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Slip into something spicy with the Daddy Sized Series,
bursting at the seams with curvy, untouched heroines and
possessive older daddies who can’t keep their hands to
themselves.
These novellas are fast and filthy age-gap instalove
romances with no cheating between the hero and heroine or
cliffhangers between books, and a guaranteed happy ever
after.
Copyright © 2023 Margot Scott
Edited by Kathleen Payne
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without
permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or
places, events or locations is purely coincidental. All characters are productions of
the author’s imagination. This work is intended for adults aged eighteen or older.
Independently Published
I'm the biggest motherfu**er you've ever met, in more ways
than one. Most people find me intimidating and that's fine by
me. I moved to the country for the solitude. But when the
curvy cam girl of my dreams shows up on my doorstep
looking for a room, I can't turn her away. April’s not just my
tenant. She's my baby girl. She just doesn't know it yet.
1
 JONATHAN

THE HAIRS on my nape stand at attention as I ease the electrical

wires through the hole I’ve cut into the drywall. Someone’s watching
me. I sense the weight of their gaze on my back as I reach into my
toolbox for a boxcutter.
“Are you a giant, mister?” says a small voice.
I spy the pint-sized owner of the voice, peering through the
doorway to what I assume will be her mother’s walk-in closet after
I’m done installing outlets and light switches. The child stares at me
with nervous fascination, clutching a bright-orange plush pony. Even
kneeling on the carpet, I’m almost twice her height.
“Only half giant,” I say with a wink.
The girl’s mother, a blonde woman with thick-rimmed glasses,
appears at her daughter’s side. “There you are.” She smiles
apologetically. “Sweetie, don’t bother the nice man.”
“It’s no bother, ma’am.” I note the way she eases her child
behind her as I rise to my full height. At a whopping six-foot-eight,
I’m willing to bet I’m the tallest man she’s ever found in her closet.
Bigger, too, now that my metabolism’s slowed down after forty-five.
I don’t work out as often as I used to when I was young, but
surprisingly I haven’t lost any muscle. I’ve just cushioned my
muscles beneath a layer of too much take-out.
Mother and daughter are already out of sight when the woman
says, “We’ll let you get back to work.”
 If I wasn’t already used to people’s reactions to my stature, I
might be insulted. As it stands, I’ll take not-so-subtle distancing over
bad jokes and inane questions. I return my attention to the electrical
wire, removing the outer sheathing to expose the smaller cables
inside. I attach the cables, install the outlet, and screw the whole
thing into place. The wall plates won’t go on until after the wall’s
been painted, but that’s a job for the next guy; I’m just the
electrician.
I pack up my tools and head downstairs where the head
contractor, Austin, and his guys are hard at work renovating the
kitchen.
“Upstairs closet and bath are all wired,” I tell him.
“Perfect timing.” Austin’s a big motherfucker in his own right, but
I’ve still got a good four inches and forty pounds on his linebacker
frame. “And, Jonathan, thanks again for taking this one on such
short notice. I can’t fuckin’ stand working with wild cards.”
“I appreciate the rec.” I don’t work for the construction firm
Austin co-owns with his friend and business partner, Jonah. I was
hired by the homeowner directly at Austin’s behest, because he
knows I do quality, efficient work, and I clean up after myself. “I’ll be
back tomorrow to finish up in here.”
“Sounds good, man.”
I slip out the back door and climb into my truck, grateful to be
heading home while it’s light out. With the sun setting so damn early
this time of year, most days I start and end work in the dark. I pick
up a burger and fries for dinner, grateful for the advent of drive-thru
takeout. It’s not that I hate all people. I just get tired of their wide-
eyed stares and the jokes about joining the NBA or the weather up
there.
My burger and fries are long gone by the time my tires hit the
driveway. That’s the thing about living in the country: it takes a while
to go anywhere and back. I spot the orange tabby cat curled up on
my front porch. He’s been hanging around the property since I
moved in. I have no clue what his name is, where he lives, if he
used to belong to the previous owner, or if he’s a stray.
 The cat stretches and yawns as I get out of my truck and set my
toolbox on the steps.
“How ya doing, bud?” I scratch the side of his face and behind
his right ear. He purrs loudly.
I didn’t used to feel one way or another about cats, but
something about this little guy tugged at my sympathies. Maybe
because it took a few days for him to warm up to me, like he was
used to being on his own. Independent, solitary.
