Time Out (Daddies Know Best #5)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Fay

“You wanna play?” The stranger with the silver eyes and the look of a man possessed smiles as an angry red welt rises on his cheek where I’ve just walloped him.

I’ve never hit anyone.

It was justified, though, right?

I mean, he’s taking me against my will.

He’s assaulting me.

Why is there a flutter in my chest?

And down lower?

Why is he looking at me like I’ve really hurt him?

Personally wounded him?

I don’t even know him.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I could kick your butt at Mario Kart if that’s the kind of play you’re talking about,” I snap back, my tongue still thick from the gin and tonics I threw back in order to gain the liquid courage to take the stage wearing the world’s smallest Harley Quinn costume.

“Yeah?” His gray eyes fix on mine so I can’t move, and I want to look away, but I force defiance onto my face as I stare right back. “Cute. I like a little sass to go along with your ass.”

He tips his head in a way that makes me shiver, with a glimmer in those wild eyes that also has me clenching my inner muscles while a treacherous warmth soaks into the slip of red shimmering fabric between my legs.

His earthy, spicy scent isn’t helping me hold onto my anger. He’s scary, and sexy, and those two things shouldn’t happen together but right now my body doesn’t seem to care. I could run, except I’d be flat on my face in two steps. These shoes are far from practical, especially for escaping a wild-eyed maniac that just dragged me from the stage.

Without warning, he lurches forward, recovered from the shock of my smack, and takes my chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face towards his as he plants a kiss on my lips. Not a peck, like some embarrassed teenager fumbling around. This is hard, entitled and demanding.

His lips crush against mine, squeezing them against my teeth, forcefully pushing his warm tongue past my lips as I whine, but instead of biting it off I kiss him back as his hand spreads my thighs, greedy, thick fingers pressing hard against my sex.

I try to shift back, to regain some control, but his enormous frame covers mine, slamming me back into the car and taking a handful of pussy like he has signed, titled ownership of it.

That little bit of fabric between my legs is no barrier to entry as his rough fingertips slide through my slit, my Judas body responding with a rush of slick arousal.

“Skilled gamer, huh?” he mutters as I half moan, half sob, embarrassed that I’m so turned on by his touch. “You’ve got all the pieces to play the game, that’s for sure. Not sure you know how to use them though.”

Why didn’t the bouncers stop him, I wonder? When I did my initial on-boarding, or whatever they call it for Chubby Chaser’s night at The Easy Street Strip Club, I was told the bouncers would keep guys from touching. That was left for VIP rooms, where the house always gets their cut.

Nothin’s free here. They pay to play, honey.

That’s what Desiree Dangerous—the den mother of the Easy Street back room—informed me as she went over the ins and outs of the amateur competition I entered for a shot at a two-thousand-dollar first place prize. She went on to only lightly veil the ins and outs of making some extra cash… Girls pay the club $20 for fifteen minutes use of the VIP rooms. Anything a dancer collects beyond that for whatever… VIP games they play… is theirs to keep.

It's a don’t ask don’t tell sort of arrangement.

I didn’t expect to take them up on that extra offering, and my dreams of landing some sort of prince charming and a two grand first prize were as far ahead as I thought this through.

Clearly, my game playing skills are not as honed as I thought.

My pulse is kicking up a hot fuss all through my veins as the stranger grunts, and his groping, heavy hands fix themselves onto my hips, his jaw clenched. I’m practically naked, my boobs are aching and exposed, and the temporary spray dye I put in my hair is flaking off all over me, but here in the grimy parking lot behind the club, we draw no attention.

“We’re going to play some games I hope to hell you have not been playing with anyone else.” His thick voice doesn’t fill me with fear like it should.

No one seems interested in the stripper that was just dragged out the back of the club to a super shiny black car, so my choices right now are a) fight, which clearly from the size of this guy and the strength of his grip, I would lose, or b) use my wits.

I go with the second choice.

I play into his lead with a cock of my head. “I like all kinds of games, so…”

“Good. First game is, do what you’re told.” His low voice sends a shiver over my skin. “Get in.”

He swings open the car door, not really giving me a chance to comply before he manhandles me into the seat, my bare breasts jiggling. The leather is cold on my back and legs as he centers me on the seat, one hand applying pressure with his flat palm on my chest while the other grabs the seat belt, tugs it across my nearly naked body, and clicks it into place.

