by Maren Smith
Wanting to buy myself some time, I dropped my stuffie, ran to the changing table, and opened one of the drawers underneath it. Quickly, I scooped up a bundle of clothes and tossed it under the comforter of Bryice’s bed. Pulling the cover over it made it appear like someone was hiding there. My captor would hopefully search there first.
Grabbing a knife from the kitchenette, I snagged Miss Violet from the floor, hugging her in the crook of my arm, and dashed into the bathroom. I hid in the small room where the toilet was, holding the knife in my shaking hand. I had never been one for violence, and the thought of having to use this against my captor made me sick to my stomach. But I couldn’t be taken away from Daddy.
There was another loud bang, and I imagined it was from the door being opened so fast, it hit the wall.
“Oh, Elaraian, where are you?” A deep voice filled the room. He chuckled mockingly. “Hmm, where could she be?”
I held my breath; fearful he would find my true hiding place.
“I’ve heard the stories of Elaraians being treated like younglings until they adjust to the added gravity on this planet, but I didn’t believe it to be true. Who in their right mind would want to be treated like this? There are other ways you could deal with your symptoms than acting like a baby.”
Come on, Daddy. I need you, I thought as I heard the attacker shuffling around in the room.
“One thing’s for sure about you, missy. Your mind truly has degraded if you think a cover will protect you.” A moment later, a loud growl filled the room. “Well played, you little brat. You might’ve been able to fool me once, but there’s nowhere for you to run and no one who can protect you. You’re mine.”
The first sounds of his boots on the tile filled the quiet bathroom. He was going to find where I was. I had two choices: hide or stand up to this bully.
With a courage I hadn’t realized I possessed, I came out of my hiding place and faced the creature. His beady red eyes narrowed as he stood about ten feet away from me. His skin was the same color as his eyes, and his black hair was slicked back. Instinctively I knew this was the monster who had tried to buy me at the auction.
“You’re wrong, Liborth. I’m not yours, and I never will be.” My grip on the knife and Miss Violet tightened.
He had the nerve to laugh. “Yes, you are. I had the highest actual bid at the auction. Your Kaibosian daddy stole you from me. There are rules to these things and, unless the galactic senate says otherwise, you’re coming home with me.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he said and took a step forward, revealing his fangs. “You’re nothing but a stupid Elaraian who pretends to be a little girl, and you’ll do what I say or else I’ll suck all the blood from your veins right here.”
His comment made me feel enraged like never before. Yes, a part of me enjoyed being taken care of and regressing to a child, but that wasn’t the only part of me. I also was a scientist who had a perfect 4.0 GPA in grad school, a submissive who enjoyed pleasing her Dom, a best friend who enjoyed watching corny movies and drinking wine with her bestie, and a woman who was no longer going to let this creature intimidate me.
“I am a little girl, but I’m so much more than that. Why don’t you come here and let me show you?” I held up the knife. With every fiber of my being, I was ready to use it.
“Suit yourself,” he said, hunching downward as if ready to leap into the air and attack me. However, he never got a chance. A loud roar filled the room, and my daddy appeared behind the Liborth. He picked him up and tossed him out the door.
“You will never touch her,” he screamed as he followed after him and began to beat the crap out of him.
“Bryice, don’t kill him,” another Kaibosian soldier shouted as he grabbed my daddy by the shoulder to try and hold him back.
Quickly, more men came into the room, and I took a few steps backward, not wanting to be seen.
As if matters couldn’t get any worse, I felt the oh so familiar warmth spread throughout my crotch. “Oh, come on,” I muttered to myself.
Bryice must’ve heard my voice because his head whipped back toward me. His fist was bloody from the pounding he had given my would-be kidnapper. He stood and stalked toward me.
“Hannah, are you okay?”
“Yes. We’re both fine,” I answered, squeezing Miss Violet close to me.
“You’re holding a knife,” Daddy said, looking from me to the object in my hand. “You know the rules about that.”
“Considering the circumstances, I thought we could make an exception,” I said, shrugging and placing the item on the counter. Now that the danger was over, I was happy to not have to touch it again.
He chuckled. “I’ll think about it. Come here.” He opened his arms, and I didn’t need any further invitation. I went into his embrace and pressed my ear against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.
Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths, thanking God everything had turned out all right for both of us. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of us in our tiny space and there weren’t over a dozen men and a moaning monster in the main room.
“It’s over, sweetheart.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, leaning my head back to smile back at him. We could finally have our happily ever after.
“Bryice, we’re all done with Tanr. Do you want us to help clean up?” one of the soldiers asked, popping his head into the bathroom.
“No. I’ll take care of everything. Thanks, Jayx.”
He nodded, and I gave him a small wave and smile as I tried to also hide as much of my body and Miss Violet as I could behind Daddy. I was glad I got to meet one of Bryice’s friends, but I didn’t want them to see me like this.
“Call if you need anything,” Jayx said.
