Page 37 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“Nah, you’re a cute drunk.”

“That’s the last time you’ll ever see me that way,” I say. “I’m never drinking again.”

He laughs and takes a swig from a bottle of water. “I’m glad, because that alcohol was a cock-blocker.”

I suck in a breath and shoot him what I hope is a confused look. “Um, what do you mean?”

“You don’t remember?” He sits on the edge of the chair next to mine, his large frame angled toward me, his eyes roving up and down my body.

“No?”

“All those things you tried to tempt me with last night,” he says in a low voice. “Did you mean them? You want me to hold you down and fuck you?”

“I said that?” I say, pretending I forgot. I remember, though—I remember it all. And I’m half mortified, half proud of my drunken self for being so brazen.

He nods. “You want to know how I like to hold down little girls?”

“How?”

“It might scare you. Maybe I shouldn’t say.”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” I tell him. “If I was willing to call Lincoln Daddy that first night, you think you’re going to scare me with whatever you like?”

Grinning, he says, “Maybe you’re right. But I’m going to make you guess.”

“Rope,” I say.

“It has its uses.”

“Handcuffs.”

He shrugs. Pretends to yawn.

What else is there? I don’t have enough experience to guess whatever it is. “I give up,” I finally say.

“Let’s try this. I’ll touch you, and you can tell me how you want to be held.”

He wants to put his hands on me. Yes please. Very much yes please.

I nod and try to sound casual. “I’m game.”

His knowing grin says he sees through my attempt to sound cool. He slides his hand from the top of my head to my cheek, his palm warm against my skin. I lean into the contact. He continues moving his hand down over my chin, his fingers brushing my earlobe, his thumb on the opposite side of my throat.

“There,” I say. “Holy fuck. Right there. Hold me there.”

“Right here?” He gives my throat the gentlest of squeezes.

Oh fuck, I could melt. Yep, held like this, I want to melt into a puddle of contented, treasured goo. I meet his gaze and nod.

“This is what I like, too.” He rubs the front of his swim trunks, pressing against what appears to be a very hard cock. “Look how much I like it.”

“You’ll fuck me? With your hand there?” I ask.

“If that’s what you want, little girl.”

“Very much,” I whisper.

He looks around. “You hiding any condoms out here?”

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