Daddy Morebucks (4 page)

His cock stiffened, strained against his pants. He loved how she gave herself to him, allowed him to have his way with her. And that adorable cream mustache she sported after drinking her milk. Such a good little girl.

Moving away from the window, he shook his shoulders and tried to focus his brain on something else. Picking up the latest sales numbers off his desk, he read them without comprehension. His thoughts drew him back to Marley.

It was unfortunate a girl like her had to do that for a living. It never bothered him before—the working girls. But there was something about her. She wasn’t just a nameless, faceless bimbo to him. A pang of guilt hit him in the gut. Was he a jerk for being so callous to the long line of prostitutes that had darkened his door?

Damn that Marley for making them human! But
she
was human, too special to be used by an endless number of men. Men who wanted her for their own pleasure with no regard for hers. He knew men like this. Perhaps he’d been one of them.

He had a younger sister. He would kill any man who treated his sister, Anna, that way. Marley brought out his protective nature. He wanted to take her in his arms and shield her from all of life’s evils.

But that was ridiculous. She was just another girl who had gotten to him with those big green eyes of hers. She was a prostitute, he reminded himself, schooled in the ways of manipulating men to get what she wanted. He wouldn’t let himself be played again. Better not to see her again.

He sat down at his desk, rapping his fingers on its cool, polished surface.

Maybe if he saw her again, he would learn something about her he didn’t like. Then he could forget about her and move on with his life.

He called Milton and asked him to track her down.

Good. He’d done something to move the situation forward. Abandoning work for the day, he headed for the indoor swimming pool in the basement of his building. Maybe exercise would clear his head.

* * *

A week later, Marley opened the door of her new apartment to find James standing on the other side of it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore an old t-shirt and short jeans shorts. Paint smudged her arms and face, and she held a wet roller in her hand. “Hang on. I don’t want to drip this on the carpet.” She set the implement in a tray filled with creamy bright yellow.

“Have to admit I was hoping for a friendlier greeting.” It had been difficult enough to find her. When Milton had no success, James hired a private investigator. It had taken the P.I. several days to find her. Days where James stayed distracted at work, tapping his foot awaiting news.

“Sorry.” She looked him up and down. “I wasn’t expecting you. I don’t like surprises.” She frowned.

“Okay. I get that.” Now he felt stupid. What was he doing here? How could he explain it to her without sounding like a lovesick puppy dog or a stalker? He hated feeling like a fool.

Confidence. He had to suck it up and be confident. “I wondered if you might have lunch with me.”

“Lunch? I’m kinda in the middle of something.” She gestured to the half-painted room.

“I see that. How ‘bout I help you? And then we go?”

“Really? Dressed like that?” She lifted an eyebrow.

He was wearing dress slacks and one of his best shirts. He’d taken off his tie in the car. “I can change. I’ve got my gym bag in the car.”

“I’ve only got one roller…”

“Why don’t I go get another roller, change, and I’ll be back in a few?” He sounded desperate, even to himself. This was not how he intended this to go. But he didn’t want to come across as though he thought he was too good for painting. Plus he wanted to help her, to spend time with her.

“Suit yourself.” Marley shrugged and went back to painting.

“Back in a flash.” This girl was tough.
You’d think she’d at least be grateful for his assistance…

James spirited his Porsche over to the nearest big box store, picked up a couple of rollers and some blue tape. He changed in the restroom then made his way back to Marley’s apartment.

He knocked on her door again.

“It’s open,” she called.

Glancing around the one-room apartment, he noticed a tiny kitchenette to the right, and surmised that the only door in the place led to the bathroom. A ratty futon, a glass coffee table, and a TV tray serving as an end table were the only pieces of furniture. Clearly, she was on a shoestring budget.

Something gnawed at his gut when he compared his sublime apartment in Prescott Tower to her meager dwelling. Why did there have to be so much poverty in the world? Why couldn’t good, decent people have more? He spent many an evening attending charity events to assuage his guilt for being blessed with more than his share.

Damn, I’ve been lucky.
He knew it was more than luck. He was also smart and talented with a huge drive to succeed. But fate had smiled upon him, of that there was no doubt.

As he looked at Marley, with all her spunk, beauty, and personality, he wondered why the fates had been so unkind to her.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the blue tape in his hand.

“Tape to keep you from getting paint on the ceiling or the baseboards.”

“Huh,” Marley said, as if that hadn’t been a concern of hers.

He climbed up the stepladder and proceeded to affix tape to the ceiling, protecting it from her golden, sunny hue. “Where’d you get this ladder?”

“The super. He’s real sweet.”

Marley pushed the raven hair out of her face and picked up her roller to start painting again. A natural glow radiated from inside her. She was beautiful.

“Thank you for helping me.” She peered at him shyly through her bangs.

“You’re welcome. It’s been ages since I’ve painted anything. It’s kinda fun.” He smiled warmly at her.

“Me too. I thought it would cheer the place up.”

He nodded at the yellow wall. “It certainly brightens up the room. Like you.” He couldn’t resist speaking his thoughts aloud. She softened at the compliment. “How about I do the top part and you do the bottom?” As the words trickled out his mouth, he realized the double entendre.

“Sure,” she said, apparently oblivious to any salacious meaning he might have had. But his mind flashed with a mental picture of him topping her. Marley beneath him, submissive and quivering with a desire to please him as he held her tightly, crop in one hand, the other wound around the back of her neck. His cock twitched.

“Okay.” He moved to another section of the room, hoping to conceal his arousal.
Damn, this girl has a powerful effect on me
.

They worked together in a comfortable silence. The room was approximately eighteen by twenty-two and after an hour or so, they were a little over halfway done. James’ stomach growled.

“What do you say we take a break for lunch, doll, and then come back to finish, more fortified?”

