Page 11 of His Precious Secret

She’s forbidden. Totally off-limits.

She pulls up slowly. Yeah, she’s definitely studied. She knows I’m sensitive and doesn’t want to over-stimulate me. As she sits up, there’s a look in her eyes. Carefully, she lets her mouth fall open slightly to reveal the pool of milky white on her tongue and teeth. Then she swallows.

“Jesus, baby. You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?”

“Did I do a good job, Daddy?” She smiles. I squeeze her thigh and think about all the dirty things I’m going to do to her tonight.

“You know you did, beautiful. You know you did.”

6

Taylor

Sex first, head second. It seems backwards, but I’ll take it. Again and again, I’ll take it.

Pleasing Daddy was enough to make me happy. It feels like it’s my only goal now. College, career, it all seems secondary to meeting his needs.

We pull up to the most expensive shopping district in town—so expensive that Daddy actually valets his car. A Ferrari. I don’t know anyone who’s been in one, let alone given road head in one.

As we step out, I know Rick wants to take my hand, and I desperately want him to. But he can’t. Not here. Someone might see. Rick’s a public figure, and the backlash would be immense. I could ruin everything. So as we head into the first store, I slip into my dutiful role of playing his sweet, innocent, potentially bratty stepdaughter.

“Thanks for bringing me, Rick,” I say, loud enough that the people working can hear me. “And buying me new clothes for school.”

For the briefest of moments, Rick looks confused, but then he gets it. “Oh, sure, Taylor. Just don’t expect me to go broke on you. The Louboutins are off-limits. I don’t care how much you like Cardi B.”

I know he’s teasing, playing his role as my stepdad, but it feels like flirting to me. Everything he does makes me smile as we move about the store. His presence is commanding; everyone who works here sort of falls in line as though he’s their new boss and they want to make a good impression.

“Do you like this?” he asks me, holding up a shirt. I shrug. Fashion has never been my greatest strength. “What do you think, Dad?”

I want to call him Daddy; I really do. But that would blow the whole thing. So I emphasize the “Dad” like I’m being a little brat. The girl helping us smiles and tries not to laugh. Nope, doesn’t suspect a thing. So far, it’s working.

“I think you’ll like it. Let’s get a few more like it.”

“Okay.” I shrug.

He’s making all the decisions for me, and I love it. I’ve never been able to make up my mind about anything. Never, ever put me in control of deciding what to watch on Netflix because we’ll be there staring at the title screen forever. Oh, and choosing ice cream flavors? Forget it.

As Rick picks out more and more things for me, I realize that there’s something more going on beyond the desperate attraction I have for him. I’ve been without a dad for so many years that shopping trips to the store with my mom were something I absolutely dreaded. Maybe that’s why I have no fashion sense.

She’d always want to have me try a thousand things that she would like. When I was younger, and he was still around, my dad would always seem to instantly know what I would like and override her and get those for me. But with him gone, there’s been a hole in my life that I didn’t realize was there until Rick filled it.

By the time we get to the register, I’m ready to let him run my whole life for me. He runs a multi-billion-dollar company, after all.

“Oh, I forgot one thing for me,” Rick says to the cashier. “Give me three minutes, would you?”

“It’ll take longer than that for me to ring all this up,” she says with a smile.

I force myself to not watch him go and pull out my phone like a typical teen with ADD.

“Rick Clark,” the woman whispers. “I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

“Stepdaughter,” I reply quickly. Wow. Now I see how quickly rumors can start for someone as famous as him.

“Oh,” she replies. “Either way, it can’t be bad.”

No. No, it can’t. I shrug, “It’s whatever. It’s annoying having people with cameras take our pictures sometimes.”

“Like now?” she asks, indicating to the window with her eyes. I glance over my shoulder and see them—real life paparazzi standing on the sidewalk, their cameras raised in my direction.

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