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Hesitating for only a moment, I send an offer to her profile on the website. Five selfies of her for a thousand dollars.
My heart beats into overdrive. I shouldn't be fucking doing this, I'm only prolonging the pain that's already tearing me apart. But I can't stay away. And I tell myself as long as Willa doesn't realize I'm TyrantDaddy, everything is going to be fine. I choose to believe that lie.
The prospect of being close to her again, finding out what's going on in her life without being myself, is exciting. I miss her so much it fucking hurts, tossing and turning for hours at night wishing her warm body was wrapped around mine. I sacrificed my happiness and Willa's, too, for a kid I never wanted. Perhaps this is my punishment, a load of bad karma, for all the shitty things I've done in my lifetime.
My phone pings and I check it, realizing she's accepted the offer and already sent the first photo.
It wracks me with jealousy. Is she doing this with other people? Is she sending them photos, meeting up with them, doing things for them?
My hands form fists and I curse out loud. The thought of Willa with somebody else is painful as fuck. I force myself to push it to the back of my mind and focus on the selfie she's sent instead.
She's posing in front of a window, a billowy white curtain covering half her face. She's wearing a tank top showing off her collarbone that's jutting out and making me want to kiss it. Her eyes are trained on the camera with a shy, but knowing smile on her lips. My heart tightens. I haven't seen this photo before, and it fucking hurts to know I'm excluded from everything now, by my own choice – or because I didn't really have one.
I fight with my own conscience, knowing I shouldn't be contacting her but unable to resist. I fire off a single word as a reply to the photo.
Pretty.
Another photo lands in my inbox the next second. In this one, she's wearing a bandeau top and throwing a peace sign at the camera with her tongue sticking out of her mouth. She's standing in front of a brownstone building, her long, flowing blonde hair thrown over one shoulder, being ruffled by the rain.
She looks happy, and that hurts more than anything else. As happy as I am for her, it messes me up to know she's moved on. Judging by the background of the photo, I'm guessing she did go to New York after all. I wonder what she's doing there. Whether she's excited to attend Parsons. Whether she misses me. Whether she's already met someone new, someone else she calls Daddy.
The thought is too painful so I banish it from my mind. Instead I send another reply.
Show me more.
She doesn't reply, but a couple of minutes later I get another selfie. It's cut off above her mouth. She's holding her bottom lip down, and on the inside of her lip, the world trouble is written in black ink.
"Fucking hell." I palm the growing erection in my pants. Is it a tattoo or just something scribbled on with a marker? Either way, I'm a goner just looking at the image, because it tells me she's still thinking about me.
I want to get off so badly, but I remember I'm not even supposed to be speaking to Willa let alone getting off to her photos. But when the next one arrives, I can't resist anymore.
The fourth selfie has Willa topless, barely covering her tits, a glimpse of those pink nipples between her outstretched fingers leaving me speechless. I pull my cock out and jerk it slowly, prolonging the painful moment of having a release I shouldn't give myself.
This was a bad idea from the start. I never should have contacted her. I should have moved on with my life like she clearly has. But it seems impossible to forget Willa. She lives in my brain rent-free, claiming every waking second I have, reminding me just how fucked up my life is.
One more.
I wait for her reply to the text, and this time, the photo arrives with a message.
It's a photo of a crystal heart, silver with the crystal a light, baby pink. It's a butt plug. My heart fucking clenches as I read the words attached to the photo, imagining her sending this to other people, not giving a damn about me anymore.
Want to see it inside me?
I fight with my own conscience before replying, even though I already know there's no way in fucking hell I'm turning this down. I'm like an addict looking for his next hit – desperate for just one more glimpse into her life.
Yes.
That'll be a grand, please.
I grin to myself. She's a good negotiator, my Willa. I send the money through the app but she doesn't reply. The thought of what she's doing now drives me crazy and I pour myself another drink, leaning my forehead against the window in my office.
