Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Every time he does his family-is-the-most-important-thing-ever speech, I battle this ball of guilt deep inside. Knowing that I’m keeping things from him, especially something he holds so dear, tears me up.
But I’m stuck, and I can’t imagine making him angry or losing him, so I keep up my web of lies. I’m praying someday it will all become a non-issue by some stroke of magic.
“I know, Daddybear.” I sigh, trying to find a way to dislodge the niggling guilt, and somehow come to projecting my own secrets onto him. “I just…I wish you would tell me where you’re going. About your work. I want to know, Daddy.” He’s so secretive about so many things that it’s easy to deflect my own secrets. I hate being without him here, hate the thought that there are things in his life that I can’t know, even as I struggle to keep my own life at arm’s length. “I just hate not knowing what goes on in your life when you’re not here.”
Tears start to prick at my lower lids, the truth of that statement hitting me deep. I never minded being alone before him. Now, when he’s gone, I ache. My body. My heart.
I ache.
“I told you I can’t, baby.” His voice is soothing, but it does nothing to calm the rising panic in my gut. “It’s work. Just work. I don’t want any other babygirls but you. You know that. You are my one and my only, okay? So please, don’t worry.”
“So. Not. Fair. You know where I am all the time. What I’m doing. I send you pictures of my day. Of me. I always tell you things.” I pout but release my death grip on his enormous body.
I try to be strong, but deep down it bothers me when he goes. The doubts about why he keeps things from me poke at me in my most insecure moments.
He’s the guy that could have any girl. He’s got that thing.
A swagger.
An unapologetic confidence that pulls you to him. And I see women looking at him whenever we are out. He’s talked a little about his past as far as dating or whatever when I asked. And his best friend, George, has made some remarks as well, here and there, about the kind of guy he was before me.
Seems he was quite the player and I have no idea how I’m ever going to be enough for him. From what I gather, he had several women at once, never loyal to any and never bringing any to his home or into his life.
He spent a lot of years living that life, and in my heart there’s always a bit of doubt whether one girl will ever satisfy him.
I push a smile to my lips and do my best to shake away my insecurities, but they will only go into hiding for a while. I know. I’ve tried.
Stas is fourteen years my senior. His full name is Stanislov Pavlovich, but he goes by Stas, though I only call him Daddy or Daddybear.
Sometimes Sir if I’m in trouble.
But geez, his name, can you get more Russian than that?
But even with such a unique name, he’s not even a blip on the radar anywhere online. I’ve tried to find out more about him, but he’s a ghost in the cyber world.
I even came right out and asked him once if that was his real name. Stupid, but I had to be sure. He provided me his driver’s license and Social Security card without hesitation, so I dropped my inquires.
He looks just like his name, too. His face is beautiful to me. Rugged, showing years of a life that has left its scars and marks. But I’ve never found a man so sexy in all my life.
There’s a restrained power when he’s around me, but when he’s out, doing whatever it is he’s doing, I bet that restraint is gone. And the thought of it gives me chills.
Right from the start, he reminded me of a big, overprotective bear. And so one day I started calling him Daddybear. He loved it, and immediately started calling me Babybear in return.
I run a hand upward through his close-cropped hair. It’s nearly black with just the beginning of a few highlights of silver at his temples. Everything about him is neat and controlled, from the way he dresses, to the way the house is organized and decorated, to the way he keeps himself.
He smells like a dream. It’s confidence and sex and leather, all mixed together into one intoxicating whole, and I can’t get enough. I breathe him in as I settle my head on his chest for a moment, listening to the low beat of his heart.
“Fine.” I manage as he steps back, looking me over from head to toe and back again, making me shiver. “At least I have our babies. The cucumbers were looking particularly cute yesterday morning.”