“You hungry?” I ask. He chirrups and jumps off the porch,
weaving between my legs. I follow him into the barn where I keep a
folded blanket and bowls of dry food and water beneath a heat lamp
set to low.
I pour some kibble into his bowl and top off his water dish with
what’s left in my bottle.
“It’s supposed to drop below freezing tonight. Stick close to the
heat lamp.” So far, the cat has yet to accept my invitation to enter
the house, even on the coldest of nights.
I leave the tabby to his dinner and stride into the house, kicking
my boots off in the mudroom. While washing the grease from my
dinner off my hands in the farmhouse-style sink, it hits me how
much I’ve already gotten used to coming home to this kitchen.
There’s a charm to the cabinets’ original wrought-iron hardware
that you don’t see in new builds unless you’re willing to pay out the
ass for country chic—a poor imitation, if you ask me. I’m hoping to
woo prospective buyers with authentic country fixtures. I’ve been
careful not to strip the place of all her charm as I work to bring her
up to code.
It’s a real shame the house is too big for one man, because I’m
starting to fall for her. Maybe if I thought a family was in my future, I
might consider sticking around. But none of my efforts toward that
end have panned out, and I bought this place knowing I wouldn’t be
here forever. I figure it’ll take a year, maybe two, to fix her up and
flesh her out, before I list her for twice what I paid for the skeleton.
I’ve got my pants halfway down my legs when I hear the
doorbell chime. Jaw clenching, I pull them back up with a sigh. I
moved out here so I wouldn’t have to deal with random visitors. I
wait, hoping the unwelcome guest on my doorstep will take the hint.
The doorbell rings again. I zip my fly and refasten my belt as I
trudge through the house.
I wrench the door open. The words, “Whatever you’re selling, I’m
not interested,” fly out of my mouth before I see who I’m talking to.
The girl on my doorstep blinks up at me, confused.
“I’m not selling anything,” she says. “I’m here about the room.”
My thoughts scatter like coeds scramming in the wake of
someone shouting “Cops“ at a kegger. I can’t do anything but
breathe and stare at this unexpected visitor.
The curiosity in her wide-eyed gaze makes her look younger than
she is, and there’s no way she’s a day over twenty. Her full, red lips
curve hopefully, drawing my attention to her ruddy cheeks and pink-
tipped nose.
A word flashes neon bright in my mind: adorable. She’s adorable.
All bundled in a puffy white coat with faux-fur trim.
She cocks her head, causing her dark-brown hair to curl beneath
her chin. Her dark eyes size me up in a familiar way that says she’s
taking in my exceptional height and the way I fill up the doorframe.
“I said I’m here about the room...”
Finally, her words click into place. She’s not gawking at me ’cause
she thinks I’m a freak; she’s waiting for me to respond. I clear the
tightness from my throat. “What room?”
The girl holds up her phone. “The one for rent.”
I squint at the small screen. It takes a second, but I recognize
the photos of my home’s interior, taken when the house boasted a
lot more furniture. I spot the date. The rental was listed over three
months ago.
“The previous owner must’ve posted it,” I tell her. “I just bought
this place.”
“Oh...” She frowns at her phone, and even though it doesn’t
make an iota of sense, I feel her sinking disappointment in my own
stomach like a penny tossed into a pond. “In that case, you wouldn’t
happen to be interested in renting a room, would you?”
 She says it like a half-hearted joke, but the optimism in her gaze
is sincere.
“I, um...” I have no legitimate reason to want to help this girl.
Legitimate being the operative word. She’s nobody to me, yet part of
me wants to do whatever I can to flip her frown on its head.
“Never mind,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
She turns to go.
“I’ve got a room,” I tell her.
The girl spins around. “Really?”
I take a step back from the doorway. As soon as the girl enters
my home, my heart begins to hammer. I motion for her to follow me
into the living room, where I’ve got most of my tools laid out on a
tarp on the floor.
“She’s a fixer-upper,” I grumble.
“I can see that,” she says. I force myself to look away as she
shrugs her coat off, but my gaze won’t be reined in so easily. Her
jacket may have added a layer of padding, but the tight shirt and
jeans she’s wearing make it impossible to mistake her curves for
clothing. “Nice built-ins.”
