Tyrant Daddy by Isabella Starling

Chapter 2

Raphael

2 years later

"Honey, dinner's ready!"

I stifle a groan and pull myself up from my chair. I really don't want to deal with this shit right now, but I suppose I don't have a choice. After all, this agreement with Elise forces me to play her loving fiancé in front of her friends and family. And right now, two middle-aged women who've been primped and tightened by professionals, sit at the island in my kitchen. Elise's best friends, Kiki and Mimi. I have to make her look good in front of them. It's part of the fucking deal.

I'm not sure whether Kiki and Mimi are twins, but they look disturbingly alike. I smile at them tersely before kissing Elise on the cheek.

"I'm afraid I have to run to the office tonight," I tell her with a smile that doesn't allow arguing. "I'll be back late. Might sleep in the spare bedroom."

Another little lie to protect my fake fiancée. We don't sleep in the same bed. Fucking ever.

"Alright, darling." She smiles so tightly I fucking know I'm going to get shit for this later. "The girls and I will have dinner alone, then."

The petty bitterness in her words don't escape me. But it's not my fucking job to keep Elise happy. She's old enough by now to know how to handle her damn self.

"See you soon." I smile at the twins-or-not and wave as I leave. While I'm grabbing my coat in the entryway, I hear them talking in hushed tones. The plastic bitches compliment Elise on snagging a hot bachelor like me and she gushes about how happy she is. All. Fucking. Lies.

I walk out of the building with a clear conscience. This engagement with Elise... it's just a business arrangement. I'm not going to worry about it at all. I have more important shit to do tonight.

In the past few years, I've grown my company exponentially. I now own the entire building my offices used to be in years ago, and my last name – Santino – shines brightly at the top of it.

It makes me wonder how easy that makes me to find.

Especially for one little girl called trouble.

She hasn't made contact, but I'm glad it's the case. I don't think she's old enough yet and I certainly don't want to get in trouble for thinking of her as the jailbait she is. And yet little Willa hasn't escaped my mind once. I never asked for her last name, knowing I'd drive myself fucking insane if I had kept tabs on her.

My driver drops me off in front of my building and I take the elevator to the penthouse offices – my domain.

There's just a few cleaners and the receptionist downstairs here tonight, and my office has total privacy. Fucking good, because I'm going to need it.

For two years, I've held back. I've forced myself not to look her up. Not to think of her at all. But tonight, on the two-year anniversary of my meeting and with my personal life in a fucking shambles, I know I won't be able to resist.

I sit down at my desk and stare at my screen. How do I even go about looking her up? How the fuck do I find a needle in a haystack? All I have is her first name...

I start my search with that. Her name, the district I met her in and the bar's social media. I comb through pages and pages of Instagram profiles, TikTok videos and Facebook comments. And then there she is – as easy as that.

She's been tagged in a photo with her friend whom I still remember from the night I met her. Her username doesn't show her last name, nor age. But there she is, Willa, with the freckles on her nose, with the sky-blue eyes, with the bee-stung lips and the nipples that make me want to fucking sin.

"Willa," I mutter to myself. I go through all the photos, all her posts. I need more.

I know I shouldn't, but tonight, the past has won its battle over me. I make a throwaway account and send her a message.

How old did you turn tonight, trouble?

Impatiently, I sit back and wait for her reply. It might not come. She might not even remember. But fuck, I hope she does. And I hope she's fucking ready. If she plays her cards right, I won't be able to hold back. Not tonight.

Except she does write back, almost instantly. My fingers actually fucking shake as I check her reply.

I turned 18, Daddy :)

How does she fucking do that? One reply and I'm a fucking goner. How did she know... Of course. When we first met, that girl whose name I never got called me that.

So, Willa knows about my dirty little kink – and she seems more than willing to play. Did she recognize me from my text? She must have. Unless she calls every man Daddy. My fists tighten at the thought of that. Fuck, I'm already so fucking possessive and stricken with jealousy when I think of her.

How perfect. Can you come into the city tonight, Willa?

I'm being so fucking forward I should be ashamed, but I can't help it. This mere conversation has got my cock throbbing, desperately needing her riding it. Now that I know she's legal to fuck, I'm not holding back another second. I'm going to own her. I just hope little Willa's ready for me.

How much?

Her next reply has me confused and I knit my brows together, typing back a reply and stopping each time I write a word or two. What the fuck does she mean?

I don't want to fucking believe it, but maybe I shouldn't be so fucking naive.

Are you selling me your body, trouble?

I wait for her reply, my heartrate picking up. She wants me to pay? Because I fucking will. I've never done it before, but for the little blonde vixen I'll do it fucking all.

No, Daddy, her reply comes back. I'm selling you my virginity.

I pace my office, waiting for her to arrive. The receptionist downstairs has been told to send her straight up in my private elevator, but the minutes are ticking by and Willa still isn't here.

She's late. Fifteen minutes, almost twenty. My lips form a thin line. I don't fucking tolerate tardiness, and I've already decided I'm going to discipline her tonight.

I offered her twenty grand to pop her sweet little cherry, and she accepted. Whether I'm shocked or fucking disappointed, I'm still not fucking sure.

But one thing's for fucking sure – I'm not letting Willa leave my office without filling at least one of her holes... and not until I hear her call me Daddy, for fucking real.