The sounds of shuffling feet filled the room until the door closed and it was just Daddy and me..
“Come on, sweetheart. You need a change and then I want to feed you a bottle and cuddle with you on the rocking chair. I need to be close to you right now.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” I said, happily wrapping my arms around his neck as he picked me up ready to take care of me like the awesome daddy he was.
The End
For more by Meredith O’Reilly, please click here.
Daddy’s Office Temp-Tation
Aubrey Cara
About the Author
Author of kinky characters, life enthusiast, and supporter of afternoon naps. Aubrey Cara enjoys long walks in the park, trying to master hula hooping while sky diving, and writing about the dirty, sexy kind of love that is as rare and beautiful as the Cebu flowerpecker.
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Copyright © 2020 by Aubrey Cara and Red Hot Romance, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, locales, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Hayden
Snip. Snip. Snip.
My scissors chop off another rose blossom with a satisfying snip. Liam can take his dozen roses and shove them up his—
“Did something happen between you and Liam, dear?” My mother arches a brow as she walks into the kitchen to refill her coffee.
“You could say that. Something happened between him and Kelsey behind Richmond Hall. That’s what happened.” I snip another rose blossom off.
You know the saying nice guys finish last? Well, turns out nice girls also finish last. Or at least they get screwed over the hardest.
That conniving bitch, Kelsey Moorhouse managed to steal my internship right from under me and then my boyfriend.
What are friends for
?
Conniving, backstabbing, bee-och! She wouldn’t have even known about the internship if it weren’t for me. And I know she blew that skeevy jackass, hiring director Jake Mueller to get my spot. I’d gotten the acceptance email one day and the next told they’d made an error. And guess who came bouncing in that very day with her exciting news?
She always did have an unhealthy competitive streak.
But why Liam? He’s not even her type. What the hell did I ever do to her?
And dickhead Liam sent flowers to apologize along with dozens of texts.
Him: I’m so sorry, bb.
Him: U’ve been so busy.
Him: I had a weak moment.
Weak moment my ass.
Excuse me for being busy finishing my degree a semester early!
Him: Pls forgive me.
Don’t forget my favorite: She came onto me.
My phone pings again and I fight the urge to chuck it across the room.
“Screw him.” Snip. “And screw antiquated Hallmark holidays.” Snip.
“Well now—” my mother starts in. She’s a history professor who has been reciting the story of Father Valentine and his patriarchal yet sympathetic marriage agenda since I was little.
“Mom, not right now. I implore you.”
“Sure, hun. I’m sorry. I actually need you to do me a solid.”
“Mom, please do not use slang. It hurts my soul.”
“Fine. I need a favor.” She picks some official looking manila envelopes off the counter, and drops them on top of my rose massacre.
“Could you run these over to Richard’s office? We’re updating our will and testament now that you’re graduating college. Oh, and why don’t you take a copy of your resume?”
“Richard Hamilton?” I ask in a squeek, my throat suddenly growing too tight for proper air flow.
“Is there another Richard who would be filing our legal paperwork?” My mom had already busied herself with mixing stevia and a splash of cream into her coffee, so she doesn’t witness my cringeworthy blush.
I quite literally threw myself at my father’s longtime friend and lawyer, Richard Hamilton, the year I turned eighteen, exactly two weeks before I started college. We’re talking lingerie, more flower petals then the ones piled on the counter and me spread out on his bed waiting for him.
I’m not sure what I had been thinking. I grew up calling him Uncle Dickie, for god sakes. Sure, he’s good looking, but old. Older than my own father.
I blame teenage hormones.
And a long-time infatuation with his youngest son, Teddy, who’d been the godlike older boy next door while I was growing up.
Displaced infatuation is a thing, right?
When Richard had found me in his room, he’d not been alone. Or pleased to see me. Nor was his supermodel looking girlfriend. And thus, began the most humiliating night of my life.
Uncle Dickie has been cordial ever since “the incident.” I’ve avoided him like the plague. Which hasn’t been super easy since he lives three houses down and is literally at every party and get together my parents manage to drag me to. It’s been slightly easier the past three and half years since I’ve been mostly living at the Theta Gamma Nu house near campus, but I moved out after the Kelsey-Liam debacle.
There’s no reason for me to be on campus, anyway. I finished my course work and classes the first week of January, a full semester early, so technically I’ve already graduated. I’ll walk with my classmates in the spring, but I’m done.
And living back home…
“Why can’t Braydon do it?” I ask.
“Your brother is off car privileges for the foreseeable future.”
Damn Bray. He’s seventeen and going through a rebel without a cause phase. Normally I wouldn’t care what stupid things he’s done, but I really, really, really don’t want to be forced to see Uncle Dickie. “And why can’t you take them?” I argue.
“Staff meeting on campus about next year’s budget. Besides, this is a good opportunity to try to see if they have any job openings.”
“I have a degree in broadcasting. Why would I work at a law firm?”
