All For… Daddy

That Little Mistake …

Kristi.

The night Dad told me about the internship, I went out with my friends to celebrate and get enough liquid courage to hit send.

We had shots at the bar, loud music, dancing until my feet ached and my head spun.

I was drunk, the kind of drunk where everything felt warm and fuzzy and reckless.

By the time I stumbled home at 2 a.m., the house was dark and quiet.

I remembered I still hadn’t sent my credentials to Troy and was now drunk enough not to worry about consequnces.

My laptop was on the kitchen table, and in my haze, I pulled it open, searched for the résumé and cover letter like a good girl, and hit send.

Tomorrow, I thought with a smile, I’d see him in person.

Tomorrow I’d sit across from him, smiling politely while my mind screamed every filthy thing I wanted him to do to me.

And if I got the internship?

God help me—I’d make sure every day at the office was torture for both of us until he finally broke and gave me exactly what I’d craved for six long years.

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, sunlight slicing through the blinds like a knife.

I slapped off the alarm buzzing from my phone on the nightstand and grabbed it.

My head was still sluggish from the hangover, and I checked the email app first. It was sent at 2:17 a.m.

To Troy Reynolds.

I squinted at the extra attachment on the professional email.

Then blood drained from my face.

Below my credentials were three high-resolution photos: one of me on my knees, ass up, looking back over my shoulder with my fingers spreading my p***y folds; the next one with my t**s squeezed together, my tongue out like I was begging for c*m; and the last one, a close-up, two fingers buried deep inside me, my c**t swollen and shining.

My stomach twisted and dropped to my feet.

I quickly went to the text thread and it was the same thing.

Only this time below it, in bold, the read receipt stated: Troy had opened it at 5:45 a.m.

His reply was short, cold, and terrifyingly direct.

My office. 9:00 a.m. sharp.

Don’t be late.

Panic flooded me so fast I nearly threw up.

Oh God, what had I done?

I tried to remember what I had done last night, how my drunk fingers could’ve dragged the wrong folder along.

The private one full of the nudes I’d taken for myself months ago, posing in front of the mirror in nothing but heels, fingers teasing my n*****s, my shaved p***y glistening from the orgasm I’d just given myself while moaning Troy’s name into my pillow.

Jesus.

I felt like I was going to die from embarrasment.

He’d seen me naked, spread open, dripping for him like the desperate little slut I was.

Troy—my Dad’s best friend since before I was born, the man who used to bounce me on his knee and call me “princess.”

Thirty years older than me and had always treated me like a daughter.

What if he was disgusted?

What if he forwarded the photos to Dad? What if he told me I was cheap, inappropriate, that the internship was off and I’d ruined everything with my filthy obsession?

I broke into a cold sweat.

There was nothing to be done now.

The damage had been done.

But underneath the terror, my body betrayed me.

My p***y clenched hard at the thought of him staring at those pictures this morning, maybe in bed with his c**k hard in his fist.

I was soaked already, thighs slick just imagining his reaction.

I wanted this.

I’d wanted him to see me like that for years.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

My hands shook as I typed back a single, pathetic ‘Okay’.

Then I bolted for the shower.

Hot water pounded my skin while I scrubbed fast, mind racing with filthy what-ifs.

What if he locked the door and bent me over his desk right there? What if he made me apologize with my mouth wrapped around his c**k?

I shaved everything smooth, just in case, and slipped into my tightest white button-up shirt—no bra, so my n*****s pressed against the thin fabric like little invitations.

The black skirt I chose hugged my ass and hips like a second skin, short enough that bending over would reveal the lacy edge of my thong.

I looked like the intern who wanted to get f****d, not hired.

Good.

If this was the end, I was going out wet and ready.

I drove to his office building in a fog of nerves and lust, heart hammering so loud I could hear it over the radio.

The secretary—a polished woman in her forties—smiled politely and pointed down the hall.

“Mr. Reynolds is expecting you. Last door on the right.”

I knocked twice, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Kristi.”

“Come in.”

His voice was the same deep rumble that had haunted my fantasies since I was seventeen.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Troy sat behind a massive oak desk, suit jacket off, white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal those thick, veined forearms.

Silver threaded through his dark hair around his temples, the lines at the corners of his eyes only made him look hotter, more commanding and his jaw was set in that way that made my knees weak.

“Lock the door behind you,” he said, not looking up from his computer yet. His tone left no room for argument.

My fingers trembled on the deadbolt.

And with a click it locked.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in my chest.

I was trapped.

With him.

Alone.

“Sit.”

I sank into the leather chair across from him, skirt riding up my thighs.

The office smelled like him—leather, coffee, something darkly masculine that made my n*****s harden against the shirt.

He finally looked at me, eyes dark and unreadable, scanning me slowly from my flushed cheeks down to the way my legs pressed together.

Then he stood.

God, he was tall.

Six-four at least, broad shoulders filling out that shirt like he could snap me in half if he wanted.

He circled the desk with slow, deliberate steps, predatory, like a wolf stalking something small and helpless.

I was prey.

I felt it in the way my pulse throbbed in my throat, in my c**t, everywhere.

He walked behind me, out of sight, and I didn’t dare turn.

His presence loomed. Heat radiated off him.

He stopped directly behind my chair.

I heard the soft creak of his shoes, felt the air shift as he leaned down.

His breath brushed my ear, warm and steady, sending goosebumps exploding down my arms and straight to my core.

My p***y clenched so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

“Were you drunk when you sent me those pictures, Kristi?” He whispered, voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. Each word dragged over my skin. “Because I opened my email this morning expecting a résumé… and instead I got three very detailed shots of my best friend’s little girl spreading her pretty pink cunt for the camera.”

I whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

My thighs squeezed together, slick heat flooding my thong.

“I—I was drunk, yes. I didn’t mean to… the files were next to each other and my fingers just—”

The excuse sounded pathetic even to me.

Troy’s low chuckle vibrated against my ear. “You didn’t mean to send your daddy’s best friend photos of you fingering that tight little hole?”

His words were pure filth, delivered in that calm, controlled tone that made it ten times hotter.

I could feel his lips inches from my neck, not touching, but close enough that I imagined them there—biting, sucking, marking me.

My breath hitched.

I was shaking now, not just from fear but from pure, aching want.

My n*****s strained against the white shirt, visible and shameless.

I could smell my own arousal in the air, and I knew he could too.

I swallowed hard, heart slamming, p***y throbbing with every filthy thought. “It was a… mistake.”

“You sent those pictures by mistake?”

This was it—the moment I’d fantasized about in the dark for six years.

And as terrified as I was, I’d never been wetter in my life.