Mommy's Landlord

by S. E. Law

  Mommy’s Landlord

  A Forbidden Older Man Younger Woman Romance

  S.E. Law

  Copyright © 2019 by S.E. Law

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by S.E. Law

  Forbidden Fantasies

  My Fiance’s Dad

  Trailer Park Daddy

  While He Watches

  Her Secret Baby

  The Clients

  Hunger

  My Dad’s Best Friend

  My Best Friend’s Dad

  Trapped By My Boss

  Pregnant By The Doctor

  Pregnant By The Alpha

  Making His Baby

  First Time Escort

  First Time Menage

  My Roommate’s Dad

  Sweet Treats

  His Candy Cane

  Her Juicy Cherry

  Her Honey Pot

  Second Helpings

  Sugar Walls

  Please and Tease

  Forbidden Fruit

  Band of Brothers

  Her Italian Wedding

  Double XL

  The Boyfriend Diaries

  Mommy’s Ex

  Mommy’s Boss

  Mommy’s Landlord

  Daddy’s Christmas Gift

  Daddy’s Holiday Baby

  Daddy’s Love Child

  Made for Them

  Built For Them

  Sugar and Spice

  The Naughty Party

  Blackmail Fantasies

  Blackmailing My Dad’s Best Friend

  Blackmailed By My Dad’s Boss

  Blackmailed In The Boudoir

  Blackmailed By My Teacher

  Irresistible Bachelors

  Sweet as Candy

  Must Be Love

  Meant To Be

  Standalones

  You’re Mine

  Boss of My Panties

  Naughty Relations

  About My Daddies

  About Last Night

  About This Morning

  About That Evening

  Playing with Them

  Playing with the Doctors

  Playing with the Criminals

  Playing with her Priests

  Healing Hands

  Dr. Feelgood

  Dr. Man Candy

  Subscribe Now

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  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Katie

  2. Katie

  3. Xavier

  4. Katie

  5. Xavier

  6. Katie

  7. Xavier

  8. Katie

  9. Katie

  10. Xavier

  11. Katie

  12. Xavier

  13. Katie

  14. Katie

  15. Katie

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Mommy’s Boss

  Sneak Peek: First Time Escort

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Xavier Carlton is my mom’s gorgeous landlord. He’s growly, handsome, and sooo delicious. But he’s going to kick my mom out of her apartment unless I call him Daddy.

  * * *

  My mom has never been great at paying bills. She’s not poor, she’s just forgetful sometimes.

  * * *

  So when she tells me that Mr. Carlton wants her out, I get angry.

  * * *

  Who does this man think he is?

  * * *

  Sure, Xavier Carlton has more money than God, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like a tyrant.

  * * *

  So I storm into his office…

  * * *

  His blue eyes seize mine …

  * * *

  … and suddenly, I realize I’m in over my head.

  * * *

  Because when he rises from behind his desk, he has a very special present for me!

  * * *

  But then, Mr. Carlton takes me by surprise because he says I can do something special to qualify for a one-time rent break.

  * * *

  But am I willing to take the chance when it involves calling the handsome man DADDY?

  * * *

  This short story is a forbidden, sweet and steamy story filled with an OVER THE TOP alpha male and a sassy, feisty girl with a strong will. Katie likes lollipops and Xavier Carlton likes showing her how the enjoy the tantalizing candy. Warning: light DD/lg age play ahead. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA for my readers.

  1

  Katie

  I let myself into my mom’s apartment. It’s a nice place, and very homey and comfortable. The carpet is the same brown shag that’s been there for years, and our old kitchen greets me.

  “Hey Mom!” I call out. “I’m here. I have your cupcakes for you.”

  Dinah calls out from the back somewhere.

  “Thanks sweetheart. Can you just put them down for me on the counter? I’ll be right out in a minute.”

  I make a face and slowly unload the tray of cupcakes I have on hand. There’s a huge batch of them, all from Lovely’s Lane downtown. There’s chocolate, hazelnut, chocolate with hazelnut spread, hazelnut with chocolate frosting, as well as specialty flavors like pumpkin spice, cinnamon mocha, and their most recent concoction called Turkey Gobbler. Don’t ask me what that one’s about. I guess in anticipation of Thanksgiving, Lovely’s Lane created a special flavor. While it sounds disgusting to me, it must be selling like hotcakes because this cupcake was the last one left.

  “Hi honey,” sings my mom as she breezes into the utilitarian kitchen. “Thank you so much for bringing these over. Oh, what’s this? Let me try,” she says, swiping the Turkey Gobbler cupcake. Before I can say anything, she takes a bite and then makes a face before spitting out a mouthful of gooey brown and white cream.

  “Uck, that was awful!” she coughs into a napkin. “What was in that?”

