My daddy, p.1
My Daddy, page 1
My Daddy
A Secret Club Romance
Silver Fox Daddy
Book 4
Olivia Fox
Copyright © 2022 by Olivia Fox Romance
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is all fiction. No one who is getting down with one another is related. All sexual acts are between consenting adults and if there is no talk of condoms, birth control, etc. it’s only because it’s fiction.
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To all those who lead lives without a daddy, in the hope that you may experience at second hand the delights and shivery delicacies of getting caught by one — within the pages of this book.
It’s never too late for love and sex.
Those Spanish Words
Cálmate - calm down (literally calm yourself)
Comprende? Understand?
Dimelo - tell me (literally, tell it to me)
Mi Amor - my love (term of affection)
Mi Cielo - my heaven (term of affection)
Mi Flor - my flower (term of affection)
Preciosa - precious (term of affection)
Princesa - princess (term of affection)
Chapter 1
Priscilla
I strained to listen for feet following me along the pathways of the shadowy underground chamber, but my footfalls were the only ones I heard. My pursuer was a big man but didn’t move like one. He was graceful and cat-like.
A sheer black fright tore through me, pondering what he had in store if I lost the bet. Only VIP members of the exclusive BDSM club where I worked as operations manager were allowed access to this below-ground labyrinth. As an employee, Mr. Taylor, the owner, granted me the privilege.
The smooth partition that snapped into place at the ceiling and floor was cool under my palm, reminding me I was trapped between its walls. It creeped me out to be stuck in the elaborate network of paths beneath the building when The Ranch was closed. Entering a competition during business hours was one thing. Same with working alongside other employees while setting up a new maze for the sexy games of chase. Laboring side by side, we’d joke around and ponder who’d be the first member of the day to get lost within the many passages and secret chambers we constructed anew. The “SIPs” or structurally insulated panels ensured competitors couldn’t hear each other during the hunt, and presently, I lamented that design quality.
This was the stupidest thing I’d done in a long while. Maybe ever.
I wasn’t a fan of exploring the tunnels dimly lit by candlelight alone, nor of the earthen floors which further muffled sound. Most especially, I hated the fact that I already took this route three times and kept winding up in the same place beneath the candles on a cast iron chandelier which swung, nearly imperceptibly, from the ceiling.
A wave of heebie-jeebies swept through me as I darted my gaze left and right, looking for the proper path to take in this mystifying warren of subterranean passages, where the prey for the day was me.
This is what you get for thinking you’re so tough. Pretending nothing phases you when you have more demons than the abyss. Your independent streak can be a real pain in the ass, you know that?
My hands shook as fearful images built in my mind, and the crackle and sputter of the burning wax overhead tricked me into thinking someone was sneaking up on me.
Up to now, I’d never lost a round of Entanglement, which is what we called this game of pursuit at The Ranch. The title had a double meaning because the victorious stalker got to have their way with his or her prey after catching them in the labyrinth. My unbroken reign of victory made me cocky. I never took part in anything sexual when I won. Rather, I reveled in coffee being served to me daily, my car being detailed for free, even leading my little pet on a leash around the club and using him or her as a footrest was something I enjoyed. But the spoils of my triumph never involved passion. I loved to win. The vindication of doing so almost made the risk of losing to Doc worth it. I wasn’t in this current game to be defiled.
We had a special arrangement. If I lost, I’d go away with him for the weekend and allow him to bring out my Little, and show me once and for all what it was like to be dominated. What the fuck was I thinking? My sneakers were the perfect footwear for this sport, and I trotted towards what I judged to be the back wall, following a trail I hadn’t yet explored. My lungs protested as I was woefully out of shape. No matter. I wouldn’t let such a thing as my unhealthy habits and below-par athleticism slow me down.
I was a fan of denial. All day long. I denied I was forty-two every time I saw a mirror and expected to catch my twenty-something-year-old reflection staring back at me. Denied the way my jowls had drooped under gravity’s weight so that my chin was no longer a chiseled line below my cheek but a marbled object that appeared stuffed full of cotton, Marlon Brando’s middle-aged granddaughter. I rejected the fact that more of the people I loved were going to die someday, or that smoking could ever kill me. And I refuted the way my traitorous body responded to Doc every damn day of my life, such that he stayed in my mind worse than an annoying tune you cannot forget.
What I had for him were definitely more than friendly feelings, but I refused them. More than anything, I hated that the biggest source of my denial started at age fifteen. The one I barely acknowledged but couldn't ignore. To this day, my natural tendency was to glance away each time I passed a mirror. It was the only remnant of my anorexic era, which came to a halt during the latter half of my twenties. The period when I woke up every morning and lacked the strength to get out of bed. Sleeping escaped me because of hunger pains. When I finally woke up, it took ages to dress because I had no energy. I hated to see my reflection back then but was obsessed with my appearance and couldn’t look away. The image of myself always made me feel sick. Sometimes it still made me ill, but at least I didn’t throw up on purpose anymore. Ever since being released from the hospital at age twenty-six, with a diagnosis of anorexia and orders for follow-up treatment, denial got me through the day. Denial was underrated. I was its biggest fan.
