CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tristan
Daisy has been curiously closed to me. Not physically, not like that. In bed she’s open, pussy creaming, available to me always, wet and sleek, nubile and beautiful. But mentally she’s closed, like she’s walled off a part of herself.
“What’s wrong baby?” I asked one day, trailing a finger along her curves.
“Nothing,” the woman murmured, eyes closed, lashes perfect half-moons against her cheek. We were still in the bedroom, sated in the aftermath of mind-blowing sex and Daisy was drowsy, hair spread over the pillow, damp and sexy still.
But I could tell something was different. Before, she used to confide in me, we’d have some pillow-talk before she wrapped herself around me and fell asleep. But now she never really wants to say anything, instead dozing off immediately, going silent, her breathing soft in the air.
What could it be? My mind immediately shot to pregnancy. We haven’t been using anything and even though I just got back from Europe, it was possible. Daisy was nineteen after all, nubile and fertile, it was totally possible because these things don’t take that much time.
But my instincts told me it was something else and despite my best efforts to get to the bottom of it, the girl was curiously evasive, smiling and putting me off.
“It’s your imagination,” she said, shooting me a sultry look.
“It’s not my imagination,” I grunted, untangling her arms from my neck. I was dead serious and wanted her to understand. “You’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” she protested, trying to get close to me again, trailing her foot over my calf, gently teasing. “Everything’s fine.”
But I shook my head. Everything wasn’t fine, something had been bothering her for the last two weeks and I was going to confront her about it, make her listen.
But it was hopeless. Daisy wouldn’t answer, merely smiling and coy, beckoning with her body once more. And like a lost man, I gave in, each and every time. Whenever I tried to ask, we ended up making love so hard, so thorough, that all thoughts flew out of my mind.
So finally, I asked her to join me at my office, maybe this way I could get some answers without falling into lust. So Daisy came to visit, striding through our lobby in a blue dress, confident and regal even at nineteen. Sure, tongues wagged, scandalized eyes trailed that curvy form, but I didn’t give a fuck and neither did she. I welcomed her into my private sanctuary, shutting the door behind her firmly, gesturing to the white couches in the sitting area.
“Little girl, how are you?” I began, seating myself across from her, casually handsome.
And I could tell something had changed because there was fire in her eyes.
“I’m good,” she said shortly, holding up her arm. “By the way, I bought something new.”
The diamonds on her wrist sparkled madly under the light, probably twenty carats in all. But it wasn’t the money that got me. It was the change. Before, Daisy had been careful, modest even, living in a shitty walk-up on the Lower East Side, buying just the bare minimum of clothes, regular stuff you could find anywhere. But clearly those days were gone because the female wasn’t holding back anymore. The woman now spent my money like it belonged to her, and of course it did. She was my woman and I took care of my own.
But it was the change in attitude that took me aback.
“I asked you here today because I wanted to talk to you about the future,” I began.
“Oh Tristan, you’re so silly,” she laughed. “The future? I just got over the past.”
I frowned for a moment.
“What the fuck?” I growled, brows lowering ominously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
And here, she sat upright, glaring at me again.
“You haven’t noticed that I’ve been avoiding you?” she asked archly. “That I avoid talking with you, confiding in you, that our relationship has been just physical?”
I glared right back at her.
“Of course I’ve noticed, that’s why you’re here,” I ground out.
“Well you don’t need to worry, Tristan, I’m all good,” she said carelessly, leaning back in her chair again, elegant and relaxed. “I’m all good,” she added again.
WTF? I had no idea where this conversation was going, where we were exactly. I was beyond confused, hopelessly lost, no idea what the hell was happening.
“Daisy,” I ground out, “I know you weren’t happy with my disappearance but as I explained, I had to wait until the time was right, I had to sell some assets first. It wouldn’t have worked for the publisher of family magazines to be involved with his ward. It wouldn’t have worked at all,” I stressed.
“Why not?” she asked, sticking her lip out.
This was what I hated most about the little girl. Daisy was smart but petulant at times, in need of a good spanking.
“Because I’m the publisher of Everyday Dads, for example,” I said exasperatedly. “Remember? If word got out that Mr. Marks was drilling his ward, we’d lose all our business. I mean, shit, a guardian drilling his ward? That’s the exact opposite of family values.”
“So?” asked Daisy pouting again. “So what’s wrong with a little scandal? You’re not exactly a saint,” she added unhelpfully.
I gave up then, sitting back in my chair with exasperation. I couldn’t get through to her, couldn’t get through that Marks Holdings was my baby, that I couldn’t jeopardize my empire carelessly, that there had to be a plan before I could reveal our relationship to the world. And so I sat back with defeat, giving up for the time being, instead choosing to focus on what we did have going.
“Lift up your dress,” I growled, piercing her with my stare. “Let Daddy see you.”
And suddenly we were speaking the same language again. It was baffling, how we couldn’t have even a five minute conversation about our relationship, but when it came to the physical, hell yeah, we were on the same page.
And with a giggle and sigh, Daisy scooted so that her ass perched at the edge of the couch, spreading her legs slowly while edging the fabric up, staring at me the whole time, fixing me with those big brown eyes.