Finally, the elevator travels downstairs. I force myself to stay calm and sip from my whisky as I wait for her. I can't even look at the lift as it pulls back up. It's glass, and I'm not ready for the sight of her yet. First, I remind myself, I need to make sure she isn't lying about her age. She's probably lying about her virginity, but we'll deal with that later. Then I can go for what's in her panties. But until then, I gotta keep my head straight.

She walks inside in a cloud of perfume that doesn't suit her. But it doesn't deter me – I can smell her underneath the cheap fragrance. I can smell her skin, lathered in lotion. I can smell her hair, freshly washed. And I can smell her fucking cunt, already dripping. I raise my eyes to meet hers. The same sky-blue gaze I remember stares back. She's a little taller, a little skinnier, has a few more freckles. But it's the same, innocent, sweet little girl who was so infatuated by me in front of that bar.

Except now she's dressed in ripped fishnets, with an impossibly tight, impossibly short dress on top. The dress is black and has a corset bodice. On her feet, she wears black leather boots. She's a fucking vision of innocence and lust somehow combined, and merely having her a foot away from me is enough to make my cock leak against the silk of my boxers.

"Hello," she says with a bright smile. There's a gap between her front teeth and she's devastatingly beautiful. It fucking hurts to look at her.

"Hi, Willa." Somehow, I'm still managing to hold it together as I point her to a seat before me. "I'm glad you remember me."

"How could I forget?" She smiles sweetly, but I see something calculating behind her eyes, something that says she knows how to twirl men right around her little finger.

"Do you remember my name?"

She nods. "Raphael Santino."

"Did you look me up after that night?"

"Does it matter?" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "You looked me up, didn't you?"

"I had to." I toss back my drink and put the tumbler back down before facing her. She hasn't commented on my posh office or the floor-to-ceiling windows that give me a fucking amazing view of the city. Whether she's impressed or not, Willa's good at fucking hiding it. I wonder whether she's regretting the amount of money she accepted for this. "You've proven to be a, ah... distraction over the years."

"A distraction?" Her pout still looks like a little girl's. "I thought I would provide some welcome entertainment, at least. I can't imagine your life is very wild, Raphael."

She purrs my name and I smirk at her. "What do you know about my life, trouble?"

"Enough."

"Tell me."

"Well..." she taps her chin with her finger, smiling. "I know you're engaged."

A thousand words rush to my lips, but I don't say any of them, just stare her down. I could tell her it's an arrangement. I could convince her I have no feelings for Elise. I could even prove we don't fuck – but I don't want to. After all, this is just a service provided and a transaction paid, isn't it?

"I know you're successful, though that wasn't hard to guess." She motions around my office with a snarky smile. "And I know you cheat on your fiancée."

"That's supposed to be a secret," I mutter, leaning across my desk. "You been keeping a close eye on me then, huh, trouble?"

"You could say that. When something's of interest to me, I make an effort to pay attention."

"And what do I have that you covet, trouble?" I smirk. "My money?"

She shakes her head. I can fucking feel the sparks flying between us. My cock is impossibly hard, and I want to get this over with already so I can bury my cock in her sweet cunt and make her mine. But Willa isn't done, and she leans across the desk too until we're almost touching.

"It's not your money I want," she purrs.

"Then what?" My words brush her lips with every breath I take. I'm fucking struggling not to break my own rules here.

"Your cock."

She kisses me.

Her lips are soft and infuriatingly not close enough. She tastes like bubblegum. I know the moment our lips touch I've already lost my battle.

There's something here, an undeniable connection neither of us can ignore. I feel it in every heartbeat when she's close to me, in the way her lips shape out my name and I swallow the word whole, from her lips, onto mine. Fuck. My cock is going to burst through my pants at this fucking rate.

She pulls back. Her lips are shiny and raw from my stubble and she's avoiding my gaze now. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?" I counter. "That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

She doesn't answer, just slides the tiniest leather jacket off her frame. She sits before me in just that sinful little dress, the fishnets and those slutty boots, a vixen waiting to break my fucking heart. And I let her right in. Fucking hand her the hammer so she can smash me to pieces.

"Do you want me to take my clothes off?" she asks.

"How do you usually do this?"

"You're my first time," she smiles.

"Oh?" I can't help but laugh out loud. "How come I'm your test bunny?"

"I had to start somewhere." Her eyes sparkle darkly. "And I know you want me. So why not you?"

I turn on some music and walk from behind my desk to the bar to pour myself another drink.

"One for me too, please," she says.

"I don't think so. Not old enough."

She scoffs. "Old enough to fuck you, but not old enough to have a drink?"

"Precisely," I grin darkly. "I'm glad you understand, trouble."

I pour myself another whisky and hand her a Coke. She turns her nose up at it but accepts it anyway.

We're both avoiding the moment we finally get to do this... But I can't go there yet. I need... more. Just like she did two years ago. I'm fucking thirsty for more Willa, to drink her in, to experience her in full the way she was meant to be enjoyed. We sit down on the opposing chairs in my office, and I watch her closely. The fire in my modern hearth burns brightly. It's a beautiful night, one made for sin.

Neither of us speaks. For a while, we merely watch each other, drinking it all in. But then Willa picks herself up, not saying a word, merely sliding her panties down from under her dress. Her fishnets are stockings, and the panties she hands me are a white lace. I swallow and watch her sit back down as if nothing's happened at all.

I pocket her thong.

I tell myself I won’t regret this, already knowing I will. And I let myself go down the rabbit hole with her.