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“You have me!” she roars louder.
“You’re not around all that much. I’m surprised you even know how old I am, considering I didn’t even get so much as a phone call on my birthday.”
“Please, Dahlia. You don’t care about silly things like birthdays! Is that what this is about? You need some attention so you seduce your step-father?!” She waves her fist again, but this time, Graham steps forward and holds her elbows in place.
“Annabelle, pull yourself together please.”
“You fucked her before you fucked me?” she spits out. “Why? Because she’s younger? Got nicer tits?” You can barely decipher what she’s saying, she’s slurring so bad.
“Ah, whatever. She’s always been a little bitch.” She waves me off and turns around back to the car, and it stings so bad. “You deserve each other, two fucking assholes. I took care of her when no one else did. She ruined my youth. My life. And this is the thanks I get?”
“You’re my mother!” I scream behind her back. “And you did a shitty job. You never asked me how school was, or if I had a boyfriend, or what’s my best friend’s name. You never got me Christmas presents, Graham did. All you did was fuck Julio and lie about your whereabouts.”
“I’m calling the cops!” She’s grasping for straws now, and she knows it.
“Too bad I’m eighteen!”
She doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge me, just gets in her car and zig-zags out of our parking lot.
I stay rooted to the ground, but somehow, even though she’s been nasty to me, the minute her Mustang is out of sight, I feel lighter somehow. I take a deep breath, feeling a smile spreading across my face. How weird. Now why would I feel so…good?
“She’s the past,” I hear my lover say, clasping my ha
nd in his. “And I’m your future, Dolly. Welcome to your future. It’s a lot more fun than anything you’ve experienced.”
Two years later
Graham
“Come on, say it.” The sound of Dolly suckling on my cock almost makes me want to give in and tell her what she wants to hear. Almost.
“You can’t milk it out of me, Dolly, even though that’s what you’re doing, quite literally.”
I gather all her hair up in into a fist, moving it out of her face to get a better look at those perfect, pouty lips of hers. After two years, the sight of her mouth on me still hasn’t gotten old, and I’d venture to guess that it never will.
“Say it,” She demands again between sucks. “Say that you love me.”
“I don’t feel like it,” I reply lazily, gauging her reaction. Of fucking course, I love her, but I love fucking with her, too. Literally and figuratively. That bottom lip of her juts out, and eyes grow wide, before narrowing in irritation. There’s that spine I love so much.
“I hate you, daddy,” she mutters but I just fists her hair, drive into her hot, wet mouth in one, angry thrust and come down that pretty little throat. She sucks my cock clean like a good girl, moaning and groaning. She even zips me up before she come up for air. Her lips are red and puffy, having worked my cock for so long.
“You know how I feel about you,” I say, as I sprawl on my office chair in Hot N’ Bothered, where it all started. She fixes her hair in front of the mirror overlooking the dance floor of my club.
“Yeah, I do,” she responds distractedly.
“And you also know how your mother and I have finally finalized our fucking divorce.” She nods.
Annabelle and I had a bitter divorce, to put it mildly. She tried to take everything she could, and despite the pre-nup, she did manage to snag a few hot properties, two cars and a lot of money. Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck. I’ve got my Dolly and that’s all I care about, even though it chaps my ass to see her living a life of luxury when she doesn’t deserve a dime for what she’s put Dahlia through.
“Uhm, where are you going with this, papa?” She teases me, laughing. Some men would probably feel weird about their much younger lover doing that, but not me. Maybe that makes me a dirty bastard, but ask me if I care.
“I’m going to fucking regret it, that’s for sure,” I deadpan, opening the drawer in my desk and fishing out what I need before getting up. She attempts to glare at me, turning around completely, taking me in. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. She has no idea what I’m about to do.
I get down, on one knee, just like in the movies. I figure I can give her this much, at least. I’m not exactly Mr. Romantic. As soon as she realizes what’s happening, she starts dancing in place, shifting from foot to foot like a crazy person in what I assume is a happy dance.
“Marry me,” I say—not ask—while opening the little red box where her engagement ring sits.
“Yes!” She shouts, thrusting her tiny hand in my face.