Except now, hiding in these tunnels built specially for people who wanted to pursue each other, get lost together, and do bad things to each other… I was reconsidering my original assumption. Instead of being hunted by a minotaur, I sought escape from a man who made my nipples stand at attention whenever he was around. This hunter was craftier than any other contender I’d gone up against, and I should have known better. Accepting his bet was a childish, compulsive thing to do, but my competitive nature had gotten the best of me.
My skirt hampered my speed, and I had a thought. Maybe you wore it because you wanted to get caught like a damsel in distress, captured by the big scary monster. Admit it, you knew darn well he was the only challenger who could best you.
I slowly came to a halt in a chamber that opened up to four different tunnels. The room was eerily silent. If I were honest, Doc was the one thing I couldn’t deny myself. The only man I trusted enough to be my friend, and lately, every time we said goodbye, I felt a certain sadness.
It had been three years since my last unsatisfying sexual encounter. “And my pussy has been on strike for longer than that,” I mumbled aloud.
Less than several paces away, he stepped out of the shadows and mused, “I can help you with that.” As my heart fluttered in my chest, I realized a frightened feeling bore much resemblance to an excited one. Panic struck, and I bolted down one of the empty hallways in the opposite direction, but he was faster.
His Dr. Marten boots propelled him almost silently after me, elusive in the torchlit pathways, as I huffed and puffed to escape. His ruggedness and vital power always attracted me, but I cursed them now as he shot a brawny arm forward, wrapping it about my waist and tugging me to him, choke-holding his hand around my throat with effortlessness, and yanking me back hard against his huge frame.
Any attempts to wrestle away from him were futile, and he tightened his grip on my windpipe, squeezing as I struggled wildly against him, coming to an abrupt halt when I brushed against the rigid evidence of his arousal and realized my efforts to escape were exciting him. He said, with the certainty of a man who could never be satisfied with only a weekend, “Consider me your very own strikebreaker. I caught you. You’re mine now.”
Deftly, he spun me ‘round and put my back up against the wall. My voice was more quivery than I would have liked. “Only for a couple of days. That’s the deal.” Entirely seized by my emotions, he was the center of my focus. We could have been anywhere, but all I saw was him. His burning eyes held me still, and a delicious shudder of excitement went through me as I wondered what he would do next.
His voice was uncompromising, yet oddly gentle. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same instant. This dynamic was new between us, and I worried giving in to our attraction would ruin everything. “You deserve someone who values you.” He wrapped his hands around my wrist
It was the first time he’d ever said anything so flirtatious, and it was unclear if it was lust or panic that made my blood slam at my pulse points. I’d built my entire existence on a carefully crafted regime of control, and Doc was a man who could make me lose it if I weren’t careful.
He knew all about my struggle with my eating disorder, something I never liked to talk about. The past was history. He’d bring me dinner after my shift at The Ranch, sit and eat with me to ensure I didn’t forget. Our meals together were about spending time with each other, and he helped me actually enjoy food again without feeling guilty about it.
His gaze landed on my lips, staring in a way that was new between us. “My God, Priscilla. I think yours must be the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen.” Then his eyes dropped from my face to my shoulders and my breasts, and it felt as if his look stroked me, and it made me hunger for him. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I’d do to you if I won. Losing was never an option.”
My reputation at the club preceded me. Heck, some employees were afraid of me. It kept them in line without me having to try too hard so that I could avoid the compulsions that so naturally shaped my actions and routine. There was a part of me inside that so badly wanted to relax and let go. To allow someone else to take over.
When I was with Doc, I didn’t have to be the strong one.
The organizer.
The person in charge.
He let me just be me. Doc knew he was a daddy. He didn’t have to be convinced of it or taught how. The question remained, was I his baby girl? If I gave into that temptation, would it mean losing him as a friend forever?
Chapter 2
Doc
Descending the stairs into the labyrinth below, The Ranch tricked my brain.
It was as if time took me back to over four decades ago and spit me out smack dab in the middle of my childhood during one of countless days when I tried to escape my older brother in the jungle.
Forty years ago, my family lived at the edge of El Yunque Forest in Puerto Rico. My father, a retired Army Lt. Col. from the U.S., served from 1962 to 1982, and I grew up as an "Army brat." Originally a boy from Tennessee, he met my mother while stationed on the island, had my brother and me with her, and ended up spending the rest of his life with her there.
