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by Victoria Blackstone
Published by Lot’s Cave
Momma’s Girl, Daddy’s Lover, © 2017, by Victoria Blackstone
All Rights Reserved
Cover by Morgaine Wrightman
All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Lot’s Cave Novel
I could hear his voice as I approached the closed door of his office, the irritation coming through loud and clear. I stopped briefly at the door and combed my fingers through my hair, a nervous impulse, to be sure. I blew out a long, slow breath then turned the handle. The volume of his voice increased and he turned, his gaze meeting mine for a brief moment before dropping, first to my chest then to my legs and, finally, to my bare feet. He brought his gaze back up to meet mine, his head shaking slowly, then he turned, sucked in a breath, then bellowed, “I don’t want to hear it, Mike! I want to know who did this and I want to know today!”
I approached him slowly, taking advantage of his position—his back to me—to admire his body. For being thirty-eight, he has an amazing ass; firm and high and just begging to be squeezed. I stepped close and slipped my arms around him, cautiously. Slowly I tightened my hold on him, pressing my cheek to his back when he didn’t protest. I inhaled, my eyes closing as I took in his scent.
He shook his head, his whole upper body moving as he did. “No, Mike.”
I tuned out the conversation, and instead focused on calming him, using nothing but the warmth of my body and my will power, and maybe the thumb I brushed against his stomach. For the most part, it worked, but a few long moments later he erupted. “This is what I pay you for! You need to figure this out!”
I released him, then, and came around to stand before him. I caressed his chest, his silk shirt cool against my skin. As always, when he was working from home, he’d foregone a tie, though that was the only thing different; he was still dressed to impress, in a pair of well-fitted black slacks, pale green silk, button-down shirt, and black shoes that were polished to perfection. I didn’t need to check to see whether he was wearing the cuff links my mother had gotten him for his birthday; he wore them religiously.
He shook his head again, his gaze finally coming down to meet my own. My stomach fluttered at the smile that pulled his lips, short-lived though it was. His tirade continued, though at a much lower tone, as I continued to run my hands over his chest, the muscles there fascinating me, and I wondered, not for the first time, what his bare chest would feel like against my hands.
As nonchalantly as I could, I reached for the top button of his shirt. I eased it open, then resumed my gentle caress, willing him not to notice. A few moments later, I reached for the next button, then, again, I resumed my gentle massage. With him still growling, I thought I had a better than even chance of getting the third button undone without him trying to stop me, but as I reached for it, his gaze came down to meet mine, his head shaking, his eyes telling me to stop. I did, but I did so under duress. I’d been trying to get him interested in me for months now, and I was beyond frustrated with his constant rejection. But I knew, just knew, that he could only hold out for so long before succumbing. The law of averages said so; it predicted that if I kept up my subtle hinting, the veiled teasing, he’d eventually acquiesce, finally give me what I so desperately want. Him. I want him inside of me so bad I can taste it. In the worst way, I want to feel the weight of him on me. I want him between my legs, forcing himself into me, making me his.
I wrapped my arms around him and molded myself to him, my eyes closing as I moved my cheek slowly against the silk-covered muscles.
I couldn’t stop the smile that took over my face when I felt his hand come to rest on my shoulder, his fingers reaching for my hair, teasing it as he listened. But several moments later he moved, closing his hand over my shoulder, squeezing gently, his thumb pushing into the muscle there. It was everything I had not to moan. But as good as his hand felt on my shoulder, it felt even better when it slid down the center of my back, slowing to a stop just above my waist line, lingering there for several moments before coming slowly back up, his fingers pressing into the muscles either side of my spine. I arched to him, unable to suppress a moan, and I smiled when he laughed soundlessly.
He’s tall enough that I don’t quite reach his shoulders, and though I’ve always dreamed of being tall and slim and beautiful, it’s times like these that I really appreciate being short. It only enhances the feeling of being smothered in his arms. I tightened my hold on him, moving closer, molding myself to him. It was then that I felt it; the hard lump in his pants, pressed into my stomach. I felt almost light-headed as I pushed against him, the slightest movement, just enough to make him lose his train of thought, just enough to make him twitch against me. He resumed talking, while I moved my cheek against his chest. “Hard for me, Daddy?” I whispered, too softly for him to hear. I didn’t want to push my luck. This was the first time I’d ever felt him, and I wanted it to last as long as possible.
He continued his gentle massage of my back, and for the next few minutes I was in heaven, concentrating only on his touch and on the hard lump that continued to push against my stomach.
The sound of the door opening startled us both, and he pulled away and made a beeline for his desk, where he sat facing the window.
I gave my mother a little shrug, whispering to her when she got close, “He is not happy!”
She laughed softly, but as she reached me she caught me under my chin with a finger and turned me, forcing eye contact, one brow up. She held my gaze for a long moment before shaking her head. “I told you to back off,” she said, her tone quiet, in deference to the business call. “Didn’t I?”
I nodded once, trying desperately to hold her gaze. I succeeded, but only just.
She was silent for several moments, then... “Do you remember what I told you would happen if I caught you flirting with him again?”
I forced myself to maintain eye contact and nodded once, knowing I’d just lost my phone for a week.
“Go get it and put it on the counter, beside my keys.”
I held her gaze for a moment before pulling free of her and walking briskly toward the door. I resisted the urge to slam it, knowing that would only get me into more trouble.
I locked myself in my room and flopped gracelessly down on my bed. I staring at the ceiling for a long moment before a smile began to pull my lips. I’d actually made him hard, which, as far as I knew, was a first. Was it worth losing my phone over? Yes. Did I want to lose my phone? No. But, according to my father, anything worth having is worth fighting for, and there is nothing I want more than to have my father on top of me, making me his. And if losing my phone for a week is the price I have to pay to further my cause, so be it.
I grabbed the thing off my nightstand and started a new text to my friend Amanda, letting her know that I wouldn’t be receiving any calls or texts for the next seven days. I hit SEND then allowed my hand to drop, my eyes closing as I released a breath. I laid there for several minutes, but as time ticked away I became more and more nervous. I knew I had only so much time before she came looking for me, for my phone. I blew out a breath as I rolled off my bed.
She was standing at the stove, pushing a wooden spoon around a large skillet. The smell of garlic made my mouth water. I met her gaze then shrugged as I set my phone down on the counter.
“Welcome.” Although I hated to have to give up my phone, I could hardly blame her for taking it. I wasn’t upset with her, so much as I was upset with reality; with the fact that he was taken, with the fact that I was fated to be attracted to someone I couldn’t have.
I turned to leave but she called out to me. I turned, one brow up. She dropped her gaze to my shirt, a cute, pink crop top, then to my shorts, so tight they split my labia, leaving my lips visible. “I can’t tell you what to wear, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t wear things like that around your father.”
“Fine,” I mumbled. I walked quietly back to my room and collapsed onto my bed, my mind drifting. This wasn’t the first time I’d been caught flirting with him, it was just the first time I was being punished for it. I grinned, thinking about the first time.
She’d come into the media room, about a month ago, while I was watching TV with him. We were both sitting on the sofa, him on one side, me on the other, but where he was facing the TV, I was facing him, my back to the arm. And I doubt she would have complained, except that I was wearing nothing but a longish tee shirt and a pair of panties, and sitting cross-legged as I was, my white satin panties, stretched tight across my vulva, were clearly visible to him. With a finger, she’d gestured me to follow her, and in my bedroom she’d explained that sitting like that, exposing my panties to him, was inappropriate. That had been the extent of the conversation.