Page 12 of Dating the Daddy

Crap. Don’t let me be wrong.

CHAPTER 4

AIDAN

What the hell?There’s something maddening and downright enticing about a woman bold enough to propose a masquerade on a first date. I find myself chuckling, despite the conflicting storm she continually stirs up in me.

Her stipulation gnaws at my already fractured patience, but as usual, curiosity wins out over irritation.Alright, fairy girl, you want your mask? Let’s play.

It pains me to admit it, but I fucking need help planning this. So, I bite the bullet and dial Asa. It’s a measure of my desperation that I willingly call my married, smitten-with-love little brother to help sort out my plans.

“Hey, asshole!” Asa answers, his voice bright with leftover matrimonial bliss. “Finally come around to taking romantic advice from the expert?”

“Don’t get cocky,” I retort, rubbing a hand over my face, already regretting the decision to call him. “I need to plan a special date, okay? Something that proves I’ve been listening to her.”

“When did you suddenly start listening?” Little fucker is going to make me work for this. “And who’s stupid enough to go out with you?”

“First off, I always listen to you. Then I ignore whatever you said,” I confess, rolling my eyes because I can almost see him flipping me off through the phone. “The matchmaking fairy agreed to go on a date with me if I wear a mask.”

“A mask, huh? Sounds fucking weird.” He just doesn’t understand.

“She doesn’t fully trust me. She’s worried I’m just out to expose her identity.”

“Hasn’t that been your plan all along?” I hate when he’s fucking right. Even worse, I hate to admit it to him.

“It was my plan…” I pause, wondering when the fuck my ultimate goal changed. “Until I got to know her. Now, I just wanther. And I have to prove to her my intentions have changed.” Somehow, saying the words out loud cements my determination to make the infamous matchmaker mine. Forever.

There’s a brief pause, and I imagine him tapping his chin in exaggerated contemplation before he sighs. “Think about what would show her you two have things in common. Somewhere that reflects how you see her or where you might share something deeper.”

It’s frustratingly vague, but dammit if he doesn’t have a point. An ingenious idea starts to form. “I think I’ve got just the place,” I murmur, a plan solidifying in my mind.

Asa’s chuckle reverberates through my earpiece. “I don’t even want to know. That way I can claim plausible deniability.”

“When did you start using such big words?” I ask, ending the call before he can respond. Asa’s right. I need to take her to a place that matches the enigma she presents; somewhere masked faces aren’t out of place and anonymity is the very essence of the game. I’ve been to a few functions at The Sterling Rope, the secretive BDSM club in town, but I never considered getting a membership until now.

My mind’s stuck replaying her words on an endless loop. How she said “Daddy,” and the way she owned the fucking word like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It rolled off her lips, meant for just me, with just enough tease to have me imagining all sorts of scenarios I’d never considered before.

I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking in protest as I rub the back of my neck. Wanting to make sure I don’t fuck this up,I spend the better part of the morning looking up "Daddy-baby girl dynamics."

My search history, usually filled with oil prices and efficiency metrics, now paints a vastly different picture. What started as curiosity has become a deep-dive into this lifestyle. Sure, I’ve seen the dynamic in action at The Sterling Rope, but I never had any real interest. Until now. Honestly, I’ve never found a woman who I’d want this with. Until now.

The articles and forums each have a slightly different take on it, but the basics are clear enough. It’s a blend of protection and playfulness that I’d never associated with my gruff demeanor before. And yet, it makes sense in a surprising way.

I find myself thinking back to every interaction with her even though we’ve never actually met. There’s something inherently appealing about the way she’s pushed and pulled, never backing down but never pushing too hard either.

Every click and scroll on the screen bury the idea deeper under my skin. The dynamic appeals to a side of me that’s never seen the light of day. The part wanting to control and protect, and to guide with a firm but gentle hand.

What surprises me most is how right it feels. I mull over each angle and wonder how the hell I got here. My reputation as a foul-mouthed, grumpy bastard hasn’t exactly left room for exploring softer sides. And yet, the little matchmaker pulled it out of me with one word. Daddy.

Taking her to The Sterling Rope is a risk, but I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her my feelings and desires for her are genuine. There’s an unspoken rule at The Sterling Rope: what happens there, stays there. Masks are welcomed andencouraged. It offers the perfect blend of mystery, excitement, and a little bit of edge.

The club’s a refuge for some, a test of limits for others, and it’s frequented by those who understand or crave its particular brand of freedom. If my little matchmaker is going to see the real deal beneath the gruff exterior I’m known for, this is the perfect place. But getting in isn’t just a matter of waltzing through the door.

I pull out my phone and dial Roman Sterling, the club’s owner and an old acquaintance. He picks up in the middle of the second ring, his voice as smooth and calculated as ever.

“Aidan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Roman’s languid drawl filters through the line, laced with bored amusement that causes me to clench my free hand.

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