A Treat for Daddy Read online

  Fuck! It’s so hot when she talks that way and moves against me, forcing the decision out of my hands.

  Our mouths join and I growl into a searing kiss, hammering into her like her sweet spot is a nail. Thank God there isn’t a wood fence behind her. It would be a warped, bow shape by now.

  “I’m coming, Daddy,” she moans, soaking my hardness with a gush of her cream.

  The world goes out of focus as the rush comes over me too. I bury my face in her hair and shudder, my strokes jerky as I unload so deep her womb must be soaked with come.

  The thought of my seed swimming inside her for the rest of the night keeps me rock hard, which doesn’t make it easy to tuck my cock back in my pants after I gently set her down.

  “I...I have to get home and shower,” she says, smoothing a hand down her puffy coat and ruffled dress. “And I need to open my eyes to do that.”

  “Right,” I say, quickly putting the mask back on. “Is this...too much? After—”

  “I’m liking the mystery,” she says, as her beautiful eyes come open and shine at me. “It’s hot. And I have to give my sister a chance to guess who you are before you make the big reveal. She loves using her brain to work something out. Got any hints for her?”

  “Yeah, I’ve never been serious about anyone else,” I say, taking her hand as we walk back to the street. “You’re the first girl I’ve wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Chapter 6

  Daisy

  “No one?” Poppy says loudly in my ear, over a blaring Halloween playlist. “But you think he’s that much older?”

  I nod, leaning close to her behind the bar, as we ignore the people shouting questions about the menu at us. “That’s what he said. He’s never felt this way about anyone.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t get more details about him.” Poppy puts her hands on her hips and stomps her spiky black boot on the polished concrete floor. “I have no idea who he is. It’s going to bug me all night—and I have a million other things I have to think about.”

  Angel Spot is busier than the DMV, with no sign of anyone leaving to check out another party anytime soon. Poppy’s online promotion of the Blood Bash was wildly successful. Dozens of people are ordering red-colored drinks every minute.

  She should be over the moon, and focused on the night running smoothly for the sake of our growing brand, but she’s been completely sidetracked by my news about my new guy. She texted several of our servers for help identifying him, after I stopped her from calling Heather. I told her that was cheating.

  “He won’t have the mask on, when he picks me up after closing. You have until then.” I tap my wrist like there’s a watch on it and smile wickedly. She’s been getting on my nerves like it’s her job over the past year and it’s fun to see her being the vexed one for once.

  “Was your mystery man a good kisser?” Pamela Ware asks, her blue eyes bright as she slips behind the bar and sets down an empty tray.

  Oh god. Don’t tell me she dated him! Pamela is one of those girls who is hot enough to make thousands off selling her bath water if she wanted to. I hate the idea of my guy having a history with her—even if it was strictly carnal. If she’s the kind of girl he’s used to dating, I’ll never feel comfortable wearing a pair of sweats around him, or letting him see my bloated body and ruddy complexion when I’m on my period.

  “Great kisser. He seemed to...know what he was doing,” I say vaguely.

  I haven’t told Poppy the whole story of tonight yet. She’d kill me if I told her I lost my virginity hot and rough, in someone else’s yard.

  Pamela looks thoughtful as she flips her icy-blonde hair over her shoulders, uncovering ample breasts that are barely covered by glittering seashells. She looks like she’s going to star in the porn spoof of a family mermaid movie.

  “So,” she begins, “Poppy’s text said he used to play hockey, he knows a guy named Nico, a popular interior designer, and Heather. Who the hell is Heather?”

  “That woman my sister worked with at the car rental place,” Poppy says.

  “The one I got fired from for refusing to flirt with the boss,” I say.

  “You mean the one you got fired from for threatening to kick the boss in the nuts, because he flirted with you,” Poppy says.

  “Oh, that Heather.” Pamela snorts. “I bet she’s doing great there.”

  “Focus,” I hiss at her.

  “Right. I think your man is Jeremy Novack. He’s right over there.”

