by Jane Henry
“Unfortunately, Mr. Morrow is very busy with his many enterprises and hasn’t time for dating. Thus, he’s been unable to find a suitable woman to share his life with.”
“I hear that,” I sigh, thinking of my previous year-long dry spell.
“Okay? Anyway, he’s paying her a visit for her birthday. And he’d like to ease her mind. Though Mr. Morrow is very clear that he dislikes dishonesty, he feels it may be worth pulling a bit of a ruse in order to bring his grandmother happiness.”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t see where I fit into this equation—”
“He’d like you to accompany him. As his fake fiancée.”
Her words ring in my mind, momentarily stunning me. I think of the tall, confident beauties that streamed through the halls of the casino last night. Anyone of them would do a fantastic job with their elegant manners, their poise. “He wants… me?”
“Yes. The trip will be two weeks. All of your expenses will be paid, your clothing provided, your meals taken care of. You will first arrive at Mr. Morrow’s penthouse for a few days to get more acquainted with him before the trip.”
I think of his big hands on my body, the orgasms that racked my soul. “And… what about sex?”
“I’ll leave that up to you two to discuss. Then we can amend the contract as we see fit. But for the trip, he’s offering two hundred thousand dollars. Half up front to be transferred directly into your bank account. The other half to be sent at the completion of the trip.”
Two. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars.
The most zeroes my bank account has ever seen is three. And that’s after an advance—one that disappears within a few weeks. “That’s… generous of him.”
She moves on to her next point. “It’s a small town. Conservative. Old fashioned. You’ll need to… blend in.”
“No problem.” I’m from a one stoplight town where nothing exciting ever happened and you called people ma’am and sir. Though I can’t picture Darius in a place called Peach Orchard, I’ll fit in just fine.
“Do we have an agreement?”
The answer leaves my mouth before I have a chance to think it over and make a responsible decision. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. The car will be there in an hour to collect you. Pack light. Everything will be chosen for you and prepared for your arrival.”
“An hour?”
“Is that a problem?”
Thanks to my introverted lifestyle, my calendar is completely blank, save for a dental cleaning next month. “Uh, no. I’ll just move a few things around—”
“Good. He’ll see you then.” The line dies.
I squash my face down into my pillow, muffling my scream, my feet kicking the bed with joy.
I’m suddenly filthy rich. And less than forty-eight hours after meeting him, I get to see him again.
My very own daddy dom.
Chapter 6
Darius
I pace in front of the window that overlooks the pools, as if somehow, I’ll conjure her up out of the sea of people below. Yesterday morning, I paid her and sent her home, but no sooner had the door clicked behind her than I regretted letting her go.
It’s a mistake I won’t make again.
I look at the horde of people below, but it’s no use. Even if she were one of the nameless, faceless dots, I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
After one sleepless night without her, I swallowed my pride and called Sugar Daddies.
Miranda said she’d be here this afternoon, and I will not fuck this up.
I’m down the hallway to the elevator before I know what I’m doing. The mirrored elevator shows me wide-eyed and desperate, and is my hair sticking up? Jesus. That woman has made me lose my mind. This isn’t me. This isn’t how I am.
I run my fingers through my hair, just as the elevator door slides open.
“Mr. Morrow. Where to, sir?”
“Parking lot, please.”
I don’t want anyone’s eyes on her but mine. I don’t want anyone’s hands on her but mine. I will pay whatever I have to so she doesn’t leave my side for the next two weeks.
“Parking lot, sir?” I have my personal lot, but never venture to the public ones.
“Yes,” I snap. I’m so on fucking edge. “Parking lot.”
“Right away, sir.”
I tap my foot impatiently and glance at my watch on the way down.
“When was this elevator last serviced?” I ask. This is taking way too long.
He blinks. “Last month, sir. They are the most efficient in the country, sir.”
I don’t reply but only clench my jaw and watch the numbers descend.
When I exit the elevator, I can feel the eyes of others on me. Curious. Nosy. I walk straight to the entryway to the parking lot and call the driver I assigned to Katie.
“Sir?”
“Meet me at the first bay.”
“Certainly. We’re ten minutes away.”
I have no plans for when I see her, other than to take her by the hand and lead her back to my room. I still can’t believe I let her slip out of my fingers.
Who am I kidding?
I have plans for her for days.
What am I doing?
I look around me at the opulence. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I own this, that it’s all mine. I grew up with such humble means, it feels a little surreal, even now. Lights glimmer in the distance, strains of music filter through speakers, and all around me are the sounds of high heels clicking, murmurs of conversation, the energy I’ve come to love that’s the heart of the city that never sleeps.
And a part of me wonders if the reason I love this city life is because it’s in such sharp contrast to the world I was born into. I can still see the small, rundown farmhouse I grew up in, the acres of land fenced in with the rickety, handmade railing that was my job to repair and maintain, the large, wide-opened space where I first learned I could control the trajectory of my life.
