Dear Diary: Book 7 in the Love Daddy Series of Standalones

by Wyatt, Dani

  “Your landlord needs to fix it.” His voice is tipped with anger.

  “I know. I told him about it. Like, five times.”

  Jack grunts as we reach the top of the stairs and I work my keys into the three separate locks and swing open the door.

  As we step inside, I look at him again in the brighter light, taking note of the lines on his face. If I looked up Daddy in the dictionary, it would be his face I’d see, and he’s right here, in my crummy, three hundred square foot abode.

  Dirty dishes overflow in the sink and a few sad furnishings that came with the place are covered with my laundry because I didn’t want to have to pay for the dryer at the laundromat.

  I stifle the urge to lean against him.

  He lifts a brow and I realize I’m staring.

  I burst into conversation. “I’m not big on chores. I spend most of my free time baking and decorating my cakes over the weekends. Reading. Writing.” His lips curve in a smile and my frenzy to fill the silence increases tenfold. “I can’t cook to save my life. But, baking is so precise, it’s a science really.” I let out a nervous giggle, the sound coming out a choked sob as I avert my gaze.

  “Tell me more about your cakes. Do you sell them? Eat all of them?”

  I force myself to look at his face, grateful that he’s humoring my blabbering rant. “I usually…give them away.”

  “To?”

  “Neighbors. Friends. Coworkers. But I always save some for me.”

  He chuckles. “Can’t wait to take that first bite.”

  My throat tightens, hoping maybe his comment isn’t just about the cake.

  I set my purse on the little table inside the door and Jack closes it behind us. As he takes a few steps forward, I wonder if my apartment was always this small or if it just looks that way because he’s so big.

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets. His black suit has to be custom made. He’s no off the rack sort of guy and even if he was, I don’t think they make suits his size for the general public.

  His brows furrow as he scans the space. The small kitchen is to the left of the door and an open living room doubles as a dining room with two chairs next to the window. It’s the only window with a view—a view of the apartment building next door complete with its peeling terracotta paint and broken gutters.

  I try to always be happy with what I have, but that doesn’t stop me wishing for something more. Or just different.

  “I know, it’s really small. But it’s home. It’s the first time I’ve lived on my own, so I’m still sort of getting the hang of it.”

  “It’s cute.” His eyes fall to the white fuzzy oversized bean bag chair next to the window. My one indulgence since moving here. “That looks comfortable.”

  I grin and take the glass top off of the cake plate. “It is. I’m in lurve with it.”

  “What else do you love in this place?”

  I pick out two forks, getting used to his imposing energy and feeling like a little bunny hopping all around the wolf. “Why do you ask?”

  He steps closer. “Just wondering, if you were to move somewhere else, what would you like to take along?”

  “All my stuff. Most of the furniture came with the place, but the pictures, the bean bag chair and the pillows.” I scan the room. “And my books…all my clothes, the plants, my scrap books…” I shrug, looking around the small place, more full of my belongings than I ever realized before.

  “Then, maybe it would be easier for you to tell me what you wouldn’t take.” His voice is serious, even though the question seems odd.

  I answer, pointing out what came with the apartment, and he is right, it’s a much shorter list that way. “It’s silly, but I get way emotionally attached to things. My father hates it. Tells me I’m a hoarder in training.”

  I cut a generous slice of cake for him, center it on the chipped bone-china plate, the memory of my mother buying the entire set at a garage sale for a few dollars when I was a seven. I was happier being in the lower-middle class with her than living what looks to others like a privileged life with my father. She was a nurse, we did okay but she only worked part time to make sure she would always be there for me when it counted.

  “He shouldn’t say that to you.” Jack clears his throat then finishes, “And people? Do you get attached to them?”

  “Yes, people, too.” I start then correct myself. “Sometimes, maybe? No, I guess. Not so much.” I poke the cake slice as if it’s responsible for my past. “I find comfort in my things.”

  Because they don’t leave you. They don’t get sick and die. They don’t treat me like an inconvenience.

