Page 13 of Use Me, Daddy

I’d bet money on the fact that she touched her needy little pussy last night while thinking about me.

While thinking about calling me Daddy.

I didn’t press. I didn’t need to.

I could read Amy Whitaker like a book.

“Good to hear,” I said, nodding toward the gallery floor. “We have a few things to sort out for the new pieces coming in. I assume you’re familiar with our upcoming installations?”

“Of course.” She lifted her chin again, that competitive glint in her eyes. “I was actually going to suggest we place the Parisen sculpture in the east alcove. It’s under-lit right now, but with a few adjustments, it could be the focal point we need. The lines of sight lead directly there.”

I nodded, impressed despite myself. “A strong suggestion,” I said, meeting her gaze, “but that kind of under-lighting works best for metallics. Parisen’s work is matte. If you bring it to the center, we could amplify the light, giving it depth. We want people to see that piece from every angle.”

She didn’t miss a beat, nodding, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. I looked at her with interest.

“Or,” she replied, matching my tone, “we could bring in some indirect lighting and adjust the angles. It’s the subtlety that’s going to make people stop.”

She was good, I’d give her that. The way her mind worked, the little details she paid attention to—it made her a rarity in the art world, and I needed to capitalize on that. I nodded again, not challenging her further, letting her know she’d made a valid point without needing to push back.

“We’ll try it your way,” I said finally, offering a small smile. “I’ll leave the lighting adjustment to you.”

I could see the way she almost wanted to press further, as though expecting me to give her something more to argue. But I wasn’t here to best her or turn this into another test right now.

It was give and take between us and I wanted to show her that I respected her opinion.

That sometimes Daddy would let his little girl win.

With a curt smile, I turned away, feeling the weight of her gaze on my back as I walked through the gallery toward my office to see to a few things before I joined her on the floor again later that afternoon.

As the hours passed by, we fell into an easy rhythm, each of us occupied but acutely aware of the other. Amy moved with commendable efficiency as she adjusted displays, repositioned lights, and consulted inventory lists with a well-educated eye. It was a joy to watch.

I kept my distance at first, letting her fall into her element. But every so often, I’d catch a glimpse of her looking at me, watching me as she stepped back to study a piece from a new angle or jot down notes with a thoughtful frown.

Each glance was quick and cautious, before she turned back to her work as if she hadn’t looked at me at all.

Every time I happened to meet her eyes, I saw that flicker of something she tried to hide—a question, maybe, or something that she wanted to say. She’d force herself to look away just a beat too quickly, her chin lifting as though to brush off whatever she’d felt. I’d catch the slightest flush on her cheeks, a tension in her mouth, and I could see her silently reminding herself to stay focused, to push through the day as if nothing lingered between us.

But it was there, unspoken, every time she glanced my way.

Later, as she adjusted the lighting on the Parisen sculpture, I approached her, noting the careful concentration on her face, the way she bit her lip in thought. When I stood beside her, she straightened, quickly composing herself as though surprised to find me so close.

But she didn’t step away from me.

I didn’t step away either.

“Your suggestion was a good one,” I said quietly, glancing at the way the light enhanced the depth of the piece.

She nodded, offering a small, professional smile, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “Thank you. It’s… well, it works.”

I held her gaze a second longer than necessary, long enough to watch her shoulders tense, her eyes drifting to mine before darting away. We both knew she was avoiding something, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

I let the silence hang for a beat, then said, “That’ll be all for today. You can go once everything’s in place.”

She seemed to hesitate, standing there like she wanted to say something as her eyes flicked to mine once more before she straightened her shoulders.

I decided to push her.

“Thinking about yesterday, aren’t you?”

---