Page 5 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

Whoa. He’s just jumping right into this, isn’t he? Then again, his friend could come back at any second. If I’m going to kiss him, which I desperately want to do, I’d better do it now.

Grinning up at him, I say, “Sure, old man. Kiss me.”

“Old man,” he huffs. But there’s a smile in his eyes as he leans forward, cups my cheek in his hand, and meets my lips with his.

His lips are soft as they caress mine. He tastes faintly of whiskey, and I inhale deeply, loving how distinguished and rich it makes me feel. I open my mouth, eager for more, but he pulls away.

His brown eyes twinkle as he asks, “What’s your name, Trouble?”

Fake name. Give a fake name. I try to think of something, but in the end, I can’t make myself do it, so I pick a nickname. One that nobody uses. People usually call me Evelyn or E.

“Evie,” I say, with a long e at the start. Ee-vee.

“I like it.” He smiles, showing me that dimple again. “Don’t you want to know my name?”

I give him a wicked grin of my own. “I think old man suits you.”

He laughs and says, “Not that. How about you call me Daddy?”

What? Holy crap. No. But...yes. I told myself I’d say yes. This doesn’t hurt anyone, does it? Maybe it’s a poor choice, but there’s only tonight in front of me, nothing else.

“Yes,” I say, slowly. “Daddy.”

I’m surprised at how much I like saying it. The word causes a pulse of nerves to light up between my legs. I came up here eager to try new things, and I wasn’t sure I would like it all. But so far? I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been.

This is what I wasted the last four years missing out on?

“Fuck, it turns me on to hear you say that,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. “Say it again.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

He cradles my face in his hands, looks into my eyes. “Evie, the things I want to do with you tonight…”

Do them, I think. Do it all.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask instead. Because even if I’m a more reckless version of Evelyn, now, I’m not ready to give carte blanche approval to every dirty, filthy thing he asks.

Okay, I might be ready. My pussy certainly is. But I need to think with my brain.

“Well.” His voice is low and soft, sliding against my skin, under my clothes.

I shiver in anticipation.

“First,” he continues in that low, sensuous voice, “I want to touch you. Everywhere. Can I touch you now?”

Heck yes. I nod.

“Tell me with words, Trouble.”

“Yes. Touch me, please.”

He grins like he’s just been given permission to do something wicked. And, in a sense, he has. He lets go of my hand and lets his own fall to the hem of my dress. His fingertips play along the outside of my thigh, teasing.

I thought swooning was something out of romantic movies, but here I am, weak-kneed, leaning toward this man like he has me under some kind of spell.

“You like that?” he asks, angling his head toward my cheek and brushing a kiss there.

“More,” I say, trying to drag his hand up, and in.

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