“You’re done with classes and you have nothing lined up. Besides, you did a junior internship there the summer before you started college and loved it.”
Yeah, I loved it before I humiliated myself. That internship was the beginning of the end for me. I huff, rolling my eyes, and this my mother catches.
“What’s your deal, Haydie? You used to love Dick. Hero worshipped him, but the last couple of years…” My mom trails off like something just occurred to her. Her eyes go wide. “Oh god, he didn’t try anything with you, did he? Touch you? Make an inappropriate pass?”
“Ugh, mom, no!” Nope, that had been me. I’m the inappropriate one. I’d thought he’d been flirting. Making passes. He’d just been nice, and apparently, I took nice for him wanting me to blow him. Which he didn’t.
“Well, he does date girls young enough to be his daughter,” my mother chides.
“Mom.”
“And it’s no secret that he was philandering behind poor Cassandra’s back nearly their entire marriage. Apparently, the divorce was a nasty one, and his boys took their mother’s side. That’s why we never see Teddy and Wesley at club events.”
That I didn’t know. Maybe I should be glad I dodged a bullet and hadn’t given him my flower.
“He never hit on me, or touched me, mom. I just don’t want to go out today.” Partially true. Today is Valentine’s Day. I really don’t want to go swim through the sea of heart shaped balloons, pink and red everything, and couples in love. Which are sure to be everywhere given my state of misery. Yak.
“That’s good, hun. I’m glad. If he weren’t your father's friend… well, no matter. I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone nice while you’re in the city. Or get a job.” The last rather pointed jab stings. I just moved back home. Jeez. Am I not allowed to have any kind of break after busting my ass for three and a half years?
“I took the liberty of printing out your resume.”
Of course she did.
This has all been a set up.
“You know, people email those these days, mom.”
“Unless they’re going to show up in person. Which you are. Make sure to put on something nice before you go.” She gives my outfit a judgmental once over as if I would go downtown wearing yoga pants, an oversized slouch tee, fuzzy socks, and my hair in a messy bun.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Other than it’s an outfit more befitting crying into a carton of ice cream at three am. Which I did last night.
“Wear what you’d like, dear. Love you,” she sing-songs out the door.
Right.
Richard Hamilton’s office is situated on the 18th floor of a high rise. Starsky, Hamilton & Waterington is scrolled in gold across the front of a Starship Enterprise looking reception desk. Dickie isn’t an estate attorney. His firm is one of the most celebrated in family law. By most celebrated, I mean they have the wealthiest clientele. Old money and celebrities alike use his firm, and his lobby shows it.
My heels click-clack on the marble floor. And yes, I might have changed into something more befitting a night on the town than a mid-day mail run. My mother did say to put on something nice. It’s not too extra. I would have worn the same had I been meeting my gran at the country club.
Okay, maybe not the black skirt that rests a little too high on my thighs to be appropriate. Or my strappy black fuck-me heels.
But this coral and fuchsia long-sleeved backless blouse? Totally. This I would pair with white shorts and sandals or my cute wedge heel and… shit. That is what I should’ve worn. I look ridiculous. Well, ridiculously hot.
Too hot.
Grasping.
“May I help you?” the middle-aged woman at the desk asks, cutting off my mental spiral into the dark pits of inadequacy.
I’d like to tell her there
is no help for me, but she sits, spine straight, shoulders back, staring at me expectantly. “I just have papers to drop off for Mr. Hamilton.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“I’m not sure…” My mother never mentioned she’d called ahead. Maybe I can get away with dropping them off. I’m nearly dizzy with relief. “I’d be happy to leave them with you, or his assistant.” With a big smile, I move to hand my parents’ papers over.
Before Ms. Sally Straight Back can take my burden, someone says my name. Sally’s hand retracts, her focus shifting to someone just past my right shoulder.
“Hayden Parkhurst?” he says again.
Goosebumps. The way he says my name gives me goosebumps.
Tingles of awareness trace up my spine as I turn and look up at the velvety male voice, and into a pair of whiskey colored eyes.
Theodore Hamilton. Aka, Teddy, Richard's youngest son, and my childhood crush. He has to be, what, thirty-four, thirty-five now?
His hair is a rich, wavy chestnut, where his father’s is black. His features are chiseled perfection, but again, so different from his father. Teddy still carries vestiges of his prep school days on the Harvard row team. Broad shoulders, trim physique... I had the charity calendar of him and his shirtless teammates up in my room when I was twelve. They all held armfuls of rescued kittens and puppies.
It was the first image I ever touched myself to.
There’s still a glimmer of the happy young man who laughingly smiled for the camera, but his features have changed since then. Aged. Hardened.
Urban sophistication has eclipsed any signs of his carefree youth.
He fills out a crisp navy suit nicely, if not a little too snug in the thigh area. My cheeks warm, because other than touching myself to pictures of him, I recall all the reasons why I was so captivated by Teddy Hamilton.