  “I would have warned you, Mom, but it’s too late now. That one is called Turkey Gobbler and it’s Lovely’s holiday special. That bad, huh?”

  My mom squinches her eyes shut and reaches for a glass of water like a dying woman.

  “It was worse than bad. It tasted like turkey private parts mixed with avian sweat and dirty feet.”

  I make a face too, as I try to quell my heaving stomach.

  “That sounds gross, but that flavor must be really popular because there was only one left in the glass display. I guess all the other Turkey Gobbler cupcakes sold quickly.”

  My mom gargles a bit before spitting out the water into the kitchen sink.

  “No, that doesn’t mean that the cupcakes are popular,” she says with a knowing air. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Linda Lovely secretly only puts out one Turkey Gobbler at a time to make them seem like the next hottest thing. She’s probably got batches and batches of them stored away in the back, and just doles them out one by one so that they look like they’re really popular.”

  I smile wryly because that’s why I had to go to Lovely’s Lane to pick up the cupcakes. My mom and Linda Lovely are business competitors and hate each other’s guts. My mom owns Dinah’s Delights right across the street from Lovely’s Lane, and unfortunately, they’re squarely in the same sector. They both sell colorfully decorated cupcakes, and seek to outdo one another all the time.

  When my mom first opened up shop, I was puzzled, seeing that Linda already had her place just across the way.

  “What’s going to make your cu
pcakes different from Lovely’s?” I asked with a bit of hesitation in my voice. But my mom wasn’t put off.

  “You’ll see,” she said airily. “Linda’s stuff is made with low quality ingredients, and her artistry is just awful. Did you see that pink cupcake with the rainbow unicorn horn poking out of the top? It was more of a narwhal horn than a unicorn horn! Who’s going to buy that? Her decorating skills are atrocious.”

  I bit my lip and didn’t mention that it was actually Endangered Species month, and thus the horn was likely supposed to be a narwhal horn. But the exchange illustrates what Dinah thinks of Linda and her cupcakes. Lovely’s Lane will never be a real contender to beat Dinah’s Delights, and it’s been ten years of subtle jabs and nasty innuendos now. The two women share false, frozen smiles whenever they pass one another on the street, but in fact, they’re ruthless competitors. Even though both ladies have a homely, middle-aged look to them, Linda and Dinah would both tear out your guts and eat them for breakfast if they could.

  That’s why I had to pick up the cupcakes today. My mom enlists me as a foot soldier in this on-going war and it’s my job to do “reconnaissance” behind the enemy lines. I’ve mentioned to my mom that Linda recognizes me, so she knows that I’m likely buying a dozen cupcakes from her as “market research” for her competitor, but Dinah just scoffs.

  “She doesn’t know you,” Dinah said, rolling her eyes. “I swear that that woman suffers from face-blindness, among all her other faults. What is it called again? Prosoprogalia? Prosofygmania?”

  I sigh.

  “Prosopagnosia,” I say in a weary tone. “And no, Linda doesn’t suffer from face blindness. She knew who I was when I went in there today. You’re underestimating her, Mom. She’s not an idiot. Linda’s been running a successful business for more than ten years now, so she must know something.”

  My mom merely clucks again when taking a bite of a chocolate cupcake this time. As usual, she immediately gags with horror and spits it out into a napkin.

  “What’s in this?” Dinah practically shrieks. “Spoiled milk? Partially hydrogenated corn oil? Meat?”

  I roll my eyes. I swear, Dinah can be so over the top sometimes.

  “Mom, I guarantee there is no meat in that cupcake. That was a chocolate cupcake with hazelnut frosting.”

  My mom merely shakes her head.

  “No, I think Linda snuck some meat product in there. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some leftover Spam in her kitchen and threw it into the cupcakes rather than tossing that stuff out.”

  I bite my tongue. There’s no sense in reminding my mom that Spam doesn’t really expire if all it does is sit in your cupboard. Heck, that stuff could be taken to outer space, and it would probably still be good after twenty years. But Dinah wants to act dramatic and the best thing to do is to let her get it out of her system. It’s easier than fighting her on it, that’s for sure.

  “Okay, I’ve done my work here,” I say with a wan smile. “Anything else you need?” I ask. “Otherwise, I’m going to head home.”

  It’s a Sunday night and I’m beat. It shouldn’t be this way because I’ve had all weekend to recover, but sometimes, life just takes every ounce of energy that I have. I’m a Millennial, and as a result sometimes it feels like everything’s stacked against me, and there’s no way out. Even my mom doesn’t understand why I’m tuckered out all the time, but it’s the wall of debt surrounding me that gets me down.

  For example, I have tens of thousands in student loans. It’s crazy, and I swear I’ve paid more in interest payments than actual principal payments. Then there’s the fact that my student loans make it impossible to save, and as a result I feel like I’ll be stuck in my tiny little rathole of an apartment forever. I certainly won’t be achieving the dream of American homeownership anytime soon, that’s for sure. I can’t even afford Uber rides sometimes, much less a down payment for an abode.