  He pushes his fork through the cake and surveys the bite-sized piece like a connoisseur then nods across the room. “Those folks over there for sure would come.”

  I follow his eyes to where there are twenty or so stuffed animals of all sizes squeezed onto the windowsill. “Yes, of course. I know, It’s a little pathetic.”

  He smiles one of those smiles that makes you feel better about yourself. Not a smile that makes you feel silly or degraded. Smiles pack a lot of info if you’re just willing to pay attention.

  He peers over his shoulder at the blue sloth, the green teddy bear and the white unicorn sitting on the floor like they are having a tea party.

  “Not pathetic. Don’t say that about yourself.” He pauses, then adds, “The unicorn looks new. Still has the tag.”

  “It is.”

  “A gift?”

  Is that a flash of annoyance in his eyes? I swallow hard. “I won it at a fair, actually. The week before I moved here. In one of those shoot-em-up gallery deals? I’m a good shot. I have no idea why but if it’s a shooting game, Imma win. Just so ya know…”

  I stifle the urge to tuck myself into him. To feel his arm around me, his warmth radiating through me.

  His fierce gaze settles on mine.

  The silence is heavy and feels like my responsibility, so true to form, I start talking without thinking while I set up my little two-cup coffee maker click it on.

  “Do stuffed animals make you uncomfortable? Do you want me to move them to my bedroom? Would you like some coffee? Are you scared of the cake? Or…”

  He’s still holding the bite of cake on his fork, why isn’t he eating it? I knew it, he’s comparing it to his mother’s and it’s coming up short.

  When he doesn’t answer, my mouth keeps up the rando-string of questions. “Do you play football? Are you a linebacker? Do you frequent that bar?”

  “I did play football in college, offensive tackle and I don’t like bars and I despise drunk people.”

  I bite my lip. “The people I work with go out drinking almost every night. They’re still drunk sometimes when they come to work in the morning. I can smell it on them.” I screw up my face and shudder.

  He finally takes the bite of cake, and I hold my breath. I give him a minute to chew and swallow before asking, “Soooooo?”

  “I can only think of one thing that might taste better.”

  My stomach does a cartwheel. “What’s that?”

  “Something I’ve dreamed of for a long time.”

  “Something you’ve dreamed about, or something you’ve tasted?”

  “Only dreamed about. But that’s going to change very soon Chastity. Very soon.”

  Plop.

  Chapter 6

  Jackson

  The cake is more than good. It’s fucking amazing, but I know it’s nothing compared to how she will taste.

  The way she crosses her bare legs and shakes her foot, means she’s not frightened of me. Nervous, maybe.

  A good kind of nervous. I don’t blame her.

  She takes a bite of cake and damn, I want to be the cake, or the fork or anything that touches her mouth. I take another bite myself, feeling like I’m putting a part of her inside me as I do. Taking her in, even in this small way, has my balls ready to burst.

  My mind spins, wondering if she’s wet. If she’s thinking the same
filthy thoughts about me that I am about her.

  “Mine,” I grunt before I can subdue myself.

  I watch her eyes lift to mine. “Sorry?”

  As you should be, making me ache like this. I should turn you over my knee and find out just how wet you are right now, little one.

  My chest is clenched so tight, it could be a heart attack, but there’s no way I’m leaving her so my cardiovascular system better get with the fucking program.

  She takes another bite and there’s a little spill of frosting at the corner of her lip. A growl rumbles inside me. I know I'm a Goliath of man, and she's a tiny girl alone with me. I can be scary. Physically. More so when I take my pants off.

  But I don’t want to scare my baby girl before she knows me. Before she learns how I feel about her.

  How I want to protect her and keep her safe, hide her into my arms. Snuggle her against my chest and rock her, before I pull her panties off and impale her with my cock.

  Fuck her senseless as she whimpers on my chest. My name on her lips. And I don’t mean Jackson.

  “There’s icing on your…” I point to her face as I set my plate on the faded, mint-green Formica countertop.

