Big Daddy Wants Me

9: Waverly.

“Oof.”

That’s the noise Kyle makes when I barrel into his torso, flinging myself like an eager sack of potatoes into his lap. My elbow thumps against the table, sending shock waves throbbing through my funny bone, but for once I barely feel the pain.

I’m too busy scrabbling closer, arms winding around the bar boss’s neck; too busy wedging my knees on either side of his hips. Yes. It’s cramped and awkward and a little uncomfortable in this booth, but there’s no place in the world I’d rather be.

“Jesus,” Kyle says, his strong arms wrapping around me and crushing me close. “Okay, so this is happening.”

Hell yeah it is.

And maybe I’ve been shy and cautious and so freaking careful all my life, tip-toeing through the world, but I don’t feel shy right now. Not since settling my ass in Kyle’s lap and finding him rock hard in those faded old jeans. Not with his strong, callused hands roaming over my waist, my sides, my shoulder blades—then down to squeeze my ass.

He wants me too.

My breath hitches. I squirm and grind down, following some ancient instinct to roll my hips against his.

Kyle lets out another grunt, palming my ass harder. One hand lets go—only to spank me through my dress. Heat prickles over my skin.

I mewl, grinding frantically against his lap.

Oh. My. God.

The bar lights throb around us, hazy and golden, as a new song drifts from the speakers. The stars glitter through the bar windows, speckling the night sky.

And I’m so wet already. So swollen and needy down there, my lady parts throbbing inside my underwear, desperate for Kyle’s touch. I’ve never experienced this before, never felt my body run away from me like a horse bolting from its stable, but I’m doing my very best to keep up.

With every caress and squeeze, I arch into Kyle’s hand; when his teeth scrape my neck, I gasp and tilt my head to a more welcoming angle. And I don’t have the words to explain right now—too tongue-tied, too breathless—but whatever he wants from me, I’ll give. However he wants to use me, I want that too.

Maybe it’s messed up. Maybe I’m unearthing some long-buried daddy issues, desperately craving this older man’s approval. Or maybe I’m just a twenty-three year old virgin finally meeting the man who makes her body sing.

Who knows? Whatever’s going on here, the instinct to please Kyle is stronger than logic. Stronger than ego or pride. All I want is to fray this man’s stern self control, and to take him apart piece by piece while my name is on his lips. Want him to be as obsessed with me as I am with him.

“So f*****g pretty.” Kyle strokes down the length of my ponytail, then gives it a gentle tug. I whimper, plucking the buttons of his shirt undone with shaky hands. “Never thought this was on the cards, sweetheart. Not with me old enough to be your—”

“You’re not that old.”

Kyle’s mouth curves up on one side, hitting me without warning with the first true smile I’ve ever seen from this man. “I’m forty two. Ancient compared to you.”

I huff, wrangling a stubborn button. “Hardly ancient. More like… distinguished. Wise and experienced. And so sexy.”

Kyle exhales, leaning close to rub his cheek against mine. His stubble crackles against my skin, so manly that I nearly melt into a puddle. “Oh yeah? Sexy, huh?”

“Definitely.” Flicking the last shirt button open, I sigh happily and spread the fabric wide, barely a sculpted chest and toned abs. Kyle’s torso is strong and tanned, like he makes a habit of working outside with his shirt off, and dark hair trails from where it’s thickest on his chest, all the way down his stomach to disappear beneath his belt. Since I have no chill, I declare to the empty bar: “This is it. I’ve peaked.”

Kyle snorts, cupping the back of my head. “Come here.”

Our kiss is slow and deep and filthy, tongues sliding together and teeth grazing bottom lips. We don’t come up for air, because that is what nostrils are for: to let you kiss a sexy older man until your head spins. I get it now.

“Mmph.”

I’ve given up on words. Why speak, when my mouth is better occupied? Better to kiss Kyle like it’s my last night alive, grinding against the hard bulge in his jeans, and let my body do the talking. It’s sure got enough confessions to make.

Like… how long I’ve wanted this. How many nights I’ve laid awake in my cramped little bed, fingers moving busily inside my pajamas as I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Kyle moving above me. The glowering bar boss, finally claiming me as his.

Breaking away from the kiss, I glance at my sketchbook on the table, the first trickle of unease sliding down my spine.

Because Kyle thinks tonight is the first time I’ve drawn him. He thinks this whole encounter is easy and breezy and normal. A hot surprise fling. But what if he finds out about the dozens of other sketches I’ve done of him? What if Tess or Maria tells him, or he flicks through my sketchbook and finds them himself?

My stomach cramps, and suddenly I feel sick.

The way he’d look at me then… the disappointment, maybe even alarm in his eyes…

Icy cold spreads through my veins, frosting me over from the inside. I’m stiff with dread in Kyle’s arms.

This was a mistake.

“Waverly?”

The bar boss pulls back, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s that familiar scowl again, his thick eyebrows pinched together.

“S-sorry.” My limbs won’t work properly, suddenly all wooden with despair, but with Kyle’s help I climb backwards out of his lap. He sets me on the floorboards, gripping my hips tight while I find my balance. “I need to… need to go.”

“What?” Kyle shakes his head, like he didn’t hear me right. He’s still holding on to my hips, my dress bunching beneath his hands. The heat of his body sears me through the fabric, but it’s not enough to chase this sudden chill away. Not enough to make me stay.

Because I’ve misled this man. I lied right to his face, acted like I’d never drawn him before, then crawled into his lap and kissed him like it was no big deal.

I’m a bug. A lying, creepy bug. If Kyle ever finds out what I’m really like… if he ever learns of my weird obsession…

Misery rocks me, and I sway on my feet. Without Kyle holding me in place, I’d stagger to one side.

“Wait,” Kyle says, but I step backward out of his hold. For a moment, his fingers tighten on my hips, like he might fight to keep me here—then the warmth of his touch drops away. It’s a relief, and it makes me ache. “Waverly—”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, boots scuffing over the floorboards as I back up. Need to get away. Need to hide from Kyle’s baffled expression and his disappointment, thick in the air.

Should never have touched him like that. Not after telling him those lies. Darting forward, I snatch up my sketchbook and hug it to my chest.

“I need to…”

The room tilts as I turn and hurry away, the lights harsher and brighter than they seemed a moment ago. My dress swishes with every step, and I’m so slick and over-sensitive between my legs that my face scrunches up as I crash out of the bar door.

The night swirls around me, dark and windy and cold, scented with pine and wet rock. Clutching my sketchbook tighter, I hurry along the dirt path back down toward the sleeping town of Starlight Ridge and my cramped, lonely rental. My footsteps echo, but I’m all alone.

Need to get away from Kyle’s bar. Get out of this town, this valley, this whole mountain range.

For a moment tonight, when Kyle took me in his arms, I felt a wave of pure bliss—but nothing good was ever built on lies.