“Good idea,” she said, wiping her brow.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Mmm. Mexican?”

“That sounds great, I love Mexican food. On the Border?”

“Margaritas?”

He shook his head. “It’s the middle of a work day.”

She stared at the paint trays. “Really? I think you can do this kind of work under the influence of a few margaritas.”

He sighed. “Is it a deal-breaker?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she nodded.

“Fine. But just so you know, I won’t usually be such a pushover.” It wasn’t like him to let a girl call the shots. He was dominant by nature. But everything about this girl was new to him.

She lifted a brow. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, gratitude dripping lazily from her lips like the sweetest honey.

He ushered her out the door, and held the car door open for her. She thanked him. Walking around to his side of the car, James puzzled, “
What am I getting myself into
?”

Shaking his head, he drove them to the restaurant. Marley was quiet. Odd for someone with such a bubbly personality. It was in there, he’d seen glimpses of it the night they’d spent together.

Ah, perhaps she’s being guarded. Understandable. How do I break through that careful façade she’s wearing? Maybe those blasted margaritas will help
.

His hunch proved correct. Margaritas turned out to be the key to loosening her up. Marley ordered a frozen margarita. It came in a huge bowl of a glass that was bigger than her head. The more she drank, the friendlier she got.

The waiter brought a plate of nachos to their table. Between the two of them, the chips loaded with cheese, sour cream, beans, beef, and guacamole disappeared rapidly.

“Why did you
really
come to see me? Milton said you don’t see the same girl twice,” she asked between bites.

Startled by Milton’s lack of discretion, he scowled. “What else did Milton tell you?”

“That you liked the whole daddy and little girl thing, pigtails, stuff like that.” She took a sip from the icy concoction in front of her.

He froze. Heat radiated from his face.

“That’s okay. To each his own,” she said, nonchalantly popping a tortilla chip in her mouth. She signaled the waiter. “Can we please have some queso for our chips?”

“No problem,” the waiter said and hurried away.

“Milton needs to keep his mouth shut,” he muttered. Though he thought his heart would come out of his chest when she talked about calling him Daddy.

Marley reached across the table and laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t bother me.” She bit into another chip.

She’s so flippant. What all had she been exposed to in her line of work?
He shuddered to think. He regarded his kinks as rather harmless, but he knew some doms really liked to beat women. His gut twisted. A lot of hardcore things that went on in the world, and he hated to imagine Marley being subjected to some of them.

“You know, you weren’t easy to find. Especially since your real name is Harley, not Marley.”

It was her turn to freeze. She choked on her chip and took a slug of her icy beverage to wash it down.

She stiffened. “How did you find that out?”

“Had to hire a P.I. No one could find a Marley living anywhere on the street where the driver took you, but we did find a Harley. Cool name by the way; why’d you change it?”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t you?”

He grinned. “Possibly. What, was your mom a biker babe?” He could picture that.

“My dad. Only thing he ever gave me was that stupid name. Then he left us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, don’t be. It was probably the best thing he could have done for me. I mean leave, not give me that dumb name.” She giggled.

“Why? What was wrong with him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sounds like he was a real asshole. My mom doesn’t have a lot of nice things to say about him. My brother remembered liking him, but he was little. All kids love their parents when they’re young.”

“So you have a brother?”

A cloud settled over her face. “Did. He got killed in Afghanistan last year. His name was Paul.” She stared at the table, her fingers fiddling with a paper straw wrapper.

“Oh, Marley, I’m so sorry.” He reached out and took her hands in his.

She smiled bravely. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. How did you get so rich? You were born to it, right?”

James almost spit out the water he was about to swallow. “Me? Born with money? No, no, no. I grew up middle class, public schools, regular neighborhood. What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. You just seem… cultured.” She shrugged.

“Well, thanks, I guess. But no, I invented an app. Like for your phone.”

She gave him a blank look.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll show you.”

She blushed crimson. “Lost mine.”

She doesn’t have a phone
. The reality sunk in like a stone attached to his foot, sinking him. “Doesn’t matter.”

He wanted to change the subject fast, to put her at ease. “So, what have you been up to since I saw you last?”

Her face brightened. “I got a job.” Her chest puffed with pride.

“You did? Doing what?”
God, please don’t let it be a one-on-one job hooking for another guy
.

“Waiting tables. At the pancake house. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.” She crossed her fingers. “I hope.”

“Good. Good for you. So you’re not doing the other thing…?”

Marley made a face. “Nope. Moving onward and upward,” she said, her voice determined. She slurped down the last of her drink.

A crackling sizzle interrupted their conversation, and the waitress set down a platter of beef fajitas with all the accoutrements.

Their server out of earshot, James whispered conspiratorially, “You never worked for Miss Jay, did you?”

Her eyes widened. “What? How did you know?”

“Doll, you’re nothing like Miss Jay’s girls,” he chuckled.

She tossed her napkin on the table in a huff, lower lip protruding. “Why? What do you
mean
?”

He shrugged. In a low voice he said, “Just… you’re not like them. Her girls were all very professional, mechanical almost. Snotty too. You… you were different.”

He paused. “You seemed to actually
enjoy
what we were doing.”

“Well, that’s not how it usually was!” she snapped.

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say to that, and he had obviously pissed her off. Squirming in his chair, he tried to focus on building his fajita in the tortilla. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was sitting, stock still, with her arms crossed and a snarl on her face.
Just eat.

He ate three huge steak fajitas before assessing her mood again. Her face had softened some, but she still looked angry. “Marley, please eat your lunch. We have to get back to painting soon. Remember?”

With an exaggerated sigh, she started to build her own fajita.

That was more like it. He knew this girl could eat. He liked that about her. He had spent the past week fantasizing about her voracious appetite, in the bedroom as well as at the dinner table.