Page 15 of Use Me, Daddy

Amy

I slammed my apartment door shut, tossed my bag onto the nearest chair, and exhaled a long, frustrated breath.

Two days.

I had two whole days before I’d have to see him again. And yet, somehow, I couldn’t get Aleksei Morozov out of my mind.

I sank onto the couch, tugging off my shoes and rubbing my temples, as if a headache might be the only reason that he’d lingered in my thoughts all the way home even though I knew better.

“Well, with that attitude, you’re going to have to wait a while longer to have my cock where you want it, won’t you, little girl?”

The absolute fucking nerve.

No one had ever talked to me like that before. And worse, he’d been right. I was thinking about him, about his cock pounding into me, even now, long after I’d left the gallery.

It was driving me crazy.

I shook my head, irritated that he’d managed to get under my skin. This wasn’t me. I didn’t get flustered over a man, especially a player like him. But something about Aleksei had slipped past my defenses, making me question my resolve, my sanity. Making me question everything.

I needed to shake this off. I needed a distraction—something loud, fun, and utterly Aleksei-free.

Grabbing my phone, I dialed my best friend, Zoey, who picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answered, her voice bright and full of that positive energy I could always count on her for.

“Are you free tonight?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light, casual.

“For you? Always. What’s the occasion?”

“Let’s just say I need a night on the town to forget a particularlyirritatingsomeone,” I replied, emphasizing the word with all the exasperation I’d bottled up. “Cocktails, dancing, the works.”

“Oooh, sounds like someone’s in need of a mental cleanse,” Zoey teased, laughing. “Perfect timing, I just got a new dress that’s begging to be shown off. Meet at my place at eight?”

“Absolutely,” I said, feeling a spark of relief at the thought of getting out, and focusing on anything other than Aleksei and his maddening confidence.

As I hung up, I took a deep breath. Tonight, I’d let loose and drown out the memory of his words in a haze of music and dancing. I’d put him firmly out of my mind, one cocktail at a time. And maybe, just maybe I’d finally shake the image of that insufferably cocky smile once and for all.

Or at least until Monday…

I stalked into my bedroom and opened my closet. I needed a look that screamed unbothered, that would help me feel like myself again—and for that, there was no better choice than a classic little black dress.

I slipped into it, the soft fabric hugging my curves perfectly, and paired it with heels that added just the right edge. I brushed my hair, letting my dark waves fall over my shoulders, tousled and effortless, and added a bold red lip for good measure.

I was Amy fucking Whitaker, professional, confident, and very much in control of her own life.

“Alright,” I said to my reflection, giving myself one last look as I grabbed my purse. “No more thinking about him. Tonight, it’s all about you.”

I lifted my chin with a huff.

Zoey’s place was a short Uber ride away, and by the time I arrived, she’d already started the party in her apartment. Music was playing, and she opened the door with an excited grin to reveal her new dress—a striking red number that highlighted her blonde hair and blue eyes—glamorous and daring, just like her.

“Amy! Look at you! Damn, girl,” she teased, pulling me inside and giving me a onceover. “You look ready to break a few hearts tonight.”

“Let’s hope so,” I laughed, stepping into the warmth of her living room, where two glasses of wine waited on the table. “I think I need it.”

We clinked glasses and sipped, the music filling the room as Zoey danced a little, moving to the beat while I took in the familiar comfort of her place. Everything here felt light, easy—a welcome contrast to the heaviness that had followed me around all day.

“So,” Zoey started, winking as she took another sip of wine, “who’s the guy? Because there has to be one. I know that look.”

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