Breathily she whispered, “Like this Daddy? Like this?” she asked, pulling up her skirt until her pussy lips were visible, gleaming and wet.
“I didn’t wear panties today, Daddy,” she whispered. “In fact, I never wear panties when I’m going to see you,” she said, slipping two fingers down to stroke lightly over her lips, massaging that pretty cunt.
And I couldn’t resist, I’ve never been able to resist my beautiful girl.
“Pull your twat apart,” I commanded, eyes fixed to her snatch, my dick already out and dripping. “Show me your clit, show Mr. Marks that hornyclit.”
And with a coy smile, Daisy pulled her lips apart to reveal the nub, her flesh stiff and aching, begging to be sucked and licked before I fucked her.
“You like, Daddy?” she giggled, wiggling a bit, boobies bouncing in the vee of her dress. “Is this what you wanted?” she repeated, and just like that I was on her, my dick in her, my cock making her moan, twist and sigh, impaled once again, both of us straining towards heaven. And fuck, but it was like lightning. I came once, twice, three times, the little girl milking every last drop from me, taking everything I had as she creamed lusciously on my pole, her little snatch pulsing and clamping because I was the first dick, the only dick she’d ever tasted.
But once it was all over, the shuttered look returned to Daisy’s eyes, her smiles sweet while giving away nothing. I watched silently as she straightened her clothes, pulling the blue dress back in place, rearranging her curves so that everything looked just right.
“We’re not done yet, Daisy,” I growled, my eyes glued to her frame, “I’m not done resolving whatever this shit is,” I threatened.
But Daisy wasn’t cowed.
“Okay Daddy,” she purred before tripping out the door. “Whatever you say.”
And I grunted,
exasperated again. On the one hand, I was proud of my girl, proud that she wasn’t afraid to be seen with me, striding through the office like she owned the place even as people whispered and gossiped about our illicit relationship.
But on the other hand, I had to admit I was worried. Sure Daisy and I were out in the open now, parading our connection to the world but there were more secrets inside … and secrets have a way of tearing you up and leaving you dead by the roadside.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Daisy
“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Echo,” I said to the doorman. He frowned at me, pompous and silly with a twirly moustache and pill box hat.
“Name?” he barked.
“Daisy Smith,” I said quietly, looking down. I didn’t have any fight in me anymore, my capitulation to Tristan had been so complete, so overwhelming, that I was a limp rag now. I’d let Mr. Marks use me like a fuck doll and loved every moment of it.
But today, I was in the foyer of Harvey Echo’s building. Our acquaintance had been random, our paths crossing during an open party he’d thrown in his penthouse.
“Come on!” some girls from school had giggled. “It’ll be fun, there’ll be so many hot people.”
And my curiosity was piqued because Harvey Echo is notorious as the founder of PrettyGirl magazine, a skin mag famed for its no-holds-barred poses. In the pages, women are giving it up every which way, the camera revealing glistening flesh, creamy spills, and sultry smiles all around. So yeah, we were expecting strippers, hos prancing around in platform heels, shaking their booties.
But the party was curiously tame. Not that there weren’t plenty of hot women, just that no one was in a hooker get-up. Instead, we all cuddled together in a screening room to watch a movie and munch on popcorn, dozens of women in tiny cocktail dresses with old Harvey in a robe.
And the geezer took a shine to me. After the movie ended, he came over to meet our little gaggle of girls, shaking our hands like an old-fashioned gentleman.
“And you are?” he asked courteously.
“Daisy Smith,” I responded, shooting him a wide smile, tossing a lock of hair over my shoulder. And believe it or not, we started talking about public interest law of all things. Turns out Mr. Echo got a law degree decades ago although he never used it, instead choosing to found the PrettyGirl empire. But he kept up with the bar, did some professional reading on occasion and was totally familiar with Legal Aid.
“Which division do you volunteer with?” he asked, taking a whiff from an old-fashioned pipe.
“Consumer debt,” I replied, biting my lip. It was already amazing that I was in Mr. Echo’s penthouse, much less having a conversation with the seventy year-old porn legend himself. “I mostly help old folks manage their finances. Sometimes they’re in big trouble.”
And Mr. Echo threw his head back, laughing heartily then.
“Maybe you could help me one of these days,” he said drolly, pulling at his greying beard. “I’m a member of the AARP, just turned seventy-two last May. You got any tips for me?”
And I blushed.
“Mr. Echo, you’re the head of an empire, you don’t need my help. The folks I work with, they’re in really bad financial shape, like really, really bad.”
And in front of the other girls, he took my hand and kissed it with a flourish, wizened lips dry against my skin.
“You let me know if I can assist in any way,” he said expansively. “The world has been good to me and I can afford to give back,” he added with a wink.
And I’d be a dunce if I didn’t follow up with Mr. Echo, he was a magnate with deep pockets and powerful connections. The man would be able to contribute to Legal Aid in some way, if only through a donation.
