Page 72 of More, Daddy
Then he’ll hold my mouth, whispering “stay still, babygirl” as he ruts into me from behind, my pink panties around my knees, sleep still in my eyes.
It will be absolute perfection.
West wants me to come to him, though, which meanshisenvironment. I can only control my environment, but I can’t say no to him.
Quickly, I respond.
I’ve been waiting for you to ask.
One small thing?
Can we have the lights off when I get there? After all the nude and naughty photos I’ve shared with you, I’m getting a little nervous about seeing you face to face, just us.
Lights off may help… until I get more comfortable.
He replies right away, which tells me he’s somewhere with this app open, phone in hands, a smirk on his face while he pays all of his glorious attention to our chat.
I love the idea.
Glancing down, I take in my state—jeans, cowboy bootsthat are beyond their wear limit, a Bluebell Bruisers spirit shirt, and my hair in the most strung out braid ever.
This will not do.
The first time West Dupont comes inside me is not going to be while I look like this.
Will eight o’clock work?
My dad is actually not on the road right now, which feels rare since he’s been gone so much lately. But just because he’s here doesn’t change anything—I can do whatever the hell I want. It’s always been that way. He’s been absent emotionally and—no, you know what? He’s been absent in every single way a father should be there for his daughter. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore. Or ever again.
Especially since I have West now.
Sounds great.
Can you bring a bottle of wine?
My nostrils flare as the back of my neck grows hot. Wine? I glance around the kitchen, where I’m sitting at the table, next to a peanut butter sandwich. Dad so lovingly leaves an envelope of money for me at the start of every month. It used to be enough for me to start a savings jar, and add a handful of bills at the end of each pay cycle. But as the years ticked on, he’s given me less, and now, I’m paying the mortgage, and most of the other bills too.
Peanut butter sandwiches are a luxury. For a while, before I refinanced the house, ramen was all I could afford. Thankfully, Bluebell High offers free lunch for anyone at the school–including teachers. The school has kept me alive in so many ways, despite the fact that when I was an actual student there, I hated it. I wanted to leave and never go back.
But that school gave me West. That school feeds me and pays me.
Bluebell High, next to West Dupont, is everything to me.
Another glance around the kitchen, and as I expected, no wine. My dad has plenty of whiskey—mostly empty—but no wine. And I’m not old enough to buy alcohol. Soon I’ll be twenty but still underage.
He thinks I’m Cadence. Why wouldn’t Cadence be able to bring over wine? She drinks—I’ve seen her at the farmers market drinking spiked cider and home brewed beer. See? She’d bring the wine, so Ihaveto bring the wine.
Give me another thirty to run by the store then?
In another internet tab, I quickly Google all the convenience stores around me. Going through their photos, and looking at the map, I choose the one that looks the very nicest, and map a route to it from my house. If I’m going to steal a bottle of wine, it at least has to be a really nice one, one that impresses West. Or else there’s no point in it.
Sure.
Then he sends his address, as if it hasn’t been tattooed on my brain for over a year.
528 Scenic Ave, downtown, in the historic district
Smirking to myself, I reply.
