guys flirting with her despite the fact she's clearly underage.

  I let them flirt with me too. I kiss one of them later that night, pretending it's Raphael's sinful lips on mine. But I don't let him touch me anywhere below the waist. I already know how I'm going to get Raphael. It's going to take time... but eventually, I'll get what I want, just like I always do.

  He won't be able to resist me. I'll mold myself into the perfect siren to steal him from any other woman. I'll work hard at it, making notes, watching him, until we meet again.

  And then I'm going to ruin his life because he turned me down.

  On my fucking birthday, no less.

  Chapter 2

  Raphael

  2 years later

  "Honey, dinner's ready!"

  I stifle a groan and pull myself up from my chair. I really don't want to deal with this shit right now, but I suppose I don't have a choice. After all, this agreement with Elise forces me to play her loving fiancé in front of her friends and family. And right now, two middle-aged women who've been primped and tightened by professionals, sit at the island in my kitchen. Elise's best friends, Kiki and Mimi. I have to make her look good in front of them. It's part of the fucking deal.

  I'm not sure whether Kiki and Mimi are twins, but they look disturbingly alike. I smile at them tersely before kissing Elise on the cheek.

  "I'm afraid I have to run to the office tonight," I tell her with a smile that doesn't allow arguing. "I'll be back late. Might sleep in the
spare bedroom."

  Another little lie to protect my fake fiancée. We don't sleep in the same bed. Fucking ever.

  "Alright, darling." She smiles so tightly I fucking know I'm going to get shit for this later. "The girls and I will have dinner alone, then."

  The petty bitterness in her words don't escape me. But it's not my fucking job to keep Elise happy. She's old enough by now to know how to handle her damn self.

  "See you soon." I smile at the twins-or-not and wave as I leave. While I'm grabbing my coat in the entryway, I hear them talking in hushed tones. The plastic bitches compliment Elise on snagging a hot bachelor like me and she gushes about how happy she is. All. Fucking. Lies.

  I walk out of the building with a clear conscience. This engagement with Elise... it's just a business arrangement. I'm not going to worry about it at all. I have more important shit to do tonight.

  In the past few years, I've grown my company exponentially. I now own the entire building my offices used to be in years ago, and my last name – Santino – shines brightly at the top of it.

  It makes me wonder how easy that makes me to find.

  Especially for one little girl called trouble.

  She hasn't made contact, but I'm glad it's the case. I don't think she's old enough yet and I certainly don't want to get in trouble for thinking of her as the jailbait she is. And yet little Willa hasn't escaped my mind once. I never asked for her last name, knowing I'd drive myself fucking insane if I had kept tabs on her.

  My driver drops me off in front of my building and I take the elevator to the penthouse offices – my domain.

  There's just a few cleaners and the receptionist downstairs here tonight, and my office has total privacy. Fucking good, because I'm going to need it.

  For two years, I've held back. I've forced myself not to look her up. Not to think of her at all. But tonight, on the two-year anniversary of my meeting and with my personal life in a fucking shambles, I know I won't be able to resist.

  I sit down at my desk and stare at my screen. How do I even go about looking her up? How the fuck do I find a needle in a haystack? All I have is her first name...

  I start my search with that. Her name, the district I met her in and the bar's social media. I comb through pages and pages of Instagram profiles, TikTok videos and Facebook comments. And then there she is – as easy as that.

  She's been tagged in a photo with her friend whom I still remember from the night I met her. Her username doesn't show her last name, nor age. But there she is, Willa, with the freckles on her nose, with the sky-blue eyes, with the bee-stung lips and the nipples that make me want to fucking sin.

  "Willa," I mutter to myself. I go through all the photos, all her posts. I need more.

  I know I shouldn't, but tonight, the past has won its battle over me. I make a throwaway account and send her a message.

  How old did you turn tonight, trouble?

  Impatiently, I sit back and wait for her reply. It might not come. She might not even remember. But fuck, I hope she does. And I hope she's fucking ready. If she plays her cards right, I won't be able to hold back. Not tonight.

  Except she does write back, almost instantly. My fingers actually fucking shake as I check her reply.

  I turned 18, Daddy :)

  How does she fucking do that? One reply and I'm a fucking goner. How did she know... Of course. When we first met, that girl whose name I never got called me that.

  So, Willa knows about my dirty little kink – and she seems more than willing to play. Did she recognize me from my text? She must have. Unless she calls every man Daddy. My fists tighten at the thought of that. Fuck, I'm already so fucking possessive and stricken with jealousy when I think of her.

  How perfect. Can you come into the city tonight, Willa?

  I'm being so fucking forward I should be ashamed, but I can't help it. This mere conversation has got my cock throbbing, desperately needing her riding it. Now that I know she's legal to fuck, I'm not holding back another second. I'm going to own her. I just hope little Willa's ready for me.

  How much?

  Her next reply has me confused and I knit my brows together, typing back a reply and stopping each time I write a word or two. What the fuck does she mean?

  I don't want to fucking believe it, but maybe I shouldn't be so fucking naive.

