Page 27 of Big Daddy

Looks like I’m entering my optimist era, because I can’t quit Winnie.

I just can’t.

chapter ten

winnie

“Really?”Howard’s voice is dripping with sadness. Maybe actual tears, too. I’m not sure since we (ahem,me) opted for a phone call instead of anything involving video. I couldn’t bear to see his face when I let him down easily.

“I’m sorry, Howard. But… I’m involved with someone.” Saying those words, knowing they’re about Big Daddy, sends a shiver of guilt down my spine, leaving my stomach restless and achy. I don’t actually consider us involved, nor do I consider us an “us.” But he doesn’t want me taking photos of my feet and having relationships based around selling my body, and because he ate me out like a starved man at a buffet, I’d like more of that, please.

As much as it pains me to obey, there’s a good girl captive inside me, forcing me to do it, I swear.

Or maybe I want to please Big Daddy much more than I’m letting myself realize.

Either way, I feel guilty. And I should.

Brielle has done so much for me. She is a loyal friend. And I have been too, until her dad had to be all caring and shit. Damn him.

After only twice meeting Quincey, I’m pretty sure I’m obsessed with or at the very least, hyper-fixated on him. Or the idea of him. Or the affection he shows me. Or all of it? I don’t know.

I’ve never been this way for any man. Ever.

In fact, now that I think of it, despite the fact I’ve only ever dated men well into their twenties, Quincey feels like the first man I’ve actually liked.

“But—” Howard attempts to change my mind, whimpering about how much he needs me, how much he adores my feet. But it doesn’t work. It can’t.

“Howard, there are more feet in the sea, honey bunny,” I tell him, using his chosen term of endearment as I swipe pink polish over my toes. “I’m sorry.”

I really do like Howard, as kinky as he is. But the truth is IwanttopleaseBig Daddy. Okay, notthat kindof please but I want that too. Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got the thickest cock I’ve ever felt. How many women have cried out in pain when he’s slid that monster inside of them? I don’t want to know the answer to that, actually. Thinking of that makes me ragey and spiteful.

I want to please him emotionally, too, though.Iwant his attention and focus, and it makes me feel cared for that he even has an opinion on my life.

I guess I’m a slut for emotional reassurance and safety. Who knew? Though I guess it makes sense with dead parents and most of my adult life being spent on my own.

“If you change your mind, you’ll reach out, right?” Howard asks, his hope so palpable my heart breaks a little. I look down at my now powder pink toenails and wiggle them.

“Yeah, Howard, if anything changes, I’ll call you.”

He says another sad goodbye, and I end the call, feeling good for honoring my promise to Big Daddy, but feeling bad, too. Not just for Howard, but for Brielle.

Had her father not eaten me to a toe-curling orgasm that has had my brain mush for the last few hours, I’d still have no way to explain my evolving relationship with her dad. But he did eat me out, and then he stuck his big sexy fingers right up my ass as he pressed me into a car.

Who the fuck am I? Anatasia Steele? Jesus Christ. It’s a stark difference to my life a week ago, but I love it. I’m drunk on it. And I’m mature enough to realize some of the attraction is the excitement, but that’s just a small amount.

Big Daddy is a jerk.

But he isn’t a jerk to me.

And feminism aside, I’m pretty sure a big, sexy rich asshole who is an asshole to everyone but youisthe damn dream.

I deserve the dream. I’ve been to hell and back. I’ve struggled. I’ve kept up a smile, good grades and a sense of humor through it all, to prove to the world I’m not broken. Because I’m not.

But I deserve the dream, damn it. It just so happens, my dream is being railed by my bestie’s daddy, and that’s gonna destroy shit between us. Brielle isn’t a very forgiving person… just like her father.

The betrayal will destroy us. And I don’t want that.

But I want him.

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