  She turns and points out a ruggedly good-looking, older man who I’ve seen before. He’s standing up against a wall, talking to Reed, the husband of a friend of mine. They’re both cops who look smugly pleased with their matching costume choice. They’re dressed up as robbers, with black eye masks, black beanies, and black and white striped shirts. I’m guessing the costume was a group decision at the station. Last year, all the cops dressed like World War II soldiers.

  “That’s not him,” I say, shaking my head. “My guy didn’t seem like a cop. Jeremy’s a cop.”

  “And a player,” Poppy says, frowning. “Your guy doesn’t sound like a player, but if Jeremy is your guy you should dump him immediately. From what I hear, he can not keep it in his pants.”

  “He’s not him,” I insist, although my confidence in that assertion is waning.

  Jeremy is built exactly like my guy, and I haven’t heard him speak much, but—from what I remember—he sounded very similar.

  “Only one way to find out.” Pamela takes out her cell, begins a call, and puts it on speakerphone.

  All of our gazes shoot across the room, and we watch Jeremy pull a phone out of his pocket.

  “Hey, Mel,” he says, his voice coming through the phone loud and clear. “Or are you back to Pamela? I can’t keep up.”

  My jaw drops to the floor and I grip Poppy’s shoulder, feeling like the ground is going to crumble beneath my feet.

  “It is him,” I whisper.

  “I prefer Mel,” Pamela says. “There’s nothing worse than being a blonde with the name Pamela, with a bunch of horny college boys visiting the bar lately. They all tell the same stupid jokes. Ask me if I want to make the second most famous Pamela sex tape.”

  He laughs. “Must suck, but it can’t be easy to get people to call you something new after being Pamela for years.”

  He’s right. Literally no one calls her Mel.

  Pamela sighs dramatically. “It hasn’t been easy, but I’m not giving up yet. I might need some help taking my mind off it tonight.”

  “Does that mean you’re finally inviting me over?” he asks, and my heart lurches.

  Pamela hangs up without even responding, while Poppy turns red with anger.

  “That bastard,” she says. “I told you, sis, he’s a slut.”

  Chapter 7

  Wes

  A word of advice: Don’t ever go shopping for a wedding ring on Halloween night.

  The jewelry shop staff glares at me as I take my time looking at every ring in every glass case. They were supposed to close fifteen minutes ago, but I convinced them to let me in just as they were locking up by promising to make an expensive purchase.

  I feel bad about them putting their plans on hold, but I can’t wait until tomorrow to put a ring on Daisy’s finger. It’s the only reason I’m not at the bar with her right now, threatening to crack the skull of any man who messes with her. I lied and said I had to do something for work before meeting her, so I could get her a diamond that will tell every man, who crosses her path, that she’s taken.

  I finally settle on one I want to take a look at out of the case, and my phone rings.

  It’s my brother.

  “I’m kind of busy,” I tell him, tapping impatiently on the glass.

  “Well, pause whatever you’re doing,” he says, “because I just got a text I’m sure was meant for you. I forwarded it.”

  I check my messages and open the text from an unknown number:

  My siste
r figured out who you are and I’m not interested anymore, Tank. Go prey on some other young girl, you old loser.

  My phone slips out of my hand and my brain barely registers the fact that Jeremy is calling my name and asking if I’m still there.

  It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Daisy found out my age, and must know who my brother is if she’s texting him. I’m sure she got his number from one of her friends, so she could contact me—since I didn’t give her mine yet. She was probably disgusted by whatever they told her about him. I bet she doesn’t want my family name to become hers. She’s probably as turned off by that idea as my age.

  “I—I have to go,” I blurt, robotically picking up my phone.

  “What the hell? You said you were buying today!” an employee yells at my back.

  I should apologize to them, but Daisy is the only thing on my mind. It’s racing, searching for some way to show her I’m not giving up without turning her off even more.

  I walk into the nearest bar and order a drink. It floods my mouth with a bitter taste as I drain my glass. Then I order another.

