Page 17 of His Precious Secret

Talk about a life change.

I’m no longer Rick Clark, the billionaire-playboy-CEO; I’m Rick Clark the married-billionaire-businessman.

Secretly married, of course. It’s not even technically legal in the eyes of the law. Taylor and I said our vows together in an ultra-private ceremony with a priest who I had sign a non-disclosure agreement. Now that I’m divorced from Brandi, marrying Taylor might not seem taboo to some, but I still have to protect her. And who cares what the law says if we’re happy?

Brandi was overly confident. When we met up the next day to discuss the transfer of the fifty million, I brought a hidden recorder and taped her blackmailing me. Then I brought my lawyers in and they let her know that if she didn’t take the five million I was now offering and sign an NDA saying she would keep her mouth shut about her daughter and me, she’d be going to jail.

She folded.

I didn’t have to pay her, of course, but I did it anyway. It was more of a PR move so she wouldn’t be able to talk bad about me in the press or try to play the victim. I also didn’t openly discuss the fact that she cheated on me. I wasn’t looking for a war; I was looking for a peace treaty. And I got one.

Taylor and I moved in together immediately. Going out in public is a bit of a pain. I either have to take her somewhere I trust and book the whole restaurant for myself, or we have to pretend we’re just father and stepdaughter and there’s nothing more going on between us.

It’s kind of fun actually; it’s almost like reverse role play. At home we live our truth, but in public we put on a persona. It turns me on when she gives me sass, says, “Okay, Dad” in that bratty tone of hers or pretends like she doesn’t want to be out with me, because I know that when we get home, she’s all mine.

It’s been two years, and I still can’t keep my hands off her. She wears these cute little shorty panties around the house with one of my T-shirts, and it drives me wild. Sometimes she’ll dress up in lingerie for me, but I prefer her when she’s all natural. No bra. I can come up behind her at the sink and slide my hands up her shirt and feel her perfect breasts, then peel her panties down and bury my tongue in her sweetest of spots.

We’ve renamed my morning wood to my “Taylor’s wood,” because that’s what it is. I don’t even jerk off anymore. No need. I simply roll over, and if she’s wearing panties, pull them aside and enter her. If she’s not, it’s even easier.

She’s in school, working on her English major. She wants to be a writer, and I’m going to do everything I can to support her. In fact, today is the last day of school, and I have a surprise waiting for her when she gets home.

I’m not nervous; I’m anxious. I can’t wait to see her reaction when she sees it, and I’m literally pacing around the living room waiting for her car to pull into the driveway. When she opens the door, I sweep her into my arms.

“You kept me waiting,” I growl.

“Mmm, blame Professor Stenger,” she whispers. “He kept us late with an end-of-the-year party.”

“I’ll kick his ass later,” I chuckle, kissing her perfect lips. I cup her ass and lift her off the ground and carry her into the living room, where three-dozen red roses are waiting for her. She yelps with delight when she sees them.

“Daddy, they’re beautiful!”

“And all for you.” I smile. “But that’s not all. I have another surprise for you.”

Taylor raises an eyebrow seductively. “More lingerie, I hope?”

I shake my head. “Better. Come with me.”

I take her hand and lead her down into the shop. With all the time I spend at work, my side-projects have been suffering, but today is the day. It’s finished, and it’s time to share it with her.

“Ready?” I ask as I move to the sheet. Taylor nods with excitement. With a magician’s flourish, I snatch the sheet into the air and reveal the surprise.

My hot-rod, finally finished, shining with its fresh coat of cherry-red paint.

“It’s done!?” Taylor exclaims.

“Done,” I smile.

“Yay! Daddy, it’s gorgeous!”

“You like it?” I ask. I know she’s not that into cars, but she hasn’t seen the real surprise yet.

“I love it, Daddy.”

“I was going to get a custom license plate,” I explain, leading her around to the passenger side. “But that would raise too many questions. So I did this.”

I reach in and press a hidden button on the passenger side door. A concealed flap in the leather releases and falls forward to reveal the real surprise.

A custom plaque, Taylor’s name engraved in solid gold.

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