“Hmm?” I mumble.
She nods to the bookcases flanking the fireplace, running her
fingers along the mantel.
“They, uh, came with the place.” I scrub a hand over my beard at
the thought of her touching my arm the way she seems to want to
touch the surfaces in my home.
“Reading is probably my favorite thing to do in the whole world. I
love it so much, I decided to major in English Lit.”
I want to ask her where she goes to school, but my heart is
pounding so hard, I can hardly think straight enough to manage a
stilted conversation. Can’t be too far away, if she’s willing to
commute from all the way out here.
“I’m April, by the way,” she says.
“Jonathan.” It’s all I can manage.
“Nice to meet you, Jonathan.” She smiles. I like the way she says
my name, like it’s a word she’s hearing for the first time. “Do you
like to read?”
 I nod. My own books are still in storage, but I have a short stack
of library books in the den where I’ve set up my bedroom for the
sake of convenience while I work on the rest of the house.
April trails me through the dining room and into the kitchen
where she compliments the original cabinets. Back in the foyer, we
head upstairs to the main bedroom where I’ve recently finished
bringing all the outlets up to code. It’s dated, like the rest of the
house, but it’s in the best shape out of all the bedrooms.
Her brown eyes scan the floral wallpaper. “Wow...”
“Like I said, fixer-upper. The latch on the door doesn’t catch, but
I can fix that.” I gesture to another door across the room. “There’s a
private bath through there.”
April peers into the attached bath and tests the light switch.
“How close is your bedroom? I’m a total night owl,” she adds quickly.
“I’d hate to keep waking you up.”
“I sleep downstairs. You’d have the whole second floor to
yourself.”
“Cool.” She looks out the window. “Do you have high-speed
internet?”
“Think so. Seems fast enough.”
“It’s just that all of my classes this semester are online. Would
you be willing to upgrade, if I find it’s not fast enough?”
“Sure.” I shrug. Frankly, the list of things I wouldn’t do for this
girl keeps getting shorter by the minute. My eyes can’t help but
follow her as she paces.
“Can I hang stuff on the walls?”
“You can paint ‘em if you want,” I tell her. “I’ll have ’em stripped
and sanded by next week.”
“Wallpaper’s fine for now. In fact, this is perfect.” That’s about
the last thing I’d expect anyone to say about the room in its current
state. She rocks back on her heels. “The ad said four hundred a
month. Is that amount still good?”
Honestly, I don’t want to take a dime of April’s money, but not
charging her would raise questions I’m not prepared to answer. I’ll
find a way to pay her back somehow.
“You can have it for two,” I say. “On account of the...condition.”
 She exhales some of the tension in her shoulders. “How soon can
I move in?”
“How soon do you need the room?”
“Tomorrow?” she says. It’s hardly the answer I was expecting.
Then again, a girl her age would have to be pretty desperate to
move into a crusty old house with a man she doesn’t know—a man
who has no right to even look at a girl her age the way I’ve been
struggling not to look at her since we met.
“All right,” I say, against my better judgment. But my judgment is
no match for the smile she throws my way. “I’ll be back from work
around seven-thirty tomorrow.”
“What time do you leave for work in the morning?”
“Around seven.”
She nods to herself.
“I’ll be here by six-thirty tomorrow morning.” Whatever living
situation April’s walking away from, she’s certainly eager to leave it.
It’s none of my business, but I can’t help wondering if she’s in
some kind of trouble. The only thing stopping me from flat-out
asking her is the knowledge that she’ll be sleeping under my roof
tomorrow night, where I can be certain she’s safe.
Downstairs, a short while later, she pauses on her way out the
front door to tell me, “Thank you, Jonathan. I promise to stay out of
your way. You won’t even know I’m here half the time.”
I watch through the window as April hoists herself into a green
Ford pick-up with rust on the back fenders.
You won’t even know I’m here half the time...
Somehow, I highly doubt that.
2
 APRIL

I SING along with the radio the whole drive back to town. My truck’s
pretty old, so it only gets the local stations, but I don’t mind.
Nothing could kill my vibe now that I’ve found a new place to live.
Jonathan’s house is a work in progress. The bedroom is musty and
coated in dust. But I can fix that. What matters is that the room will
be mine for as long as I’m willing to pay for it.
And what I choose to do in there is my business, and mine alone.
