Page 37 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

She took another step back, her eyes narrowing with indignation. “You know what? Forget this,” she spat bitterly. “I’m not going to stand here and be judged for something that’s none of your business.”

Before I could respond, she reeled around and stormed out of the room. The click of her footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading as she got farther away. I stood there, frozen for a moment, my heart sinking in my chest.

It felt like a punch to the gut. I had pushed her away—pushed her to a point where she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me. My fingers gripping the edge of the desk, I sank into my chair as I exhaled heavily.

What had I done? I’d let my jealousy cloud everything and twist it into something ugly. And now I felt like a complete fool.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to get my thoughts straight. She was right to be offended. I didn’t even know why I was so upset. What had I expected? That she’d just drop everything for me because I couldn’t keep my cool?

I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I had no business being jealous. None at all. Yet, there I was—acting like a possessive idiot.

I rubbed my hands over my face, feeling the pressure of everything settling on me. If I didn’t figure this out, I was going to screw up something good. Something I wanted. I was out of my mind with anger. Every muscle in my body felt tight, like a snake ready to strike. I couldn’t control her. And she wouldn’t let herself be controlled. Not by me, not by anyone. So why had I allowed myself to believe that NSA sex would work for us? That I could handle it? I hadn’t even come close to handling it, and she appeared fine with the situation—unaffected by how I felt, unmoved in her own emotions toward me. It was just sex to her.

The whole situation, this whole arrangement, felt like a joke now. I was, tangled in something that was far more complicated than I ever imagined. And the worst part? I was the jealous one, not her. I didn’t want to be, but I was. She was free to do whatever she wanted, and that was the problem. I wanted her to be free, but I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t keep her from talking to Godwin or anyone else. And that realization gnawed at me, like a poison eating away at my soul.

I had let myself believe I could do this—keep things light, detached. But the truth hit me hard: this was too much to handle, too intense to keep pretending I could control it.

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