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  DADDY ESQUIRE

  Silver Fox Daddy Series

  OLIVIA FOX

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  1

  BELINDA

  “Oh my stars, that thing’s ginormous!” I put my hand over my mouth and blinked at the screen. “I could never fit it inside.”

  Archie cocked his tiny head in question, blinking his green eyes and put a single, grey paw on my chest. I scratched him under the chin and his motor got louder.

  “Seriously, why does this guy think I’m going to respond to him if the first thing he does is send me a dick pic? It’s a hell of an opening line.”

  I took a small swig of Chardonnay and deleted the message from my FetLife account, pondering whether I should take down my profile on the website for people interested in BDSM, fetishism, and kink.

  In a small town like Briarville, anonymity didn’t come easy, and I was looking to meet someone special without ever having to cross paths with bunch of fuck boys or creepers, nor tell the entire world that I was a sub.

  Luckily, most of my interactions on the site so far made the weeding out process easy. Men sent shots of their nether bits, standing stiff at attention, or more brazen still, was one shot from a guy who had clearly just finished in his hand.

  Who was I kidding? I remained on the site for one reason and one reason alone. I was desperate to meet a daddy.

  I wasn’t interested in becoming an upstanding member of the kink community or meeting like-minded friends in the “lifestyle”.

  And I didn’t consider my feelings unnatural as the word kink implied.

  What could be more instinctive than the desire to be doted on — and yes — given a firm hand when I disobeyed the rules. Disciplined in any way Daddy desired…

  Just the thought made my panties wet.

  I’m just going to look at him one more time before I go to bed.

  Archie meowed as if to say, “That’s what you said the last time and you ended up scrolling through his pics until 1:30 a.m.; almost slept through your alarm the next day.” He had a point.

  The one man who commanded my attention on FetLife had me so fixated that it had taken me forever to make the first move and private message him a picture of me.

  Sigh.

  There he was. My daddy.

  Okay, I knew it was whackadoo. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight I had no business obsessing over pictures of some dude whose face I couldn’t see.

  Was it the way he wore his black suit, a white pocket hanky neatly folded in the pocket; the powerful way he crossed his arms over the tie resting on his chest?

  Maybe the small section of his hair against his collar, streaked in silver, at the top of the photo was responsible for my fascination. Clearly he was much older than me. Just what I was looking for since any experience with men my age had been so disappointing thus far.

  I had dated my fair share of local cowboys and dairymen my age, but never found anyone that left me gasping, with my heart pounding in my chest.

  I clicked on the next photo. It left me breathless: the prominent veins on the back of his hands told me that passion pulsed through his blood.

  Spank me, Daddy, I’ve been a naughty girl.

  “You make up stories in your head, Belinda. You always have. But now that you’re grown up, you’ll have to face the fact that real life isn’t like a fairy tale.” My mama loved me and her words still lingered.

  She had worried about me and didn’t want to see me getting hurt like the infamous catfishing fiasco. I had woven a pretty web out of my fantasies, believing that Burt, the virtual love of my life, was going to make my dreams come true after meeting “him” on Facebook.

  He was sophisticated, worldly, and well read. So unlike the farm boy locals I had frolicked with so far.

  As it turned out, Burt happened to be a 45-year-old lesbian from Ohio. Not that I had anything against the fairer sex, I just didn’t swing that way. And Burt and I were planning our wedding as a heterosexual couple before I even met “him” in person.

  Of course, I did have my suspicions when he would never talk on the phone or FaceTime, but when he said he was coming to meet me in person; I suspended disbelief for the hopes of finally meeting someone I honestly believed to be my soul mate.

  Burt told me every day what a good girl I was.

  I had to hand it to her though, at least when the time came, she had the ovaries to show up in Briarville and admit to what she had done. I about peed on the bench seat of the Pinup Paradise Diner when the woman with nicely drawn, arching brows, a pixie cut with platinum bangs swooped over one eye, and a leopard print scarf tied around her neck, sat down, reached her delicate hand across the table and said, “Hi Belinda, I’m Burt.”

  That’s why it took me so long to muster the courage to finally message this daddy obsession of mine on FetLife.

  One single private pic had been sent. Now let the chips fall where they may. I didn’t want the object of my desire to prove fake again. First of all, he was such a dream come true in my mind; I never wanted to wake up. And secondly, I wasn’t sure my heart would survive it if I did.

  My inner hussy perked up.

  Heart? Who are you kidding. It’s your hootie hole that’s involved here, missy. Plain and simple.

  Okay, she had a point.

  I took Archie into the kitchen, grabbed him a can of tuna from the cupboard, and shut my bedroom door so as not to insult his refined sensibilities when I played with my favorite toy.

  Lying back against the stack of pillows propped against my velvet-tufted headboard, I clicked on my favorite photo of daddy so that I could enter fantasyland. The one where he sat on the bed, fully clothed in a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoo of a barely clad girl sitting on a book stack.

