Page 20 of Use Me, Daddy

CHAPTER 8

Amy

Going out to the club with Zoey was supposed to clear my head, but if anything, it had only made things worse. I’d thought a night of dancing, loud music, and a little too much wine would be the perfect distraction, but none of the guys I met that night took my thoughts off Aleksei.

Not a single one.

His dark eyes, the way he looked at me like he already knew what I was thinking, the maddening certainty in his voice that told me he wasn’t just here to charm me—he was here toconquerme.

And a part of me wanted him to…

I’d gone home that night feeling more unsettled than before. And the next day? No better. Every time I tried to focus on something else, his voice would slip back into my mind, smooth and sure, telling me he knew exactly what I wanted before I’d even admit it to myself. Every moment we’d shared replayedin my head on repeat, leaving me flushed and angry and… impossiblyaroused.

I wanted to pretend I wasn’t turned on, but I couldn’t deny how wet my pussy got just thinking about him.

On Friday night when I got home from the club, I touched myself while thinking about him. Saturday morning, then the afternoon, then later that evening… Sunday the same thing until I tried to force myself to go to bed that night without having another orgasm, but I tossed and turned, the frustration building until, finally, I gave in.

My hands moved over my body, caressing, teasing, touching all the places I thought he would, rolling over my clit as I imagined his fingers touching me there. And as I brought myself to orgasm after orgasm, his name was on my lips.

Not just as Aleksei…

But asDaddytoo.

I made myself come so many times that by the time Monday morning rolled around, my clit was sore.

But not a single one of those orgasms was enough to truly satisfy me and I made a horrible realization as I slid my hand into my panties one more time, desperate for it not to be true, to come to any other conclusion, but I knew the truth.

It was going to have to be him.

And I hated that.

Except for the tiny part of me that didn’t.

It was barely nine in the morning, but the gallery was already bustling with people and as I stepped inside, I could see why. The auction from last week had drawn interest from collectors, critics, and dealers alike. Today, we had a bunch of new faces milling around, admiring pieces that ranged from delicate to the provocatively bold.

I got to work right away.

I spotted Aleksei across the room, already deep in conversation with a potential buyer, his posture relaxed but commanding, that effortless confidence that made everyone around him lean in just a little closer. I forced myself to ignore the flutter that rose in my chest. After all, I’d spent the entire weekend masturbating to thoughts of him and trying to get him out of my head, and here he was, real as ever and just as infuriatingly magnetic.

But I couldn’t think about that.

Determined to stay focused, I threw myself into work, scanning the room and zeroing in on a couple discussing a minimalist sculpture near the gallery’s center. As I approached, I caught Aleksei’s eye from across the room, and he offered me the faintest nod. I looked away quickly, not wanting him to see how much of an effect he had on me.

And how hard it made my pussy clench to know he was watching me.

Over the next few hours, we worked together seamlessly, a well-rehearsed duet without missing a beat. I guided buyers through each piece’s intricacies, handling questions and inquiries,while Aleksei drifted between conversations with effortless charisma, keeping the gallery’s atmosphere electric and inviting. Occasionally, our paths would cross, and our eyes would meet for a split second before we moved on.

It was… professional, sure, but charged with electric tension, too, like we were silently testing each other to see who’d falter first.

When the crowd finally thinned, and the last of the lingering buyers left, I could feel my shoulders ease. I should have been pleased with how smoothly things had gone.

But as I watched him, perfectly composed and infuriatingly calm, something inside me flared red hot. Resentment? Annoyance? To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that after a weekend of pressing my fingers between my thighs trying to forget him, Aleksei Morozov was firmly under my skin, and I didn’t know what to do about that.

He walked over to me and stopped. I could feel his eyes on me, and I tried not to let it get to me.

“Nice work,” he said casually, his tone as smooth as ever, but I heard the edge of amusement in his tone.

“Just doing my job,” I replied, sounding shorter than I intended. I didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on me, or the faint smile that played on his lips.

---