I trained hard on that field. I ran until I collapsed on the sweet, lush green grass. I worked the crops and honed my muscles, and by my senior year in high school, I towered above everyone, earning the respect of my peers and a free ticket to Notre Dame. I studied by the low, dim, yellow light of my grandmother’s ancient lamp and aced my classes. Moving to college, pursuing collegiate football, it was my first taste of success. My first taste of something bigger than small town life.
My reminiscing comes to a screeching halt when I see the limo pull up. My heartbeat races like it hasn’t in years. I’ve been with women. Hell, I can have any woman I want, and have. But somehow, knowing I can have anything I want makes me feel empty inside.
And the truth is? I don’t want just any woman. I want her.
The car cruises to a stop, and the driver gets out. He nods respectfully to me, quickly walking to open the door for Katie. I don’t even breathe when the door glides open, and she exits, stepping into the overhead lighting, blinking against its brightness.
“Oh!” she says when her eyes come to me. “You’re here!” Her face lights up with a smile so bright, it makes my heart ache. I can’t put my finger on why I’m so enamored with her. It isn’t just those beautiful eyes framed with impossibly long lashes, the pouty red lips, or her perfect, curvy little body, but more. So much more.
“Of course I’m here,” I say with a smile I feel down to my toes. “I missed you.”
My stomach clenches. I didn’t mean to say that.
I walk over to her and reach for her hand. She reaches back.
“Did you?” she asks, her head tipped to the side. “I’m glad, because I missed you too.” She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. I swear to God if I had a ring in my pocket, I’d drop to one knee right here, right now.
I am losing my goddamn mind.
I cup the back of her head and press my lips to her cheek for a brief, chaste kiss. She smells like sunshine and roses and violets, all wrapped up in a bundle. “Let’s get your things and go upstai
rs.”
“Oh,” she says, flushing pink. “I, um, maybe brought a few things.”
“Good. I’ll have someone bring them up.”
Why does she look so embarrassed?
I signal a bellhop to bring a trolley to us, while the driver opens the car and extracts her belongings. I feel my lips curl up in a smile, but I try to school my expression. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her, but God is she adorable.
She’s got a large, faded pink duffle bag with a broken zipper stuffed so full of things it’s nearly bursting at the seams, two enormous tote bags overflowing with clothes and shoes, several pillows tied with…string? She watches them loading her possessions on the trolley, but when they take a quilted backpack with frayed edges out, she holds up her hand.
“Stop!” I look at her in surprise, and she flushes brighter pink. She clears her throat and lifts her head. “I’ll take that personally, please,” she says with dignity.
She holds something precious in that bag. I wonder what it is.
They hand the bag to her politely, but I intercept and take it myself.
“I’ll get that.”
“You really don’t have to,” she protests.
I shake my head and whisper in her ear, “This is exactly what a daddy’s supposed to do.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening. “Well, in that case… have at it, big guy.”
I chuckle, take the bag, and swing it onto my shoulder. Something hard bumps against my back. Is that a… laptop? Holding hands, we walk inside. She peppers me with questions along the way.
“Is that a fountain made of champagne?”
“It is.”
“Do people drink it?”
“Of course. Would be wasteful otherwise, wouldn’t it?”
She nods. “Yes, of course. Ohhh, is that fondue? Next to the champagne? Like… a fountain of chocolate?”
My lips tip up. “It is.”
“That’s like a dream of mine,” she murmurs. “Liquid chocolate.”
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What do you dip in it?” she asks.
I chuckle. “Anything you want.”
She gives me a sly, coy look. “Anything?”
We pause beside the fountain of chocolate. I reach and grab a skewer, pierce a ripe, lush strawberry, and dip the tip into the melted stream of chocolate. I hand it to her. “Yes, babygirl,” I say. “Anything.”
I hand her the strawberry, my mind going a mile a minute with thoughts of what I can do to her when I have her alone.
She takes the chocolate-covered berry eagerly, bites it, and moans as her eyes roll back in her head. “Before you, I’d been living off of noodles,” she says. “You make my belly very happy.”
Living off of noodles? Maybe she does need a keeper.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“We’ll order room service upstairs.”
She nods, but a look of concern passes over her features. “Does that come out of my pay?”
My chest tightens. She’s so used to pinching her pennies, she’s concerned, I remind myself, but I don’t want to talk about our agreement out here in the open.
“Of course not.”
She flushes, but only nods her head. “Okay.”
I whisper in her ear again. “Does daddy need to remind you of the correct response, little one?”
“Oooh,” she whispers. “I like that. No, daddy, I’ll remember.”
She oohs at the light show in the lobby and ahhhs at the waterfall by the escalator. I lead her past the entrance to the shops, past the displays of jewelry and silk scarves, and I make a mental note to take her here in the morning and let her do some shopping, spoil her as she deserves. We go to the very back where uniformed guards await.
“Where are we going?” she asks when I take her to the private entrance at the back of the hotel.
“Upstairs, of course. We need to get you situated and discuss the…” I hesitate to say it out loud. “Terms of our agreement,” I finish.