  “Shouldn’t a handsome guy like you be at a popular place like that tonight?” the elderly bartender asks, cocking his head toward the flat screen on the wall behind him.

  My eyes shift to the TV, and what I see breathes some life into my dying heart.

  It’s her. My doll. She stands in front of Angel Spot with fury in her eyes.

  “What did you say to me?” she demands.

  A reporter, who is holding a mic in her face, takes a step back. “I was asking how it feels to be the talk of the town tonight. Your family’s bar went from nearly bankrupt to this.” He gestures at the crowd waiting to get into Angel Spot. “It’s an exciting local story.”

  “You said something before that,” she snaps. “Before the camera was rolling, you said if sex dolls looked like me you’d buy one.”

  The man blinks and sputters, and the camera cuts to a day-time looking show on the public-access channel.

  I stand, throw cash on the bar, and say, “Yeah. That’s where I should be.”

  I don’t care if she wants me or not, I’m going to make that man regret disrespecting her.

  Angel Spot isn’t far, and I park in the red on the curb, in front of the nail salon across the street from the bar.

  By the time I get there, someone else is tearing the reporter a new asshole. A young woman who looks like my doll, but this otherworldly beauty is as pale as Daisy is tan. Her alabaster skin and black, red-striped hair make my mind jump straight to Goth culture, but she looks more like someone you’d see in the pages of Playboy, than someone you’d find at Hot Topic.

  Daisy is watching her fight with the reporter and hugging herself.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but”—I slam my fist into the idiot’s face and hear a satisfying crunch—“fuck you.”

  He wails and stumbles, clutching his bloody nose.

  “What are you doing?” Daisy asks, her eyes huge pools of confusion. “You’re a cop. You can’t go around punching people.”

  “You’re a cop?” The reporter sniffs. “Don’t think you can charge me with something. Like I tried to explain to the young ladies, I was being friendly.”

  “Shut your mouth and go before I kill you,” I warn.

  He’s clearly not too bright, but smart enough to stagger off before I break his nose beyond repair.

  “We don’t need your help, asshole,” the pale girl says, with a scowl.

  “I’m not who you think I am.” The second Daisy called me a cop I realized there’s been a terrible mix-up.

  Story. Of. My. Fucking. Life.

  “Look at my license.” I reach inside an inner pocket of my jacket and retrieve my wallet, then hand it to Daisy.

  She pulls out my ID and smiles with relief. "Poppy, he's a twin."

  "You can't be serious," Poppy says, snatching my ID out of her sister's hand and squinting at it, like she's looking for signs it's a fake. "So I texted your brother?"

  "She sent that text for you?" I say to Daisy.

  "Yeah," Daisy says. "Why didn't your brother reply and tell me you guys are twins?"

  Poppy bites her lip as she hands my wallet back to me. "I might have blocked him after I called him an old loser.”

  “You’re officially banned from my computer, and phone, and helping me with anything else, ever,” Daisy says with an edge to her voice. Then she turns to me as her tone turns sweet. “I love the name Wesley.”

  “I actually go by Wes.”

  “Both are better than Tank,” she teases.

  "So, you're not bothered by my age, doll?" I hold my breath waiting for her answer.

  "No, silly," she says, walking into my arms. "I told my sister to text you something mean, and that we were through, after I thought you flirted with Pamela. When your brother did that I was pissed and heartbroken, but now that I know that wasn't you, I couldn't be more happy that you're you."

  "Even though I don't look like a pretty prince?" I tease.

  She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. You're so much hotter. I won't let you be self-conscious and act like you're not a total babe just because you were chubby in high school. That has to stop now, okay?"

  “I can’t promise it will stop today, but it should be easy to put it behind me, with you by my side.”

  We kiss, then go into the bar, where she introduces me to her parents.

  They seem leery as I shake their hands, probably because of the age gap, but their hesitance starts to fade when I offer to work for free all night, and help them get things in order. They hoped the Blood Bash would be good for business, but didn’t plan for Angel Spot to be at capacity this early in the night, which was why Daisy’s father had to cancel his trick-or-treat plans with her and the Tapper kids. They’ve been swamped since they opened.