I knew the outdated rental ad was a long shot, but it was the last
affordable house on my laughably short list of rooms for rent. I
honestly didn’t expect anything to come of it. I certainly didn’t
expect a man like Jonathan to answer the door.
Most men are taller than me, but my new landlord is in a league
of his own. I actually felt little, standing beside him, and I haven’t
felt that way since I was young enough to believe in Santa Claus.
Back then, my stepmom, Eloise, used to try to get me to lose weight
by claiming I’d be too fat to sit on Santa’s lap. If our mall Santa had
been half as big as Jonathan, I’d still be small enough to sit on his
lap.
I giggle at the mental image of Jonathan in a Santa suit, sporting
a salt-and-pepper beard and resting beast face. He’s a little rough
around the edges, but his eyes are kind, and his voice is rich, and I
like the look of his big, calloused hands. I wonder what he does for a
living—I can’t believe I agreed to move into his house when I don’t
even know where he works. If he bought a fixer-upper with the
intent of doing most of the fixing himself, he’s probably used to
working with his hands.
I can’t help wondering what else those hands might be capable
of...
As the traffic light turns from red to green, I shove the
inappropriate thought aside. Having lived in my dad’s house my
whole life, moving in with a stranger will be strange enough without
the distraction of an inconvenient crush.
Still, I can’t imagine anyone being harder to live with than my
stepmom. My relationship with my dad is complicated at best. I
know he loves me, but when push comes to shove, he always takes
Eloise’s side over mine. That’s why I have to leave home.
Well, technically, I’m leaving because Eloise threw me out when
she discovered how I’ve been paying for school...
I back into the driveway, next to my dad’s sedan, and pop the
tailgate in preparation for loading up my truck. I don’t bother poking
my head into the kitchen, or my father’s study, on my way to what’s
about to become their spare bedroom.
Last night, I began packing most of my clothes and makeup. All
that’s left tonight is my work outfits and filming equipment: the ring
light, my camera, and the tripod it stands on. Once the electronics
are safely bubble-wrapped and sequestered in cardboard boxes, I sit
cross-legged on the floor and start in on my lingerie. I don’t bother
glancing up at the thud of footsteps in the hall.
“I’m making chicken and rice for dinner,” Eloise says from the
doorway. “Since it’s your last night in the house, you should join us.”
“I need to finish packing.” I’m not interested in making small talk
over dry chicken breast with someone who literally referred to my
line of work as disgraceful.
Eloise’s steel-gray gaze narrows on the red bra in my hand. She
shakes her head disapprovingly. It’s her default setting when it
comes to me. Disapproval. For not being the perfect stepdaughter
she always wanted. Not thin enough, proper enough, or
conventionally attractive enough.
I know Eloise obsesses over her own weight. She sees it as a
way to gain the upper-hand over my mom, who died when I was
five due to complications following gallbladder surgery for Crohn’s. I
still have some of her things, mostly clothes and jewelry, and a pair
of red Mary Janes that are too small for me, but that I refuse to part
with.
As far as I know, my dad never had a problem with my mom’s
weight. She was big, like me. Not tall, but round and pillowy. I look a
lot like her, which I’m willing to bet is why Eloise tries so hard to
make me lose weight. I’m a walking reminder of my father’s first
wife, the woman he would still be with if she hadn’t passed on.
After Dad remarried, Eloise took me on as her personal project. I
swear, she tried everything short of sticking her own finger down my
throat. I’ve spent most of my life hating my body, jumping from one
fad diet to the next. Low fat, low carb, low calorie. I tried them all.
Sometimes they’d even work for a while. Eloise was always nicer to
me after I lost a few pounds. Likewise, she could be downright
vicious when I inevitably put them back on.
Last summer, I decided enough was enough. I’d just graduated
from high school. Most of my friends were on vacation with their
families, which was fine by me, because a quiet social life meant
more time for reading in the air-conditioned comfort of my room. I
was re-reading one of my mom’s old Judy Blume paperbacks when I
discovered a photograph tucked between the pages: a picture of my
mom as a teenager, dressed in skinny jeans and a tank top. She was
about my size, maybe ten pounds heavier, and she was beautiful.