  His black tie, black suit vest, and slacks matched the mood in the photo. He was the epitome of my sexual dream come true.

  Although his face wasn’t showing, I knew this much older gentleman was waiting for me to strip down to my Knitty Kitty bra and shorts. He would pat his knee as an indication I should drape myself across his knee. I could hear him say, “Come, lay across my lap, kitten.”

  The tale I told myself, ended with him commanding, “Ask daddy before you come. I want to hear you plead with me.”

  I switched my vibrator onto the strongest speed and bowed to the sensation as I screamed, “Yes, Daddy! I’m coming for you.”

  Turning out the light and hugging my pillow, I imagined myself settling into his embrace.

  Far better to keep things virtual like this.

  Tucked far away from here, off in the dreamt up fantasies of my imagination or on the distant retreat of a digital screen.

  Trusting people in person was another matter altogether, and one I had about as much chance of achieving as a wax cat surviving in Hell.

  2

  ARTHUR

  Two thoughts. I didn’t plan on chasing after her like a crazed schoolboy, and I was way too old to be consumed with thoughts of fucking.

  Nevertheless, the more mature I got, the more I realized that the expectations about how life should go rarely came to fruition.

  Case in point, here I sat in my private office, my heavy desk chair creaked as I rocked backward thinking about having more money than I knew what to do with, and no one to spend it on. No wife. No children. No pet. Consumed with lust for a stranger I’d seen once at a wedding.

  Women were not on short supply for an eligible, affluent bachelor, and I enjoyed funding a wardrobe, a piece of jewelry, or even paying rent for a current conquest.

  But that’s all it ever was. Subjugation on my part, acquiescence on hers. A game of servitude and reward that left me constantly searching for more than just a transaction.

  I was old enough to know better, but still I longed for someone who was my whole world. Someone I could devote my heart to.

  The sun spilled over my leather topped desk, and I rose to close the blinds on its intrusion. This was peak work time; no trials today, and I preferred to review and compile legal proceedings when I was still fresh in the morning. A handful of hours is all I put in each day, for a very select few clients.

  I wasn’t in this for the money at this stage of my career.

  The view out my window jolted me from my thoughts. Her stride was completely foreign, yet oddly familiar. Walking toward me on the opposite side of the street, her jaw angled skyward as she looked up at the green birds, wings flickering in the trees as they greedily hopped from branch to branch, gorging on dried berries.

  The second thing I saw was her unapologetic adornment of color, and the stylish corduroy skirt, her hands shoved jauntily in the pockets, juxtaposed in an intriguing way with the auburn ponytails fastened behind her ears and the nerdy black plastic glasses she wore.

  Shoving the drapes to the side, I was frozen in place, not knowing whether to race down and catch her, or stay where I was so she didn’t leave my sight.

  Her lipstick was tangerine pink — I could see it from my stalker-post way above. Her woman-soft body, all curves and candy to my male mind, had me pinned in place as she strolled down the sidewalk.

  She walked in fits of stops and starts, as
if having an internal conversation with herself that challenged her progress down the sidewalk.

  I held my breath and she startled me by jerking her head up toward my window and locking her eyes on mine, whether real…or just the imaginings of an undersexed male mind, there was slim chance she could make out my silhouette from her vantage point.

  My response to her bordered on ridiculous. Fifty-six years old was far too mature for love — or even lust — at first sight. Regardless, ever since seeing her for the first and only time at the Rossetti and Garcia wedding, she was all I thought about.

  I even shut down any in-person encounters from FetLife. In the deprived, sexual state I had lived in these past couple months, I was taken over by an animal hunger.

  Like a teenager. I feared that if I ever did see her in person, my overwhelming need to make her obey would blot out all reason and scare her off.

  I decided to take a chance. This was a sign, seeing her again. The heat settled in my groin, imagining her body warm and soft against mine. I needed to find out if her reality lived up to the fantasies I had about her.

  She ducked into the Daily Grind coffee shop and I quickly threw on my blazer.

  Who knew if she shared or would even consider my very particular proclivities. One thing was certain; I had to find out.

  I felt the rightness of it in my gut as I flew down the stairs to street level, the smell of ancient wood rising underfoot.

  The disadvantage of being way older than her was an obstacle enough, let alone the impediment of walking around with a thick brick in my trousers just because she made me a slave to biological need.

  I had one chance to introduce myself and hope to heaven she didn’t notice that just looking at her made me rock hard and ready.

  3

  BELINDA

  The smells in the Daily Grind overwhelmed my nostrils: cinnamon, coffee, chocolate. So much so that the strong aroma of vanilla directly behind me caught me off guard.

  I snapped my head around and found myself face to face with a distinguished looking dude in a suit.

  Yum.

  My honey pot sat up and paid attention.

  “You’re friends with Ariella, aren’t you?” His voice was naturally hoarse, as if there were something caught in his throat. It made the spot between my legs overheat.