  “I know how to manage a big event,” I explain. “I throw them year-round at the Hemlock Inn.”

  “Oooh,” Mrs. Thurston says. “You’re the manager of that gorgeous place that’s in the middle of nowhere, with a few antique shops and a pancake house?”

  “I don’t just manage it, I own it.”

  This instills confidence in Daisy's parents, but not Poppy, who tells me in no uncertain terms that she’s running this show and if I get in her way I’m dead. So I try to stay out of her hair while I move from one task to the next.

  The work is mostly stressful, but a few times I turn into a bouncer and get to have some fun, kicking out college boys who say crude things to Daisy—and physically throwing out a guy named Hollis, who I overheard talking trash about Poppy. She warms up to me after that.

  “You and my family combined make a pretty good team,” Daisy says at the end of the night, while we’re wiping tables.

  Poppy turns away from the chairs she’s stacking, pats me on the back, and declares, “He is family now.”

  I’m honored to get big sis’s approval, but I’m going to be too anxious to sleep tonight—even with Daisy in my arms—until I make it official with a ring.

  I can’t wait to go back to that jewelry shop and buy a diamond in the morning.

  I can’t wait to start our forever.

  Epilogue

  One year later...

  The Hemlock Inn used to be a home for a large family. Once Wes and I are on baby three or four, we're going to buy (or build) a new place to run the Inn at and turn the Victorian-style house back into a home.

  For now though, we're only on baby number one. He's still in my big round belly, but he's going to come into the world soon.

  I'm in the middle of designing two dresses and planning three big events: a Halloween party at the Inn, a Halloween party at Angel Spot, and my baby shower.

  My schedule is crazy and Wes keeps telling me to slow down—threatening to chain me to our bed if I don't—but it's hard to take a break now when I know I'll have to take many when the baby comes. I love working.

  Sometimes I still run into sleazy guys, but
most of them know better than to mess with a woman who's spoken for, and the clients who don't know better have to answer to Wes and his cop twin.

  Lately, I've been working with women a lot more though, thanks to the connections of Wes's friend, Jeff, who is a super talented interior designer. He recommends me to them for custom formal wear, sharing my portfolio full of special outfits I made for myself, including my own wedding dress.

  "Ew! The Hemlock pool is bleeding!" Ned gags like he's going to puke as he runs onto the terrace of the Inn's common room, where I'm decorating the railing with fake spider webs.

  "It's just red dye," I tell him, sitting down on a patio chair. "It's for the Halloween party."

  "That's so cool!" April exclaims, as she comes up behind Ned, and grabs fake webbing off the floor so she can throw it on his hair.

  "Don't be a butt," he huffs, sweeping the web off with a dirty hand. There’s crusty chocolate all over it.

  "You're the butt who put a spider on me last year," April reminds him. "That was just payback."

  "You can't use one thing someone did accidentally to get back at them for an entire year," I say to her for the hundredth time.

  She ignores what I'm saying, for the millionth time, and comes over with an opened bag of Honeychoc Bites. "We brought these for you and Wes."

  "And you only ate half of them," I say, looking in the bag. "Very thoughtful."

  "Did you pick a name for the baby yet?" Ned asks.

  "They haven't, but I'm rooting for Jeremiah," says a familiar voice that I used to confuse with my husband's. But over the past year, I've learned to instantly pick up on subtle differences that help me tell him and his identical twin apart.

  "Perry is better in every way," Poppy says, as she and Jeremy walk onto the terrace.

  "We're not naming our baby Perry just because it sounds like Poppy," Wes says, following them.

  "Well, if they won't meet our baby-naming demands, there's only one thing left to do: fool around and see if we can make ourselves a pair of twins to name."

  Poppy makes a face and gags louder than Ned did. “You’d have an easier time making a baby with a girl from your submissive harem.”