My breathing is shallow, my heart fluttering like hummingbird wings as he swings the door shut, stomps around the front of the car, and practically battles his massive body behind the wheel.

He considers me sitting there in my disheveled, barely-there outfit, before stripping off his black jacket and stuffing it down my back and around my shoulders.

“As much as I’m enjoying looking at your tits and the fact that if I was a weaker man, I’d have you on all fours banging down the door to your womb right here, right now, I won’t harm you or let anything harm you. Including cold weather.”

With that, the door slams shut, and even with his crude words about banging down the door to my womb I’m not picking up on a Ted Bundy vibe from this guy.

If I am being honest, I think he really meant he wouldn’t let anything harm me. Including cold weather.

This night is not what I expected, but maybe, maybe…this is my white knight riding in. He just has a different sort of approach.

I don’t ask where we are going as the engine come on with a low rumble, the wheels spin gravel from the decaying asphalt parking lot, and we head out into the darkness.

It’s a nice car. The nicest I’ve ever been in by far, with a gleaming, rich wooden dashboard and crazy slick LED lights all over the gauges and controls.

It’s been a long minute since I enjoyed any sort of creature comforts. Sneaking into the house where I’d been living with my father before he went up the river and it went back to the bank, to sleep on a bare mattress on the floor, is not five-star digs even with my two stuffed black Labs laying next to me.

I’ve always wanted a black Lab since I was a little girl, but my mom thought dogs were dirty and my dad said they were expensive, so no dog for me.

Why a lab? I don’t know, they just seemed like the kind of dog a normal family would have. Nice but protective. Warm and cuddly and playful. My grandma gave me two stuffed ones on my tenth birthday, whispering in my ear that if it was up to her, they’d be real. Those are the two I still have. One of the only remnants of my childhood I have, besides my Daddy issues and a fierce affection for comfort foods.

It’s hard, but I admit I’ve secretly stowed away my feminist card and prayed for a prince to swoop into my life and steer the ship back to the harbor, so to speak. The last ten years with my father have been one turmoil after another. From gambling debts to drinking to running an illegal poker club in our basement, which ended up getting raided by the cops.

My childhood was that sort of rollercoaster, and with all the distractions and the hell of high school as a shy, chubby gamer girl with few social skills and a crappy home life, I barely graduated.

I guess the prince charming was what I was hoping for when I decided to enter the Chubby Chasers dance contest. Because the two-grand first prize wouldn’t really be enough to get me out of the trouble my father has left me in.

I watched a YouTube video of a woman that uses her ‘curves’ to lock down benefactors as she called them. She said she started at a dance competition, then went on to form a lucrative stable of men that pay all her bills, along with a website and a killer OnlyFans account.

Sure, I ignored the parts about what she had to do in order to keep the money coming in. In my mind, I would wear cute pajamas, sit on a fluffy bed surrounded by stuffies and about ten rescue dogs, and talk to my own stable of men on Facetime about how their day was, while they spoil me and make sure I’m eating right, and give me metaphorical spankings when I break the rules.

Whatever rules they set. Nice rules, like Daddy kind of rules.

I’m pretty sure they’d want more than that, but desperate times are a fertile field for delusions.

So... is this my prince charming in a black Bentley?

Or a serial killer planning my demise?

Why am I not terrified?

“You don’t belong in a place like that.” His rumbling voice cracks open the dark silence in the car, my pulse still racing from the kiss and the groping earlier.

“Where do I belong?” My question seems to hit him like a fist, and he visibly recoils, long, thick fingers turning white on the steering wheel.

“If I answer that question, you’ll be clawing your way out that door,” he says thickly, the tendons in his neck straining against the white collar of his shirt.

He’s dressed pretty nice for a serial killer. Black suit, white shirt, open collar. Classic but sexy.

I already registered that he’s a big guy, but here inside the car, he takes up the space like ten pounds of potatoes in a five-pound sack, as my grandma used to say, God rest her soul.

As we merge onto the mostly empty freeway, one of his massive hands releases the steering wheel and those thick, hard fingers reach over and dig into the flesh of my left knee.

“Spread your legs. The scent of your wet pussy is making me a discourteous man right now. I want to see what you were going to tempt all those other feeble, weak men with.”

He tugs my leg toward the center console, then reaches over, sliding down. His hand finds its way to the heat and wetness I cannot hide, gliding across the bit of red fabric left before ripping it from the elastic, then urging my other thigh toward the passenger door with his knuckles. His attention returns to the road for a moment, where the black highway is broken by only the headlights of the car and the fast moving white stripes that divide the empty lanes.