So we kept in touch, chatting once in a while, and over the course of a year he’s become a mentor of sorts. I know, it’s crazy right? Daisy Smith, college freshman, and Harvey Echo, legendary porn producer, best buddies. Except that it wasn’t so weird because we have a similar outlook on life that’s made for a real connection. And old dude’s never been a lech, he’s always been courteous, more like a father than anything. So yeah, I came to find Harvey when I was in the depths of despair.
“Come in,” gestured Mr. Echo. “Come in, come in.”
I tiptoed into the drawing room. Harvey lives in the penthouse apartment at the Time Warner Center and the room overlooked Central Park, its gracious lawns bordered by towering oaks, silvery statues gleaming in the afternoon light.
“Wow,” I whispered. I’d never get used to this view, it was so magnificent. But my heart was heavy and serious matters were in the air.
“Come my girl,” welcomed Harvey. “What brings you here today?”
“Well, I have something on my mind that I thought only you would understand,” I began slowly.
“Only me?” echoed Harvey, eyebrows raised. “My, my, sounds juicy, I can’t wait,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
And I launched into the story, slow at first but then picking up speed.
“And Tristan and I … we slept together,” I concluded, choking a little. “Are still sleeping together,” I amended.
Harvey said nothing at first, merely looking at me with appraising eyes, pale blue and cloudy with cataracts.
“Let me get this straight,” he paused for a moment. “You’re fucking Tristan Marks, head of Marks Holdings, who also happens to be your guardian?”
And I nodded miserably.
“Not exactly my guardian anymore,” I hesitated. “I aged out once I turned eighteen, but it’s wrong still because my mom asked him to take care of me. Don’t you think it’s wrong?” I asked plaintively.
A loaded silence.
“I dunno,” Harvey shrugged noncommittally. “Sounds like you’re having a good time, doesn’t sound so wrong to me.”
I was outraged, cheeks flushing pink, mouth hanging open.
“But, but …” I stammered.
“Hey, I’m the Czar of Porn,” the old man stated drolly, stroking his grey beard. “If two people are having fun and both are legal, I’m all for it.”
“But, but …,” I sputtered. This would never do. I needed to present myself like a real attorney, to advocate for my point of view. “I realize there’s nothing illegal. But still, don’t you think this is fucked up? I mean, he only wants me back now because it’s gonna help his business,” I spat the words. “Because it’ll make him money.”
Harvey leaned back in his chaise lounge.
“You think money’s bad?” he asked neutrally.
“No, I don’t!” I protested. “But I hate the fact that Tristan’s only decided to come back because he sold off some assets, so he doesn’t need to act the family man anymore. It’s fucking fucked up!” I raged. “It’s not fair! Our relationship shouldn’t depend on business!”
And Harvey nodded his head, thinking for a moment.
“Baby what do you think I do for a living?” he said, leaning back once more, relaxed in those striped pajamas.
“You’re the publisher of PrettyGirl,” I huffed impatiently. “Everyone knows that. This is your company, you’ve been in charge for fifty years.”
“That’s right,” nodded the old man sagely. “And you came to one of my pajama parties, you’ve met my girlfriends, plural. You think business doesn’t mix with pleasure?”
“Well, of course it does,” I protested. “But you’re you! I mean, you’re Harvey Echo, everyone knows what you do. You’re a porn legend, you’ve been doing this for years! Tristan should know better.”
Harvey just shook his head, taking another puff of his pipe.
“You young’uns are all the same,” he said drolly. “All the same, believing everything you see.”
“What,” I fumed. “Is this penthouse just a lie? Your girlfriends are just a lie? The pajama parties filled with cute girls a mirage?”
Surprisingly, Harvey nodded.
“It’s an image,” he said smoothly. “I keep up an image, just like Tristan
Marks, to help my business. You think a seventy-two year old geezer can keep up with three young blondes? You think I’m really doing girl after girl, night after night? Hell no, I’ve got arthritis, and frankly Mr. Happy just isn’t that interested anymore. So yeah, I mix business with pleasure.”
I stopped for a moment. So there was a mirage out there. Harvey had a public image that was totally different from his private.
“But you don’t let it impact your private life, do you?” I asked slowly. “Tell me you don’t, Harvey.”
The old man took a deep breath, eyes faraway before turning back to me.
“The fact is honey, it has,” he said brusquely. “This shit gets to you and I can’t maintain a normal relationship. Haven’t had one since I was thirty-five, so yeah, what you’re asking is a complicated question. You don’t want Tristan to be motivated by his business, but when you’ve grown a company for years, it becomes a part of you. You can no more separate the man from his baby than you could ask him to tear his own heart out.”
That frazzled me.
“But what do I do?” I asked in an urgent voice. “What do I do? He only wants me because it’s good for his business now.”
And there, Harvey interrupted.
“I dunno if it’s only good for his business,” he said wryly. “Sounds like there’s a lot more to this than business, a helluva lot more. So why don’t you ask him? Why don’t you get him to tell you what this is all about.”
And I flushed, remembering how Tristan had called me to his office. The big man had been trying to have a real conversation with me, to tell me what was in his heart, but I’d brushed it off with a light laugh, a wave of my hand, seducing him with my body instead. So I hung my head.
“Maybe I will,” I said in a low voice. “Maybe I will.”
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring: The Filthy Wrestling Club Page 58