“Right, yes,” she says. She takes everything in with wide eyes until the mirrored doors to the elevator slides open, and we enter.
When the doors shut, she lets out an enormous sigh.
“You alright, Katie?”
I don’t miss how her grip on my hand tightens. She nods. “Just a little tired, a little hungry, and a lot overwhelmed.”
I want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her to me. I want to hold her so tight she never feels like she has to leave again.
Officially. Crazy.
I have to be careful I don’t let my imagination run away with me. I’m not usually like this. I’m usually much better at schooling my thoughts and staying pragmatic, facing what I need to with pragmatic determination. What is it about her that’s got me questioning everything?
We both sigh in relief when the elevator doors open to the penthouse. She looks at me and smiles.
“Are you tired, hungry, and overwhelmed too?”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Maybe a little.”
“Wow,” she says, when I open the door to the penthouse. “How did they get my things up here so quickly?” I place her bag that I’m carrying on the pile.
“Magic.”
She laughs out loud, and a strange sense of pride fills me. I made her do that.
I want to make her laugh, make her moan, make her throw back her head and scream. There are so many things I want to do to her, I’m not sure two weeks are enough.
She collapses on one of the large sofas, kicks off her shoes, and puts her feet up. “Wow,” she says with a yawn. “I can’t believe it’s only been a day since I’ve been in here.” She yawns again. “It’s been a long day.”
Then she sits up straighter and gives me a sober look. “Though I know our night is just beginning.”
Does she think the two weeks with me is only to serve me sexually? There’s so much more I have in mind. So much more.
“Relax,” I tell her. I sit beside her on the couch and take her feet on my lap. I massage my thumb in circles on the bottom of her foot, and she moans.
“My God, you’re good at that,” she whispers in a strained voice. She lies back on a pile of pillows.
“Have you ever had a massage?”
She shakes her head. “Unless the battery-operated ones count, no.”
I glide one hand up her thigh and rest it there. “Are you a fan of battery-operated tools?” That gives me an idea for later. A little game we can play.
She flushes bright pink but rolls with it. She winks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I chuckle at that. “So that’s what’s so important in that bag you wanted to carry?”
“Nope. That’s my laptop.”
“Ahh. What do you do for work?”
She bites her lip and doesn’t answer at first. Then she gives a little laugh. “I’m an escort,” she says. “Did you forget so quickly?”
“Ahhh,” I say, massaging her second foot. “But I already figured out this is your first gig. Did you forget so quickly?”
“It’s my job now!” she says in a singsong voice.
I’ll let her drop it for now. “You need some food. What would you like?”
“I’m not quite ready to eat yet,” she says. “I’m a little nervous, but that’s very generous of you to offer. Careful, Daddy,” she says with a fetching wink. “You could spoil a girl like this.”
“I have every intention of doing precisely that.”
“Spoiling me? But I thought you wanted me to behave myself?”
“I do. I will spoil you while you’re here with me.” So you never want to leave. Arousal thrums through me. “And when you’re naughty, I’ll punish you.”
She nods. “And are those the terms of our agreement?”
“Partly.” I pull up the agreement and hand her the phone again. “These are the guidelines. Very basic long-term escort ag
reement Miss Miranda typically provides.”
Her lips turn down as she reads it. Something she doesn’t like?
“This looks good,” she says. “The only part I have questions about is the birth control. It makes sense that you’d want me tested and on birth control while I’m with you.” She bites her lip. “But how quickly will that happen?”
“Tomorrow. I have a team of doctors who do house calls.”
She laughs. “Of course you do.” But there’s still a hesitation in her laugh, something that’s bothering her.
“Katie,” I say warningly. She’s holding something back from me. “Something in the agreement bothering you?”
“Actually, no,” she says, and if I’m reading her correctly, she’s telling me the truth. “Not at all. I think this sounds fine, and is pretty much what I expected.”
I reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Then why the frown?”
“Did I frown?”
She has no idea how transparent she is, how easy it is to read her.
“You did, just when I handed you my phone.”
I massage her foot again and love the way a tremor courses through her at my touch.
“Ooohhh,” she finally says. “No, it wasn’t the agreement. It was because you told me it was a typical contract given by Miss Miranda. And I… wondered how many contracts you’ve had before.”
Ahh. Jealousy, then.
I like that.
“You’re the first.”
She gives me an apprehensive look. “Really, Darius? Are you telling me the truth?”
“Of course. I don’t lie. I know the terms of her agreements because we’ve discussed them before. Don’t forget, I own this place. It’s in my best interest to ensure that terms are followed carefully and safely.”
She grins. “I like that.”
I grin back. “And I like you.”
“You are a shameless flirt, sir.”
My hand travels from her ankle higher, to her calf, then higher still, so my palm rests on her thigh and my thumb is only inches from her pussy.
“Among other things.”
She trembles, and I swear she’s holding her breath as I trace circles on the uppermost part of her thigh with the pad of my thumb.
