A Daddy for Benito by Joe Satoria

PROLOGUE

BENITO

I got played.

I got laid, but also played.

I didn’t give up the goods to anyone, so I didn’t understand why it only took a few messages from a random guy on a hook-up app for me to invite him into my hotel room. There was one likely explanation and it looked Photoshopped.

It wasn’t.

My thing was talking a big game, being sexpositive, and then getting off to voice messages. In their best Dom role, telling me I’d been a bad boy, and all the things they planned on doing when they finally got their hands on me.

Last night was different.

I couldn’t remember his name, it was probably something old like George or David, you know, a name they give you when you turn forty. God forbid, I ever made it to that age. I think I would rather end it here and now than become older.

I wanted an older man, sure, but that didn’t mean I wanted to become one.

And this one played me.

Not even twenty minutes after he rearranged my insides, and he’d left the hotel room. Worse yet, he left me half-dressed in my favourite French maid’s outfit. I was cute, and he didn’t even cuddle me.

Turning on the hotel sheets, I stared at the ceiling.

I never imagined this would have been my experience.

My trip to Manchester was planned and paid for by MrDicklicious, and he was a no show. Made worse after the trauma that came from seeing my ex-boyfriend, Warren, a man I hadn’t seen or thought of for years. And Alexi, someone I thought of as a friend, but now, he was just someone who was going to hate me.

“Stupid,” I grumbled to myself.

I tried pushing away the thought of losing a friend in Alexi; we spoke every single day for months. From finding out Alexi was with Warren, to being let down twice in this hotel room, I was ready to call it a night.

I couldn’t even recall this man’s face. I couldn’t recall his smell, but only because he’d rolled around on the bed with me. It was musky with a hint of vanilla, like cake mix. I’d probably know who it was if I saw him again, but because I left marks on his neck. He wouldn’t forget me anytime soon.

My throat was dry, and a flutter tickled my stomach. “Oh no,” I grumbled. Pushing myself in the bed. I toppled, trapped inside the thick duvet.

Another thought swept my mind as I fretted over the duvet. The man I slept with was a foot shorter than me. And he’d asked me to wear this like I was his hotel maid service.

Fussing in the duvet, growing flustered. A screech from the fabric on my left shoulder. And now I’d ripped it. I smacked my hands on the duvet, hitting at them as I let out a pretend cry. “It’s not fair.”

It wasn’t fair I had to resort to men leading me on, then never showing up. Or when I met a guy, they wouldn’t stick around for cuddles. Cuddles were important.

Nobody stood me up, ever!

I looked at the bedside table. I needed water.

Instead, I noticed a cream card over my phone screen.

It was a note.

Thank you for last night. It’s nothing I’ll ever forget. If you’re ever in Manchester again, call me. - H

I flung the card across the room. The man got me all dressed up and didn’t even stay for the morning. What a waste!

I didn’t know his actual name, but whatever H stood for, I knew it was either Horrible or Horrendous, maybe it even stood for Hung—but I didn’t want to pay him the compliment. I deserved more than a note.