  Are you selling me your body, trouble?

  I wait for her reply, my heartrate picking up. She wants me to pay? Because I fucking will. I've never done it before, but for the little blonde vixen I'll do it fucking all.

  No, Daddy, her reply comes back. I'm selling you my virginity.

  I pace my office, waiting for her to arrive. The receptionist downstairs has been told to send her straight up in my private elevator, but the minutes are ticking by and Willa still isn't here.

  She's late. Fifteen minutes, almost twenty. My lips form a thin line. I don't fucking tolerate tardiness, and I've already decided I'm going to discipline her tonight.

  I offered her twenty grand to pop her sweet little cherry, and she accepted. Whether I'm shocked or fucking disappointed, I'm still not fucking sure.

  But one thing's for fucking sure – I'm not letting Willa leave my office without filling at least one of her holes... and not until I hear her call me Daddy, for fucking real.

  Finally, the elevator travels downstairs. I force myself to stay calm and sip from my whisky as I wait for her. I can't even look at the lift as it pulls back up. It's glass, and I'm not ready for the sight of her yet. First, I remind myself, I need to make sure she isn't lying about her age. She's probably lying about her virginity, but we'll deal with that later. Then I can go for what's in her panties. But until then, I gotta keep my head straight.

  She walks inside in a cloud of perfume that doesn't suit her. But it doesn't deter me – I can smell her underneath the cheap fragrance. I can smell her skin, lathered in lotion. I can smell her hair, freshly washed. And I can smell her fucking cunt, already dripping. I raise my eyes to meet hers. The same sky-blue gaze I remember stares back. She's a little taller, a little skinnier, has a few more freckles. But it's the same, innocent, sweet little girl who was so infatuated by me in front of that bar.

  Except now she's dressed in ripped fishnets, with an impossibly tight, impossibly short dress on top. The dress is black and has a corset bodice. On her feet, she wears black leather boots. She's a fucking vision of innocence and lust somehow combined, and merely having her a foot away from me is enough to make my cock leak against the silk of my boxers.

  "Hello," she says with a bright smile. There's a gap between her front teeth and she's devastatingly beautiful. It fucking hurts to look at her.

  "Hi, Willa." Somehow, I'm still managing to hold it together as I point her to a seat before me. "I'm glad you remember me."

  "How could I forget?" She smiles sweetly, but I see something calculating behind her eyes, something that says she knows how to twirl men right around her little finger.

  "Do you remember my name?"

  She nods. "Raphael Santino."

  "Did you look me up after that night?"

  "Does it matter?" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "You looked me up, didn't you?"

  "I had to." I toss back my drink and put the tumbler back down before facing her. She hasn't commented on my posh office or the floor-to-ceiling windows that give me a fucking amazing view of the city. Whether she's impressed or not, Willa's good at fucking hiding it. I wonder whether she's regretting the amount of money she accepted for this. "You've proven to be a, ah... distraction over the years."

  "A distraction?" Her pout still looks like a little girl's. "I thought I would provide some welcome entertainment, at least. I can't imagine your life is very wild, Raphael."

  She purrs my name and I smirk at her. "What do you know about my life, trouble?"

  "Enough."

  "Tell me."

  "Well..." she taps her chin with her finger, smiling. "I know you're engaged."


  A thousand words rush to my lips, but I don't say any of them, just stare her down. I could tell her it's an arrangement. I could convince her I have no feelings for Elise. I could even prove we don't fuck – but I don't want to. After all, this is just a service provided and a transaction paid, isn't it?

  "I know you're successful, though that wasn't hard to guess." She motions around my office with a snarky smile. "And I know you cheat on your fiancée."

  "That's supposed to be a secret," I mutter, leaning across my desk. "You been keeping a close eye on me then, huh, trouble?"

  "You could say that. When something's of interest to me, I make an effort to pay attention."

  "And what do I have that you covet, trouble?" I smirk. "My money?"

  She shakes her head. I can fucking feel the sparks flying between us. My cock is impossibly hard, and I want to get this over with already so I can bury my cock in her sweet cunt and make her mine. But Willa isn't done, and she leans across the desk too until we're almost touching.

  "It's not your money I want," she purrs.

  "Then what?" My words brush her lips with every breath I take. I'm fucking struggling not to break my own rules here.

  "Your cock."

  She kisses me.

  Her lips are soft and infuriatingly not close enough. She tastes like bubblegum. I know the moment our lips touch I've already lost my battle.

  There's something here, an undeniable connection neither of us can ignore. I feel it in every heartbeat when she's close to me, in the way her lips shape out my name and I swallow the word whole, from her lips, onto mine. Fuck. My cock is going to burst through my pants at this fucking rate.

  She pulls back. Her lips are shiny and raw from my stubble and she's avoiding my gaze now. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

  "Why not?" I counter. "That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

  She doesn't answer, just slides the tiniest leather jacket off her frame. She sits before me in just that sinful little dress, the fishnets and those slutty boots, a vixen waiting to break my fucking heart. And I let her right in. Fucking hand her the hammer so she can smash me to pieces.