After a heartbeat, his gaze returns to my now-exposed feminine parts, which are tingling like they are being tickled by a hundred feathers.

His heavy breathing fills the space as I hold my own. There’s low rock music coming from the car speakers. My lungs burn as I stare at the angles of his face. The cut of his jaw bone and crooked angle of his nose. He shifts his massive frame in his seat on an uncomfortable grimace, his hand retreating from my thighs, which he has positioned obscenely wide, to reach back and grip himself, adjusting what I see in the darkness is a healthy thickness under his black trousers.

God, I’ve played with myself before, but never have I felt this sort of desire. Longing. It’s like a coiled snake inside me, rattling and slithering and ready to strike.

And it’s for a man that has abducted me and assaulted me. That’s not to mention he’s got to be close to fifteen…maybe twenty years older than me.

Clearly, my Daddy issues are coming out to play.

But all I can think about is having him throwing me up against the wall and drive all that thickness into my virgin pussy.

My nipples harden and ache at the thought as I lean back in my seat, opening my legs wider for him to have a better view.

A deep growl rumbles from his chest and my heart races as his rapt gaze gives me a sudden sense of power over this powerful man.

“I’m the only man who is ever going to see that.” He pounds his other fist on the steering wheel while he works his erection under his pants. “I’m going to take care of you.” His voice lowers, almost cracks on that last part like it’s hurting him. That same look crosses his face that he had earlier, like he’s in pain, as his massive chest rises and falls.

He takes the next exit and within minutes, we are on a dark, thickly tree-lined street with houses so far back from the road they are hard to make out except for the fact that they are huge.

Real mansions, and he’s pulling into the biggest of them all.

He parks in front of a massive double front door, cutting the engine, but keeps his eyes forward, the muscle in his jaw flexing.

“Has anyone ever touched what’s mine? Down there?” His gaze is set forward, one hand still clenched on the black leather steering wheel.

I shake my head on a hard swallow, and he releases himself to slide his hand down my bare stomach, then down, down, between my legs as I press upward into his touch.

I’m throbbing everywhere, and the need for what he’s offering is blinding me. I don’t care about safety or what he might do to me, I just want to wiggle and release the tension that’s winding so tight inside me I feel like I’m about to come apart.

His fingers brush back and forth, stars twinkling behind my closed lids as I slide into the feeling of his fingers across my clit.

“Where’s your family?” His voice is suddenly flat and stoic.

My mouth waters and my pussy clenches under the soft, oddly comforting strum of his fingers as my aroused scent fills the space around us. “My mother passed away when I was young. My father…” I hate to even think about my father while this man is playing with me like a little lost toy, but when I peek up at him, his eyes are intent on me, his nostrils flaring. His movements pause as I stay silent, then finally blurt out, “My father is in prison. I don’t have anyone else.”

Silence and heartbeats are the only sounds in the car as he withdraws his hand, and tears burn my lower lids. I think of sleeping on the mattress in the house my father lost to the bank. How I rigged one of the boarded-up windows to open, so I could sneak in at night and out in the morning. It will be six months to a year before it goes to auction, from what I researched, so that should be enough time for me to formulate my plan.

Find a sugar daddy who doesn’t want any sugar to save my sorry, fat bottom.

Sleeping on the left-over mattress was not horrible, but the nights have turned colder, and without an official address, I’ve not been able to find a job outside of the one I have at Louis’ BBQ Pit where I wait tables for tips only. I worry about everything . I always have. It’s like a spring tightening inside me. The only constant companion in my life has been my anxiety.

The bit of income I’ve managed has been enough to keep me in food, and the church around the corner from the BBQ place gives out mini toiletries and canned goods every Thursday morning. I grab a shower at the YMCA, where the lady at the desk and I have a bargain. I bring her a pulled pork sandwich with a pickle on the side, and she looks the other way when I go into the women’s locker room.

I’m sort of frozen in time, I guess. Unable to see a way out of staying at the house I called home, even though it’s a cold shell of what it used to be.

The hand that was just dancing on my wet, needy girl parts, now cups my chin. The slickness I released onto his fingers slides against me as he turns me and locks our eyes together, a single drip of sweat traversing down my spine.

“You’re wrong about not having anyone else,” he says with a calm strength that makes me want to believe everything he says. “You have me.”