Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Gunner

Jaw grinding, I stare at the little pink pile of lace on my desk.

I can be your secret, Papa. Think about it.

Josie has no idea how long I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been counting the days until she leaves for college, dread and relief warring inside of me. When she leaves, I won’t have to come home every night worried I’ll finally snap. Finally drag the girl up to my bedroom, slam the door and fuck her until she screams.

The constant temptation is killing me. The way she dances into the kitchen in various revealing outfits, her hands growing more and more brave when they touch me. She’s the ultimate forbidden fruit. Twenty seven years my junior. My son’s best friend. The daughter of a colleague. And on top of everything, I’ve been almost like a second father to her all these years.

I’m not sure when everything changed. It’s a blur. Work does that to me. It blinds me to everything going on in my personal life. One day I looked up and Josie had a perky little rack and a mouthwatering ass that made my cock stand straight up. My head spun at the changes, which she loves to display in my kitchen to the detriment of my sanity.

The girl is a flirt. A tease.

She has always had that nature, but her new body makes that personality a weapon.

I can’t be the only victim, right?

I tell myself this over and over again.

The girl is only being kind to the bulky old man, making me feel desirable. Reminding me I still have a working dick and decades left to use it. There is no way in hell that beautiful girl wants me, an aging, thick around the middle bastard with more salt in his hair than pepper. It’s just a game. She’s only teasing, playing around.

That’s what I thought until she propositioned me.

Josie could have her pick of any man in this world, let alone this city.

And yet…

I can be your secret, Papa. Think about it.

God help me, it has been a week since she said those words to me and they’ve been echoing in my head ever since. I can’t get rid of my erection, no matter how many times I stroke off. And every single time, I think of her whining Papa in my ear, her tight pussy making squelching noises while I pump in and out of it. Honestly, I should be sent to prison for even fantasizing about the girl, but that’s as far as I’m going to get.

There will be no calling her.

No wondering how we would keep the secret.

I’m an honorable man. Not some middle-aged pervert who needs a barely-legal girlfriend to feel younger. Josie has a rich future ahead. An education, a career.

Other men.

I slam my fist down so hard on the table, my wireless keyboard flips over.

It’s ridiculous to be jealous. Absolutely ridiculous. I’ve let the flirting get to me. I’ve allowed myself to start wondering if I’m different in some way. Special to her.

How pathetic.

Look at yourself.

My reflection in the screen of my computer draws my attention. Maybe once upon a time I could have been considered handsome in a non-traditional way, but I’m forty-five now and I’ve traded my health for wealth. What would I even look like on top of Josie’s supple young body? It would be like that grainy homemade porn between a high-class escort and her john.

With an impatient curse, I swipe the panties off my desk and shove them back into my pocket, giving in to the urge to smell my hand, roughly inhaling the lingering perfume of her pussy before determinedly turning my mind back to work. I open my email, ready to respond to an important inquiry, when a subject line—about five emails from the top—catches my eye.

YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS SERVICE. HIGHLY RECOMMEND.

Is it an advertisement? Seems like it. But why didn’t my filtering service pick it up? I don’t recognize the email address, but the name of the sender sounds vaguely familiar. Richard Thomas Holden. That sounds like one of my rich asshole golfing buddies for sure. And if so, I don’t want to outright ignore them, especially if this is something ALL CAPS important.

I tap my finger on my mouse for a moment, then click on the email, finding a link in the body—and that’s all. Just a blue link.

Embedded among the URL are the words sugar babies.

What the hell is that?

I’m about to close the email, to forget about it, but something makes me tap it out of curiosity. I’m not a man who can walk away from a mystery and I’ve never heard the words sugar babies put together like that. If this is some illegal shit that has somehow been sent to me by mistake, I’ll make sure to alert the proper authorities. And when the website splashes open across my screen, that is my first thought. This is illegal. It’s prostitution.

There are girls, young enough to be my daughter, if I had one, smiling in photographs. They’re lying in beds and showing peeks of skin beneath their college sweatshirts. I make a sound of disgust, purely because these poor girls must have reasons to exchange their bodies for money. Reasons like debt, I’m assuming. And I don’t like knowing this is an avenue for men my age to take advantage with their bottomless bank accounts. Who the hell sent me this—?

Wait. No. It can’t be.

Josie?

No, she can’t be on this website.

And yet…there she is. In a bathing-suit top and miniscule frayed jean shorts, giving the camera that flirtatious smile I know so well. She’s listed in the FEATURED section. Of course she is. She is outrageously beautiful with her bedroom eyes that speak of a higher intelligence. Those lithe thighs and glossed-up lips. Who else has access to this website? Thousands of men? Millions? Every single one of them would click on her…including me. I have no choice. And I tell myself I’m exploring her profile because I need more information before putting a stop to this bullshit. But hell, if the pictures of Josie frolicking on the beach in a thong bikini don’t give me the hard on of my fucking life.

Somehow I drag my gaze off the shot of her wet buns and read the actual bio.

Hey there. I’m Josie. I’m a college student looking for financial support in exchange for private time with you…

Financial support?

What the fuck?

Her father is the COO of a lucrative hedge fund. We came up through the ranks together. I’ve been to dinner at his home. Josie’s family is financially stable—and that’s an understatement. It makes no sense that she would be in need of money. None at all.

Well this ends now.

Right now.

The thought of some lecherous old man putting his hands on Josie’s body is making me sick to my stomach. And yes, isn’t that exactly what I am for wanting to touch her?

With an inward growl of self-loathing, I snatch up my phone and scroll through to Josie’s phone number. I’ve had her contact info for as long as I can remember, wanting to have a backup way of reaching my son when they venture out of the house. But I’ve never had to use it until now. Even the act of calling her on the phone and knowing I’m about to hear her voice is making my cock throb relentlessly in my pants.

She answers on the third ring. “Um, hello? Mr. Kraft? Is everything okay?”

A shout builds in my throat. I’m a split second from yelling at her, demanding an explanation as to why she is on this disgusting website. But I want to see her face when we have the discussion. I want to weigh her reactions. If I lose my temper with her, I might lose the chance to talk some sense into the girl.

Right.

You should be calling her father.

Letting him handle the whole thing.

She’s not my daughter and it’s none of my business.

Christ, maybe I just want her in my office. To look at her. Maybe I’m that sick and horny for this girl that I’d put myself through more torture just to be around her. But no matter how badly I’d like to have Josie’s legs spread open on my desk, I won’t. I won’t let that happen.

I’m going to fix this problem for her and move on.

Get my head back into work mode where it belongs.

“Josie.” My voice sounds like the bottom of an oil barrel. “There is something I want to discuss with you. Immediately. Are you downtown?”

“No, I’m getting a pedicure. I chose cotton-candy pink.” She giggles and I almost groan out loud, roughly fondling my cock through the zipper of my dress pants. “What is this about, Papa Bear?”

“Text me the address,” I growl through my teeth. “I’ll send a car.”

I whip out my pocket square and wipe the sweat off my lip.

I’m out of my fucking mind bringing her here.

But I can’t help staring at the door in anticipation.