  She blushes, reaching for a paper napkin and wiping the wrong corner of her mouth.

  Leaning over, I slide my hand through the silky hair at her nape. I feel the stiffness in her muscles before I glide my tongue over her sweet mouth, licking at the hint of frosting.

  She shivers. I can't help it. I'm like a hungry beast who's had a taste of his favorite food, and I can’t stop now. Growling on her plump lips, I run my tongue over her mouth again.

  Her small hands clutch the lapels of my jacket and I look at her face.

  She looks…young.

  So fucking young.

  I capture her sweet mouth between my parted lips, sucking, tasting, memorizing the contours.

  She whines and slides off the stool. I grip her little body with an arm around her waist and lift her like a child. I place her onto the small kitchen countertop between our two plates and yank her thighs apart, forcing the width of my body between her legs as my right-hand curls tightly around her smooth throat.

  Her choked cry hangs somewhere between fear and exhilaration.

  “You taste just like you do in my dreams, baby girl.”

  All my senses spark and sizzle. I even hear my thick beard scratching against her. I kiss her again, drawing her velvety tongue to mine and suck it until she whimpers.

  I release her lips, her eyes searching as I squeeze her throat just enough to gauge her reaction. To see if she is who I think she is….

  She gasps, but her eyes close for a long moment and I feel her body melt. She likes this. Needs it.

  “That’s it, little one. I will decide if you get to breathe…”

  Chapter 7

  Chastity

  Diary Entry Two Years Prior…

  Dear Diary,

  All the girls at my school want boys their age. Not me. They’re gross.

  I wasn’t even sure what I wanted until I found that book in the bookstore yesterday. My stepmother was in the children’s section with my step-sister, I found it while poking through the romance section. “A Daddy for Penelope.”

  As I thumbed through, my heart was beating so fast. I snuck to the cash register and bought it before she could see… hiding it in my backpack. I stayed up until three in the morning reading it over and over then making sure I hid it really well.

  I know what I want. Not a boy.

  Someone I can call Daddy. Like Penelope in the book. It’s my own kind of fairy tale and it has to be a secret. Our secret. I know it’s wrong, but geez did it feel right.

  Okay, gotta go. Write more after school.

  xoxo

  * * *

  Jack bites my lower lip and I wince as it shoots delightful sparks down all the way to my toes.

  The possessiveness of his touch, the steel hold around my throat makes me feel imprisoned in his grasp, and I don’t want to be anywhere but here.

  His teeth move to my earlobe, biting again and I yelp but don’t pull away.

  His fingertips drag the V of my dress apart, exposing me. There’s no time for a reaction before he pushes his face between my breasts, licking, biting, sucking and the persistent ache between my legs blossoms into a painful throb.

  “Please…” I whimper shifting my hips, seeking more of whatever this is.

  My mind is spinning. When I close my eyes, bright sparks flash behind my lids.

  He shoves the fabric of my dress to the tops of my thighs.

  “Hold that there,” he orders as he strips himself of his jacket, laying it on the one kitchen chair next to the door, then yanks the drenched, darkened lace of my black panties aside and presses a finger to my opening.

  I grab the lavender hem of my dress and hold it, leaning back on my other hand. I'm so wet that the countertop is slick under me. His mouth drags over my tits as they fall over the scrunched-up fabric of my dress. His beard scratches, his mouth a warm, wet wonderland.

  His teeth clamp shut on a sharp bite. As I scream, caught by surprise then feeling his teeth glide graze off my nipple, making me feel so, so alive.

  “Owww,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “That hurts.”

  “I’m sure it does, and you just gushed all over my fingers.”

  He bites a large mouthful of the other breast. Something wild ignites inside of me.

  A moment later he’s growling and licking his way up my neck making me shiver.

  My pussy spasms around nothing. His finger brushes my opening, feeling a warm pool of my juice spilling out around his teasing digit.

  I gasp as a thick arm winds around my waist. His hand leaves my pussy and yanks my dress from where I’m holding it, then shoves a handful of the soft fabric down in the deepest part of the low V, like tying a t-shirt up in the summer. His hands shift lower and I feel his nails burn a path over my ass and thighs as he drags my panties down.

