Perfectly Wrong Daddy E-Book

Mia Kingsley

• Herausgeber: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 85

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

I look pretty when I cry. I just need someone to make me cry—and make me cry hard. Don't hesitate to take what you want, even if I don't want the same thing. Or do I? You want to use me, and I want to please you. We might be a perfect match. But we'll never find out because we'll never see each other again. You'll have the memories, and I'll have the bruises to remember you by. Take me. Hurt me. Make me ache. Leave me and never look back.   This is a dark daddy romance novella that will make you wonder what's wrong with you for liking it. It's okay though—I won't tell anyone. Pinky promise!

Leseprobe

PERFECTLY WRONG DADDY

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK DADDY ROMANCE

CONTENTS

Perfectly Wrong Daddy

Warning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About the Author

PERFECTLY WRONG DADDY

I look pretty when I cry.

I just need someone to make me cry—and make me cry hard.

Don’t hesitate to take what you want, even if I don’t want the same thing. Or do I?

You want to use me, and I want to please you. We might be a perfect match.

But we’ll never find out because we’ll never see each other again.

You’ll have the memories, and I’ll have the bruises to remember you by.

Take me. Hurt me. Make me ache.

Leave me and never look back.

This is a dark daddy romance novella that will make you wonder what’s wrong with you for liking it. It’s okay though—I won’t tell anyone. Pinky promise!

WARNING

This is a very dark and dirty story for all those depraved souls out there longing for that special feeling of being the prey.

If you know what I mean, keep reading and enjoy the grip of Daddy’s strong hand around your throat.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you should probably put your e-reader down and find something fluffy to cuddle.

1

GRACE

I’ve only been in Cosmo’s once, and that was back when I was still in college. The senator’s son I was dating then had invited me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to afford it. One drink was enough to drain my funds for the week.

Now that I’m making a decent amount of money working for a big architectural firm, I’ll probably still feel out of place in this fancy bar.

I met Gerald online, and when he suggested Cosmo’s for our first date, I at least knew he had good taste.

As I get out of the cab, I congratulate myself for taking one—just like a real adult—instead of trying to walk the distance between my apartment and Cosmo’s in these strappy shoes. They look nice but feel like hell. Also, I can’t run in these things. I shiver not knowing if I hope that the evening ends with me running away from Gerald and him trying to catch me before pushing me against a rough brick wall . . .

My thoughts trail off, and I notice that I’m standing in front of the bar like an idiot. My heels are clicking on the ground as I make my way to the entrance. It’s just a date, I tell myself. Just a date. Nothing will happen unless you initiate it. This is just to get to know him, see if you’re a match.

Honestly, I don’t even know what to expect. We’ve met online because both of us like to explore the more . . . unusual tastes.

It’s cold outside—but not enough for me to actually wear tights underneath my short skirt—so I hurry inside. The air smells like expensive perfume and champagne. Although it’s been a while, I still feel out of place. But then again, I always feel out of place. You can count on me to be the one standing awkwardly in the corner at every party, not knowing what to do, who to talk to, or what to say.

Unless someone tells me what to do, I’m at a loss. Hopefully, Gerald will turn out to be that somebody. Our conversations online were quite promising to that aspect.

I was pleasantly surprised when he told me what to wear. A skirt and a low-cut blouse. He left makeup and hair to me. I decided to tie my hair back since everyone keeps telling me how pretty my face is. "Doll face" is what I’ve been called far too many times.

I probably overdid it with the mascara, just in case he makes me cry. He told me how he likes dark smudges around the eyes after a nice deep throat session.

Yeah. I’m not exactly looking for a husband. I’m just looking for . . .

I’m not even sure. I just know that I’m done pretending. I’m just not into vanilla stuff, guys asking me how I feel and what I want. I’ve been on so many mediocre-at-best dates that never led to anything that I don’t even want to try anymore. I asked Gerald straight up if he was down to bang my brains out while I was pretending that I don’t want to be fucked that way.

The bar is busy, and I can’t spot him right away. Maybe he’s late; maybe he’s already there—it’s hard to tell. I decide to take a seat at the bar and wait for him to approach me when a voice behind me says, "You must be Grace." I turn around, and Gerald smiles at me. "Good evening." He extends his hand.

I shake it and immediately notice how weak his grip is. It throws me a little of my game, to be honest.

