Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Good, he replies, and then, Are you okay?
No, but I will be. And I wonder how he could tell. I’m good.
You’re not being yourself. You only said I’m killing you. No lectures. I’m worried.
I chuckle at him. He’s really something else…and he’s caught on to who I am pretty quickly. You work tomorrow morning?
No, but I’m not going to coffee with you again.
I think you would if I told you to. The thought makes my dick get harder and my skin heat up.
Yes, Daddy.
I tremble. Fucking tremble reading the text from him. Goddamn, he gets me going something good.
Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at eight. We’re going rock climbing.
Because I need to be out there. I need to clear my head after today. I could do it alone, but I won’t. I’ll put it off unless I make a commitment to someone else—spend extra time with Mom or see about another extra shift at work, or hang around Steph and Zane like a lost fucking puppy.
Eight?? Are you fucking insane???
A laugh slips from my lips. Okay, seven thirty. Be ready.
Yes. I think I am going crazy.
Then, even though I’m tired as hell and should get my ass to bed, I look up daddy porn, and yeah, I think I’d like being Derek’s daddy a lot more than I should.
8
Derek
What did I get myself into?
I don’t rock climb.
Although the idea of spending more time with Daddy Jackson excites me.
When I see his Jeep pull into the porte-cochere in the back of Metropolis, my vague memory of it returns from the night when I stumbled into the back seat. I slide into the passenger’s seat and set my nylon sport bag on the floorboard before me.
“I was expecting it to be pink,” Jackson says as he eyes the bag, black with a fire print across it.
“Nope, just flaming.”
He smirks. Although, even smiling, between his tense jaw and the way he’s gripping the steering wheel like he’s worried it’ll get away from him, I can tell he’s stressed about something.
“Where’s this harness you can’t wait to get me into?” I ask, hoping to lighten his mood. I glance over my shoulder, peeking at the back seat. There’s a hunter-green duffle bag on the floorboard behind him and a much larger black bag lies across the seat.
“It’s a real cute number,” he says as he drives down the exit ramp.
He rotates a knob on the radio console, turning the music up.
“Bowie,” I say. “Now why is it I wasn’t thinking you were a Bowie fan?”
“How did you know who it was?”
“You think I don’t recognize good music?”
“I just assumed you were only familiar with Demi Lovato and Taylor Swift.” His lips curl upward, obviously delighting in his dig.
“Ooh, isn’t Daddy just full of jokes this morning? You seem to know a lot of pop stars from my generation for an old guy.”
“Careful or you’ll be biking your way to Panola Mountain.”
He’s relaxed his grip on the wheel, but I can tell by his tensed jaw that there’s something on his mind—something he can’t let go of.
“Where is this place?” I ask.
“About thirty minutes southeast of the city. You’ve never heard of Panola Mountain?”
“I take great pride in knowing very little about the world outside of Midtown.”
I snatch his iPhone, which is plugged into the radio, playing Bowie’s “Ground Control to Major Tom.”
He glances at me uneasily. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for your music. You should really put a passcode on this thing, by the way.”
“I’ve never really had a reason to have a passcode. It’s an inconvenience more than anything else. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Of course you do,” I say. “Everyone has something to hide.”
That came out more bitterly than I intended.
“You’re a little young to say something that jaded, don’t you think?”
“You do realize that eleven years isn’t that big of a difference, right? Just because I look like I just graduated from high school, doesn’t mean I did.”
“Fair point.”
“I just meant we need to discuss your love of Pink Floyd and the Grateful Dead.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Some needy power bottom is going to go through your phone one night, and he’s totally going to think you’ve been lying to him all along, and that you’re really straight.”
He laughs.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing. He’d be less upset if he found texts from like five other guys you were sleeping with behind his back. At least then he knows you’ll still have sex with him.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m just looking out for you. Now if this is going to work for the next thirty minutes, we’re going to need to compromise.”
“Compromise how?”
“Like you get to listen to your Bowie and Pink Floyd, and I get to listen to Britney…some Madonna…some Cher.”
“We can compromise on Cher.”
My heart flutters.
“Finally, something we have in common! So we’ll start with ‘Bang Bang,’ ‘Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves,’ and ‘If I Could Turn Back Time.’ Obvs. Then we’ll make a U-turn and go back for ‘Half-Breed.’ ”