Page 11 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“Spread those legs, doll,” I mutter, picturing her luscious thighs, her pussy wet with her sweet juices. “This time, you have two daddies.”

She moans, her lips wrapped around Link’s dick, her breasts heaving as her back arches. I flick her slippery clit, tapping it while I pump in and out of her. She squeezes me so hot, so hard.

My fist jerks back and forth over my length, faster and faster.

In my mind’s eye, Evie gets on all fours. I spank her curvy little ass, watch my handprint bloom pink on her skin. She wriggles in front of me, wordlessly begging because she can’t say anything out loud, not with Link’s dick shoved down her throat.

I jam myself back into her heat, thrusting like our fucking lives depend on it. Rough, hot, hard.

And when I come, I imagine I’m flooding her cunt with it, coating her inside and out while her pussy squeezes rhythmically through her orgasm.

It’s fucking excellent.

But it isn’t real.

* * *

Lincoln

Caleb passes me a hardhat and we step into the nearly empty, unfinished office building. A drafting table sits off to the side, several sheets of blueprints weighed down with a wrench and a tape measure.

I’d rather be in my hotel room, jerking off under the spray of the shower to memories of the perfect girl I had in my arms last night.

Instead, I’m here with the co-owner of my project management firm, investigating why this project is being poorly managed.

Sims, the manager working under us, is so nervous his mustache twitches above his lips.

“Sims,” I say, looking around at the building. My voice echoes dully. “We’re two weeks behind schedule. Where’s the team?”

“It’s Saturday, James,” he says with a shrug. “Nobody wanted to come in.”

“If we’re behind, they should be here, pulling overtime.”

Sims doesn’t have an answer.

“Sometimes one bad apple sours the whole bunch,” Caleb says thoughtfully. “There’s a bad apple here.”

Sims shrugs. “Morale is down, that’s all I can say, I suppose.”

“So morale is down.” Caleb taps the blueprints. “Who’s running the crew, Sims, if it isn’t you?”

Sims looks down, shrugs again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“There’s a guy here who’s bringing everyone down, is what Swann is saying,” I explain. “Are you telling us that you, the project manager of this multimillion-dollar project, don’t know where the blame lies?”

“Mike Holding,” Sims finally says.

I fold my arms across my chest. “So let him go.”

“Fellas, he’s got me in a bind. I fire him and half the team leaves. We’d fall even more behind.”

“Bring him in,” I say.

Sims pales. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now,” Caleb says. “I want to see this asshole with my own eyes.”

Sims takes his phone from his pocket, scrolls through his contacts, and taps the screen.

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