  A moment later, he has a fist gnarled in my hair. He yanks my face to his, so close the tip of my nose presses against his beard.

  Since I was young, I’ve always been the quiet, well-behaved daughter. First with my mother, who I adored. Then with my father, more so to skate underneath his resentful glare.

  Now? All the rebellion and wildness I didn’t know I had comes forward in a fury. All the fantasies I’ve hidden away for too long come roaring to life, and I’m on the razor’s edge of a wickedness that feels like waking up at home after a sad, scary dream.

  And all this with a man probably twice my age, who I met only hours ago…and yet, when he takes a seat on the stool in front of me and lowers his face, instead of shrinking away, I spread my knees wider…inviting everything he brings.

  “It’s a good fucking thing this pussy is legal.” Jack grits out as I clench my inner muscles in anticipation. “Because you’d have made me a felon tonight if it wasn’t.”

  He drops a hand to his lap as he grips the front of his black trousers, pumping his fist up and down a few times, and I want to see what’s behind that zipper. Something I’ve never felt before, a need to explore a man with my hands. My mouth. My eyes. My nose. I want to know him…ya know, Biblically.

  “This has to be the prettiest pussy on the planet.” The truth I hear in his words resonates deep inside me. “I think it needs some very special kisses. Would you like that, baby?”

  Hot sparks erupt deep in my center. Is he toying with me? Is my desperate desire to play out my Daddy fantasies so intense, Jack is absorbing it through some kind of magical, sexual osmosis?

  I nod. I’m not sure if this is real anymore or if the accident in the Uber knocked me unconscious and I’m going to wake up like Dorothy back in Kansas.

  “Good girl.”

  It’s the last thing I hear before Jack’s mouth plunges between my legs as the room starts to spin.

  He gives me a kiss, the flat of his tongue taking a long slow lick. Be
fore I can manage another breath, he yanks me up in his arms, and my legs flail in the air before I'm thrown on the couch, my head bouncing against the back cushion.

  My thighs are spread up and apart as he takes his point position on his knees.

  “Such a needly little cunt you have. I’m going to teach you so many wonderful things.”

  My hips churn upward, waiting for him to fulfill that dirty promise. My eyes snap open as I hear the unmistakable sound of him spitting then the sensation of his saliva dripping down over my clit.

  He runs the backs of his fingers along my hot opening. The sound of my wetness and the thrill of his touch are making me shake. It’s hard to keep my eyes open.

  “Shhh.” He slips his fingers over the swollen lips of my pussy. Leaning closer, he inhales, eyes closing for a long moment, then instantly his fingertips burnish my clit with a new ferocious, majestic pressure.

  I scream as the swirling waves in my core collect and tighten.

  His hands run over me, squeezing my breast so hard his fingernails cut into my skin. His lips graze the fine patch of hair above my pussy.

  I’m drowning in him. This man is everywhere. His beard scratches a path up to my neck, his lips leaving a delicate trail in their wake. My hips churn higher on instinct, rocking on him, welcoming him. I'm consumed with the urge to be stretched and hurt.

  His mouth consumes me again. Licking, sucking, pinching over and over. And God, I want more.

  He’s relentless, and I close my eyes to let the sensations own me.

  As my orgasm explodes, I hear Jack’s voice, sounding far away and yet inside me at the same time.

  “I swear, babygirl, I’ll take all your pain away—even if I’ve been the one to give it to you.”

  I'm in a daze. The stories I’ve told only to my diary come back in bursts. Could he be the man I’ve wished for?

  Could he be Daddy?

  I’ve already had to fight the urge to let the honorific seep from my lips. He’s pulling the deepest parts of me to the surface, and I want to make it real, but I have no idea what this is for him. I fight to keep my secret from slipping out, to keep from exposing the darkest parts of me to him, all the while inside my head my fantasies are playing in roaring, vivid technicolor.