I could feel the pounding of my heart as I stood petrified, spine pressed against the trunk of a rosewood tree, hoping against hope to outwit him in our game of chase. The rough bark poked into my flesh and made standing still difficult. I’d learned to avoid the palm trees early on, after having my right leg swarmed by fire ants nesting in the dry sheaths encircling those trunks. I shifted my weight in my tennies. The fading light of the setting sun was painting the surroundings with shadowy brush strokes, and I held my hands tightly gripped in front of me, listening for any human sounds that might interrupt the serene singing of the whistling frogs.
There were none.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a terrible monster skitter across the bark alongside my skull and although it cut my breath off, I couldn’t hold back a sharp cry of alarm.
Fucking brown bat.
Harmless and butt-ugly bug-eater.
As soon as I had the wicked thought, my being was bombarded with guilt. Mama would have my head if she found out I even knew the four-letter word.
Perhaps it was time to make a break for it.
I rubbed my arms, mustering courage, and hoped like hell he wouldn’t hear me bolt. If he caught me, he’d beat the living snot out of me for eating up all the leftover Platanos Maduros that morning, his favorite sweet treat, before he woke up.
My brother, Duke, seriously sucked.
That was a saying my uncle Bobby, dad’s brother, taught me. Born Robert Ambrosini, he called himself Bobby ever since coming back to the island from Iraq. Sucked meant something was really, really bad.
It would stink if my brother caught me.
He’d give me an ass whoopin’ for sure. That was another phrase Bobby had shared, and I thought it sounded cool. He said if I kept up with my English, someday I could be a soldier just like him.
I would be stuck in the dark if I didn't get home soon, and that would be bad. I inhaled shallow, quick gasps to fill my lungs.
It was now or never.
Relying on my speed, and knowledge of the forest paths, I barked out my battle cry at the tree canopy overhead, “Hooah!” and sprinted towards home.
My breathing came ragged in the muffled stillness of the labyrinth below the club. Unlike El Yunque, there were no creatures calling out calming sounds into the night. The underground passages held the scent of the earth as the jungle did, and just like the pubescent version of me in the jungle, I felt the constant nudge of impending arousal. Back then, I had no control over my erections. Chasing Priscilla had the same effect.
I pictured how adorable she looked in her standard uniform, a pinup dress and white sneakers, running from me. How, when I inevitably caught her, she’d struggle to get free, her hazel eyes flashing like fire, her delicious breasts rising and falling in fury because she lost.
She hated losing.
This thing between us was something I’d thought about for a very long while. I pondered this, coming to a halt under an arched chamber, which offered four different routes. There was a shadow staining the wall of one tunnel, and I stepped silently towards it to examine it further. The small enclave would give me the advantage if she were to pass this way. It was only a matter of time—all I had to do was wait. I put my back against the wall of the maze and stayed put.
In stillness, the sweat from my earlier exertion while running through the chambers evaporated, and the cold seeped into my body. It contrasted with the quickening of my pulse, as I anticipated Priscilla’s sudden appearance in the chamber from which I remained hidden from view, holding my breath so that I could hear the slightest sound in the obscurity.
I’d already broken all my rules for her. All for a chance at one weekend spent teaching her all the things she’d been missing because of her prolonged bout of celibacy.
It came to a point, after months and months of fantasizing about my princess, where I could no longer keep my hands off her.
As manager of The Ranch, she was plenty familiar with dom-sub relationships, but she admitted to me she’d never been in one herself.
That’s when I caved into my growing need to touch her.
Train her.
Corrupt and worship her.
Up to now, there was nothing going on between us besides solid friendship. We’d met for the first time at my tattoo parlor in town, and I found I could talk to her more easily than I could with my male friends. I kept convincing myself that she wouldn’t go away if I demanded her complete submission.
The weird thing was, she didn’t see it—how I felt about her. For such an intelligent woman, she was blind to something that wouldn’t take an idiot to figure out.
I wanted to show her what she’d been missing, and I wasn’t above using sex as a weapon.
Maybe giving her a head start had been a mistake. My eagerness to catch her had blinded me to the folly of letting her go first. She was cleverer than me, even if I was stronger and faster.
Beyond the open chamber, there was a furtive movement of black on black. I melted into the enclave, pressing myself as tightly as I could against the wall. The darkness seemed a living thing, and I licked my lips, smiling in anticipation of what I would do to her first, after claiming my prize. Eyes wide, round, and barely blinking, I labored to pick up another hint of movement in the tunnels.
Where was she?
Then I saw her bombshell body, round in all the right places. It came down the hallway at a fast jog after halting for a long moment in the chamber, head up, alert, listening for any sound. I stepped out into the corridor, a sinister shadow detaching from its hiding place to reveal itself, and she sprinted away, melting into the darkness of the distant passageway again.