  “I am, how did you know that?” My voice spoke in a lowered tone that was unrecognizable, and I raised my fingers to my lips as if to ensure it was still my mouth on my face.

  “You don’t remember, do you?” He leaned forward, and I could see that beneath the business attire, his body was thick with muscle. My pulse quickened.

  He said, “You were at her wedding and so was I. Her husband Eric is a client of mine.”

  “Ohh, Sullivan Consulting.”

  “So you have heard of me.”

  “Of course, everyone in town has. The ‘Great White’ they call you. What a nickname.”

  “I suppose.” He picked his coffee up off the counter and we walked to the condiments section on the side table. “Do you take cream?” He held up the porcelain pitcher of fresh cream and arched a brow. Was he flirting with me?

  “You can fill my cup with cream, but only if it’s hot.”

  “What?”

  “What?”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth. What was wrong with me today? I was usually shy around men, not some kind of forward floozy like the one who had taken over my mouth.

  I didn’t even know how to flirt, let alone have the guts to come on to a complete stranger. A businessman and pillar in our tiny town and here I was acting like Ms. Skeevy McSkeevy.

  What was wrong with me? I needed to reach out to my online daddy once and for all, and take the exit off the road to horniness and desperation.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m just…”

  “Charming.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Refreshing and charming is what you are. I thought so at the wedding, and should have asked you out then. It would have saved me several months of frustration.”

  Damnit. Could I for once come off as self-composed instead of awkward with a guy? Especially a guy as elegant as Sullivan.

  “Do you have a moment to sit, Belinda?” His voice husked my name and had a direct correlation with the heat level in my hoo hah. She was suddenly on a tropical oasis and ready to sunbathe naked.

  “I’m in no real hurry.”

  He gestured toward a table by the window and actually pulled my chair out for me. A girl could get used to this.

  I tilted my head at him and pursed my lips and noticed his gaze locked onto them.

  “What do you say? Have dinner with me?”

  I didn’t know how to respond. Had I ever been asked out on a proper date? Do guys my own age even take girls out to dinner anymore?

  He noticed my silence. “Unless you’d prefer texting back and forth until we decide whether or not to hook up. I suppose that would be more de rigueur for your age demographic.”

  “Dinner sounds awesome. I’m free tonight.” Great, Belinda. Way to sound like Desperate Debbie.

  “Can I pick you up?”

  My mama’s dating lectures came to mind: “Don’t meet at your house, and you tell me or a friend all the details of where you are going and check in after you get home, so we know you’re okay.”

  “It would be better if I met you there. Where do you want to go?”

  He stroked his square jaw beneath his high cheekbones and said, “Good girl. Safety first.”

  There was a hint of fire in his eyes, and I could feel my cheeks blaze. “Let’s meet at the Tiger Lilly Inn for dinner at seven.”

  He kept looking at me as if I was the last cookie on the plate and he was trying to be polite, all the more flattering given he had undoubtedly had his fair share of women.

  “So tell me, how do you spend your time? Your occupation sure, but I’m more interested in your passions.” That gruff voice. Yeah. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy my age asked about me.

  “Who’s to say they’re not one and the same?” I flipped my auburn hair over my shoulder.

  “Are they?”

  “I really like what I do, working as a personal assistant for indie authors. I get to help writers achieve their dreams, and I love to read, so in a way, it’s like I help the books come to life.”

  “Did you ever think of writing your own novel?”

  I shuffled my Mary Janes under the table, evading the question. How could he hone in on my secret wish without any clues? I guess as a lawyer, it paid to be insightful. Observant.

  “I don’t know…”

  “That’s work. What about after hours? How do you spend your time?”

  I thought about last night, kicking Archie out of my room and getting my jollies with a guy whose face I’d never seen, nor spoken a word to. My neck and ears felt impossibly hot.

  He placed a big warm hand on top of mine and said, “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time to get to know each other. For some reason, I find myself extraordinarily fascinated with you so forgive my line of questioning. You never have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable when you’re with me, okay?”

  Besides having his heated gaze on me again?

  “Consider it an occupational hazard.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Pursuing a line of questioning. Ultimately, it’s the best way to succeed in trial, the holy grail to achieve client satisfaction.”

  “But I’m not your client.”

  “No, you’re not.” His palm trailed up the back of my hand and circled my wrist, giving it a little squeeze.

  “But I’m very concerned with your satisfaction.” It was a forward and confident move, causing me to slide my hand away and put it on my lap.

  “I don’t even know your first name. Or do you prefer me to address you as Sullivan Esq.?” I smiled up at him. The look on his face made me realize that for the first time in my life, I felt alluring.

  “My name is Arthur.”

  “Like the knight?” I looked at him wide-eyed. “Honorable and brave?”

  “I aspire to be exactly like that.” He continued to look at me intently, and I saw something like a trace of regret pass over his features, “I’m afraid I have a ten o’clock, Belinda, much as I’d like to spend the day with you. I’m looking forward to tonight.”