Page 36 of Painted Scars
Kate: Do it, Daddy. Take me. I’m yours.
Fucking hell. What is this? Flirting? Sexting. Roleplaying something twisted. This is wrong. I’m supposed to be surveilling and befriending her, not seducing her.
A response comes in from an intruder to the conversation.
Katar: Keep it up, Daddy Dildo. Friends. Heartbeats. Humanity.
“Fuck the damn vibrator!” I mutter.
My brain stalls, and I start to sweat. War wages within me between Heaven and Hell. The angel on my shoulder says walk away.
The devil lights a cigar and leans in.“You need research, right?”He releases a puff of smoke.
Yeah.Fuck. I’m having an imaginary conversation with my conscience.
He takes another drag.“To get inside the mind of your target?”
I hate that he’s right and give him a nod.
His forked tail pats me on the cheek.“I think you know what to do to extract information about her connections.”
To hell with it.
I cave and switch to DMs.
Me: I’m your Grumpy Daddy and stalker.
She lets out an even louder shriek. “No way! He isn’t @Pierced&Possesive? He is! This can’t get any better.” She cheers my nickname over and over like a damn prayer.
My hands cramp on the phone, aching for her next move.
Kate: Aww, Grumpy Daddy brings me tea and gift cards. Are you trying to get into my good books or pants?
Brazen little Glitter Bomb. She has zero shame or hesitation in asking for what she wants. How the hell am I supposed to hold the line when she flirts like this?
Before I let my mind drop into the gutter, I check in with her.
Me: You get home safe?
Kate: Safe and sound. Guard dog on duty.
Me: If you’re not okay, you can say so.
Kate: I’m better than good. I’ve got wine, pajamas, and a grumpy biker stalker who breaks glass for me.
My chest pulls tight. She’s performing again.
Kate: Ask me what I’m wearing, Grumpy Daddy.
My hand aches from gripping the roof tiles tight. This is the part where I log off. Stay professional. Stick to the friend zone script. But there’s something in her message, the teasing that clings to the fantasy to forget the pain of reality. Part of my control breaks and I risk a peek over the windowsill.
Fuucckk.
She’s palming her breasts over her robe. Circling over her lace green panties, the parted silk revealing smooth, thick thighs that I want to throw over my shoulders while I dive between her legs and plunder her pussy. My jeans feel three sizes too tigh. I dare any man to resist that. Because this just crossed the line from surveillance into obsession.
Two thumbs up come in from my enforcer. I swipe him away.
This isn’t the plan. But plans don’t survive proximity to her when she’s lying on the bed, sin incarnate. She wants her fantasy from the pages, red flags and all, and hell, she’s got it. Purely for research purposes… and to find her weak spots. That’s what I tell myself.
