Page 11 of Daddy's Bad Girl
“Yes, definitely, you have it, Mr. Blackshaw. No need to practice in front of a mirror,” she teases.
I laugh because I’m having a good time. When I invited Emma to join me in my booth, I though it’d be the same that it always is, which is stilted conversation and awkward smiles before leading to heavy fucking upstairs in one of the private rooms. But instead, I’m intrigued by this woman. She’s sassy, funny, and incredibly intelligent, which I never expected. Hell, she’s pre-med which takes a fuck-ton of brain cells. Maybe she’s not as into medicine as she claims, but I can figure that out later. Meanwhile, my mouth opens as I say something that surprises me.
“Would you like to come over later?” I ask. “Not upstairs, but to my place. I live downtown.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t,” she says, flushing wildly. “I’m on shift.”
I shake my head.
“I’m not saying tonight. Another night. Whatever night works for you.”
What the fuck am I doing? Why do I sound so desperate? Usually, I’m the man in charge, with women falling at my feet. They come running in hordes, throwing themselves at me like I’m the last sentient dude on Earth. But at this moment, I’m the one who’s become a fucking fool before this gorgeous girl, and I marvel at the turnabout.
Meanwhile, Emma stares at me, her blue eyes wide as her plush pout parts a bit. Goddamn, I want to seize that luscious mouth in a savage kiss but there’s something holding me back, and it’s the air of innocence about her. What the fuck? Obviously, Emma’s not “innocent.” The gorgeous woman’s not a virgin, nor is she a prude, based on what I witnessed earlier in the Red Room. But there’s something about this girl that projects the image of a sweet, untouched flower who’s begging to be explored by a man. Perfect. I’m just the motherfucker to stroke those petals before riding her raw, and I want her panting and gasping as she cries out my name. Shit, I’m such a dirty bastard.
But Emma shakes her head, her curves trembling a bit.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Blackshaw, but I can’t come over. It’s just not something I do. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
The beautiful blonde makes to get up from her seat, but before she can move, I take her small hand in my big one.
“Don’t go, sweetheart. Forgive me for being so forward, but I want you to come over because I believe I can help you.”
The young woman blinks once, surprised by my statement. But she recovers quickly and nods.
“I see,” she murmurs with a raised brow. “Hmm. I didn’t know I needed help, Mr. Blackshaw.”
I squeeze her hand and wink.
“A lot of times we don’t know what we need,” I growl. “It’s a process of seeking, finding, and then rinse and repeat until we get to where we’re going. But I saw you earlier ago downstairs in the Red Room, and I believe I can help you accelerate that rinse and repeat so that we’re not traversing the same ground, over and over again. There’s no need to be Sisyphus pushing his rock up a mountain, only to see it roll down before starting all over again. I can help you.”
Emma bites her bottom lip, and it’s fetching. I watch, entranced, as a slight flush covers her cheeks before descending down her neck and spreading over her lush décolletage. I want to kiss the flush, and trace the redness tenderly with my hands before fucking the shit out of this woman, but manage to keep myself in check.
“I see,” she says in a light tone, trying to play it off. “So you saw me in the Red Room. Well, girls who work here are allowed to use Club Z facilities during our time off. It’s one of the perks of employment, and I wouldn’t say it’s Sisyphus pushing a rock up a hill.”
I nod, my expression smooth.
“You were amazing, Emma,” I say in a deep voice. “Beautiful. Brilliant. And very, very sexy in the Red Room. But how many times have you done that? How many times do you reach completion, only to feel empty and inconsequential a few days later? That’s what I’m asking.”
Emma bites her lip again, still on the fence. But then she takes a deep breath and looks straight into my eyes.
“Okay, but I’m going to speak bluntly.”
“Please do,” I state in a smooth voice. “I always encourage my women to speak their minds. You should never be afraid to share your thoughts with me, sweetheart.”
Emma still appears a bit hesitant, but then she summons her courage and looks me in the eye.
“So how will you help me, exactly? Do you have a dildo machine at home? A restraint chair? More toys? As you can guess, I can’t exactly keep a fucking machine in my dorm room, so I need to come to the club to play.”
I throw my head back and laugh, genuinely amused by her words, but also impressed with her bravery.
“I don’t have a fucking machine,” I say in a smooth tone. “Although I can get one if you like. Two or three, even. But I have something better.”
Emma gives a start, but then laughs lightly, the sound pealing and melodic in the lounge.
“Okay, is this what I think it is, Mr. Blackshaw?” she asks with a saucy smile. “Are you saying that your anatomy is better than the machine? I assure you that many men have made the same claim, and begged me for the opportunity to show off their prowess.”
I wink.