I thought, if my mom can be both fat and beautiful, then why
can’t I? I’d spent the last thirteen years trying to make myself
smaller, and I was just...tired. Tired of hating myself and torturing
my body. The next time Eloise served me a salad, instead of the
pasta she’d prepared for my dad, I went to the kitchen and dished
myself up a plate of spaghetti.
“I thought we weren’t doing carbs this month,” she said tersely.
I sat back down at the table. “I think I’m done with dieting. I just
want to enjoy food.”
She gaped at me like I’d just admitted to stealing a Prius.
“You’re giving up on your health, just like that?”
“I’ll eat the salad, too.”
 “Why even bother?” She pursed her lips, accentuating the fine
wrinkles around her mouth. For someone so preoccupied with
health, you’d think she’d know better than to spend all afternoon
baking under the sun until her cheeks resembled dried apricots. “You
might as well replace the lettuce with potato chips, for all the good
it’ll do you.”
“I don’t think that’s how nutrition works, honey,” my dad said
with a chuckle. I smiled around a mouthful of pasta, thankful for his
effort to lighten the mood.
“This isn’t funny, Douglas,” Eloise snapped. “April, I’m sorry you
no longer see yourself as a worthy investment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“It means your father won’t be paying your tuition this semester,”
she said. “If you won’t invest in yourself, then you shouldn’t expect
others to invest in you either. Not until you’re ready to take your
future seriously.”
My dad looked just as confused as I felt, but he didn’t speak out
against it.
“Eloise,” I said, “the fall semester starts in two months.”
She shrugged. “I guess you’d better start saving.”
“That’s not nearly enough time to save up.” I’d been working
part-time as a barista since my junior year of high school, so I did
have some savings. But not nearly enough to afford a semester at
Vanderbilt. It was too late to apply for scholarships, and my dad’s
income alone put me far above the threshold to qualify for federal
aid.
“How about this.” Eloise clasped her slim, crepe-papery hands. “If
you can lose ten pounds by September, your father will pay for the
fall semester. It’ll be a good incentive for you.”
Slack-jawed and disbelieving, I looked to my dad to inject some
sense into the situation. “Dad, are you hearing this?”
My father chewed his food slowly, shifting uncomfortably in his
seat. His track record for standing up to my stepmom wasn’t great,
but I couldn’t imagine he’d let her cut me off without talking to him
first.
 “It’s never a bad idea to think about your health, sweetheart,” he
said. “Ten pounds isn’t so hard. What is it, a few less cookies a
week?”
Eloise ate a bite of her salad, but there was no hiding her
triumphant smile. I’d pushed back, and she called my bluff, and
what’s worse, she’d pressured my dad into backing her up. The
ultimatum was simple: lose weight, or we’re cutting you off. My dad
wasn’t going to fight her on it, because fighting her would mean
taking my side against hers.
Maybe I could have lost the weight if I’d committed myself to the
task. I’d lost and regained the same ten pounds a dozen times
before. But I was done letting Eloise dictate my relationships with
food and my own body. So. My parents cut me off two months
before the start of my freshman year.
I needed another job. Something that paid good money—fast.
“What time will you be out by tomorrow?” Eloise asks, still
haunting my bedroom doorway like the Ghost of Fad Diets Past.
I swallow the anger drummed up by the memory of that awful
exchange.
“I’ll be out by six,” I say.
“In the morning?”
I sigh, folding the red bra and gently placing it in the box beside
me. “Yes, in the morning.”
“That’s rather early for you,” she says, emphasis on you. “I’m
surprised you found a place to live that quickly.”
“You didn’t exactly give me much choice—”
“Oh, stop!” She folds her arms across her chest. “We gave you a
choice. Give up your disgusting little hobby or find a new place to
live. You chose to leave.”
I did choose to leave, just like I chose not to lose those ten
pounds. By the time my parents found out about my disgusting little
hobby, I’d already made enough money to afford tuition and car
insurance. I’ll have to stretch my income a bit farther to afford food
and rent, but what Jonathan’s charging is nothing compared to what
I’d pay to live on campus. I’m already saving a ton by taking all
online classes.
 “You can’t imagine how embarrassing this is for your father and
me,” she says. “And I hope you know those men who pay to see you
naked are all laughing at you behind their screens.”
I rub the spot between my eyes where the headache I don’t
need is already brewing. “I told you, I don’t get naked on camera.”
“Why would anyone pay their hard-earned money just to watch a
fat girl read smutty stories in her underwear?”