  But the ramifications of being a Millennial are more than just financial. It’s psychological too. I graduated into the Great Recession, and it was really tough finding a job. I know everyone tells the same story, but I literally sent out thousands of applications, hoping that employers would bite. Unfortunately, no one did, and for six months I sat around feeling hopeless. Finally, I landed a job as a home health aide, although it’s completely unrelated to my major of economics. Honestly, seeing how things have turned out, it would have made more sense not to go to college at all.

  As a result, I’ve been depressed for a couple years now. Sure, I have friends, but my instability makes me feel worthless sometimes, and it makes me too anxious and shy to really date. Sure, I’ve had flings with guys and sometimes I browse profiles online just for fun, but I don’t usually get into real relationships. After all, who would be interested in a girl barely keeping her head up while mired in a pit of financial quicksand? I’d probably ruin their credit score, in addition to bringing loads of debt into any permanent union.

  As a result, I’m pretty much a typical Millennial. I have nothing to my name, no immediate chance of landing a better job, and I still get financial assistance from my mom sometimes. Isn’t that embarrassing? I’m twenty-eight and should be well on my way to adulthood, but instead, sometimes I still feel like a little girl of five years old.

  Well, at least with my mom, things are relatively okay. Maybe I borrow money from Dinah sometimes, but our relationship is more than that. She’s my mother, even if from an emotional standpoint, sometimes I feel like I’m the one who’s the maternal figure and not the other way around.

  For example, my mom has been sampling each of the cupcakes like she’s the Queen of England. But instead of chewing and swallowing, she’s been chewing and then spitting out each bite in disgust.

  “You know Mom, when you spit out food like that, you’re wasting food,” I intone. “Think of all the starving children in Africa.”

  Dinah merely rolls her eyes.

  “Seriously Katie, you’re so boring sometimes. I had to spit it out. It tasted bad, and I wouldn’t put it past Linda to put poison in some of those suckers.”

  I squint at my mom.

  “Mom, that would be against the law,” I point out. “Linda would go to jail if she were poisoning someone. Why would she do that?”

  My mom merely shrugs.

  “Who knows? Why is Linda the way she is? Why are her cupcakes so bad even after ten years in the business? If you find answers to these questions, sweetheart, please let me know because I’d love to be clued in. In fact, I’d be happy to be the one to report her to the police, or at least to the FDA. She deserves to be investigated by the government.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Are you really going to sic the bloodhounds on your competitor Mom? Is that what a good person does?”

  Dinah merely shrugs and spits out another bite of cupcake.

  “I just want this community to be safe, sweetheart. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I roll my eyes again. My mom is so over-the-top sometimes, and it can be absolutely exhausting. With another sigh, I grab my purse and head for the door.

  “Okay Dinah, I’ve got work tomorrow so enjoy the cupcakes and have a wonderful Sunday night okay? I’ll see you next week.”

  My mom is turned towards the sink, but she swivels to smile and wave as I leave. But then a puzzled expression crosses her face.

  “Oh, and by the way Kenneth stopped by the other day,” she mentions. “You remember Kenneth Carlton, don’t you?”

  In fact, I do know Kenneth because we went to high school together. He was awful. He was puffy, red, overweight, and sweated like it was a hundred degrees outside even when the temperature was freezing. Not only that, but Kenneth was mean. His dad is some important real estate developer, so he felt he could lord it over us because of his money and so-called connections.

  “Yes, I remember Kenneth. Why would he come by?” I ask in a confused tone. “You mean, he actually knocked on your door? Did something happen?”

&n
bsp; Mom shrugs and then pulls open a kitchen drawer before rifling around the mess inside.

  “Well, it turns out that Kenneth’s dad bought this apartment complex a while ago, and so they wanted to notify us of the change in management,” she says, her voice absent-minded as she digs around. “Ah ha! Here it is. He gave me this too.”

  Dinah hands me a crumpled piece of paper that has some red lettering on it. My heart pounding, I unfold the letter to see what it is. My eyes grow wide as the air evaporates from my lungs.

  “Mom, they want you gone,” I say in a low, trembling voice. “Did you even read this? This is a notice from Carlton Realty saying that you need to vacate this apartment in thirty days.”

  My mom looks puzzled.

  “But why? I always pay my rent on time. Why would they want me to leave?”

  I stare at her.

  “Are you sure you’ve been paying your rent on time? I know that when I lived here you were always late. And I mean always.”

  Dinah scoffs.

  “You’re such a worrywart sometimes, Katie. Of course I’ve been paying my rent on time. Back when you were younger, I was a little disorganized between divorcing your dad and starting my own business. But I swear, I haven’t been late even once in the past year.”