But he looks like his profile picture, at least. Blond hair, blue eyes, killer smile with a slightly crooked front tooth which makes him look charming. He’s tall and towers over me. Since I like feeling small and helpless, I’m very pleased.

"Hi," I croak, my throat dry. Man, I really need a drink.

"You’re even prettier than your pictures." He takes my sight in, and his smile deepens. "So very pretty. Did you choose a spot already?"

"No. I just got here."

He puts his hand on the small of my back. "Well, then choose."

What? I feel a hint of disappointment in my belly. The whole point of meeting him is that he chooses for me. I get that he wants to be polite and test the waters, but that’s not what I want. I want him to be dominant and decisive, to take my choice away and make me obey his commands.

Okay. Maybe I should cut him some slack. We met literally fifteen seconds ago.

"Over there? By the wall?" I suggest, and he nods before gesturing for me to lead the way. He hands my light coat and his jacket over to the waiter before we take our seats.

I’m not half as nervous as I thought I would be. As I pick up the menu, I’m still waiting for him to say something along the line that he’s going to choose my drink. But he doesn’t. He just proceeds to pick a red wine for him before staring at me with intent.

I decide to go with a gin and tonic since I feel like I need something stronger than wine if I want to make it through this date. It’s always the same. Typing away safely behind their keyboards, men describe their awesome fantasies about what depraved things they’re going to do to me, but they don’t act on it. They never do.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe they see me in real life and decide that I’m not hot or fuckable enough.

"So"—he clears his throat—"you’re an architect. That’s impressive."

"Yeah, though not as impressive as you might think. We’re mostly doing commercial properties, so if you have burning questions about parking garages, I’m your girl." I smile at him, giving my best impression of an easygoing and relaxed woman enjoying her Friday night, hoping that if I just make him feel comfortable enough, he will put his hand on my thigh. Anything, really.

He laughs at my lame joke, and it sounds genuine.

"You’re a dentist?" I try to keep the conservation going.

"Yes." He smiles with his perfect white teeth and tells me that he used to practice with his father before he retired, leaving his son with a boatload of patients.

By the time the drinks arrive, I know at least a dozen of his patients by name. It’s nice. Gerald’s nice. But I don’t want nice. This feels like a real date, like he wants to get to know me before he decides to propose. I don’t want nice. I thought having a drink was a nice euphemism for having foreplay.

I sit facing him, and although I try really hard, I can barely listen to him talk. It’s not him—it’s me. I know that, and it’s still disappointing.

"Ugh," he says. "I always do this. I’m talking way too much about work. Tell me something about you, Grace."

I can’t stand the tenderness with which he says my name. I smile anyway. "There’s not much to tell. I also work too much and have too little social interactions. My parents died a couple of years ago, and since I’m an only child, there’s basically no family left."

"I’m so sorry."

"It’s okay. I got used to it. Do you have any siblings?" There really isn’t anything spectacular to tell about me, and I feel more comfortable with the other ones talking, not me.

Gerald picks up the hint and proceeds to tell me more about his family. On paper, this man’s a catch. There’s a redhead at the bar who can’t take her eyes off him, and suddenly, I feel like an intruder. This was a bad idea.

For a moment, I just stare at the table, thinking about how I can end this awkward situation. This is not what I wanted.

"How do you feel about having dinner? I mean, I know it’s late, but you only live once, right?" He chuckles.

Oh my god. He’s such a nice guy. But if having dinner a little later than usual is already that exciting to him, I can tell we’re definitely no match.

"I’m sorry." I put a twenty-dollar bill on the table and get up. "I should leave."

"What? Why?" He looks genuinely shocked. "Is it something I said?"

"No. No, it’s not you. You’re perfect. Really."

"You say this like it’s a bad thing."

"I’m sorry." Feeling like an idiot because I don’t know how to explain to him what I expected to happen, I turn and walk toward the door. My coat is on a hanger on the rack right next to the door, and I grab it without slowing down. I just want to leave.

The air feels chillier now, and I’m happy for the breeze cooling my heated cheeks. Why did I think this time would be different?

"Grace, wait!" Gerald grabs my elbow, and this time, his grip is not as weak.

A thrill runs down my spine as I slowly turn toward him. "I should go."

I’m waiting for him to do something—to show me that he actually is the man writing those nice dirty fantasies online for me. He could kiss me or at least pull me close.

Instead, he lets go of my arm. "My car’s parked around the back. Can I drive you somewhere?"