As much as I don’t want her words to affect me, I can’t help but
flinch. The question on its own is a fair one, though not for the
reasons Eloise is asking. The thing is, if you’re not going to get
naked on camera, you have to find creative ways to grab people’s
attention.
My branding is clear. I’m an aspiring librarian, and a virgin, who
reads erotica to strangers while wearing lingerie. I don’t get naked
or masturbate on camera, and if a guy tries to pressure me to show
off my nipples, I block him. No warnings, no refunds. I get the
occasional troll, but for every one of them, there are fifty other men
in my chat who say I’m perfect just the way I am, men who
punctuate their flattery with tips.
Unfortunately, one of those men turned out to be a woman,
specifically one of Eloise’s busybody friends. While trawling her
husband’s browser history for porn, she came across the cam site
where my channel was being promoted.
“I’m told I have great taste in smut,” I say. “Do you have any
further questions about my line of work, or can I finish packing?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t raise you like this.”
“No. You raised me to hate myself.” The irony, of course, is that
I’m finally comfortable in my own skin, no thanks to her. I doubt I
would’ve started camming if she hadn’t cut me off. I suppose I
should thank her for that, but she’s gone before I can get the words
out.
I don’t realize how tense I’ve become over the course of our
conversation until I have to stand up.
Dropping onto the bed, I take a few deep breaths to calm my
racing pulse. My hand grapples for my phone on reflex. I open my
banking app and pull up my checking and savings accounts. The
numbers assuage me. No matter what I’m feeling, there’s no arguing
with math.
Depending on how good Jonathan’s internet speed is, I could be
back up and running by tomorrow night. Knowing I don’t need to
rely on my dad or Eloise to support myself brings me comfort. I
don’t want to cam forever. I have goals and dreams that don’t
involve sex work. But if I’m going to quit, I want it to be on my own
terms. Not because my stepmom shamed me out of it.

I finish packing the rest of my things in the morning. All that’s left to
move is my bed.
Taking apart the frame isn’t a big deal but getting the mattress
out of the house and into my truck is proving to be a lot more
arduous.
My dad barely glances up when I enter the kitchen. He hasn’t
been able to look me in the face since he found out I’ve been
camming. I get that it’s awkward for him to imagine a bunch of guys
getting off to his daughter. That’s not the part that hurts.
“Dad,” I say. “Think you could help me move my bed into the
truck?”
He smooths a hand over his bald spot and sets his coffee mug on
the counter. “Sure, yeah. Be right there.”
I wait for him in the hall where I’ve managed to drag my
memory-foam mattress without help. He shows up a moment later
and tells me to take the back half. After some careful deliberation,
we succeed in carrying the mattress out of the house and loading it
into my truck.
“I forgot how heavy that thing is.” He points to the boxes in my
truck bed. “This all your stuff?”
“Most of it,” I say.
“Doesn’t look like much now that it’s not spread out all over your
bedroom.”
 I find it hard to laugh at his joke in the cold light of day. “I’ll have
to come back for a few things I left in the closet. Please don’t let
Eloise get rid of anything before I look at it.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” he says, waving off my concern.
“Right.” I close the tailgate and withdraw my keys from my coat
pocket. “Dad...do you want me to leave?”
He tucks his hands in his pockets and sighs. “Of course not,
sweetheart.”
“Then tell Eloise you want me to stay.”
“April, it’s...complicated.” He sighs. “This whole internet thing. It
upsets her. It upsets me.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“Look, if you needed money, you should’ve come to me. We
could’ve worked something out quietly.”
“We shouldn’t have to work it out quietly, Dad. Why do you
always take her side?”
“I don’t always take her side.”
“You’re doing it right now.” I can tell he’s shutting down, getting
defensive. There’s no point in trying to push him if he won’t be
moved. “I’ve got to go.”
“Give us a call once you’re settled,” he says.
“Sure, Dad.”
I climb into my truck, knowing full well that I won’t be calling
either of them for a while.
3
 JONATHAN

I STARE down the traffic light, willing it to flash green. I shouldn’t

be this impatient to get back to my new housemate. But however
hard I try to forget the distinctly feminine scent she left in my home,
I can’t steer my thoughts away. I see the shape of her superimposed
onto everything, the way bright light burns spots across your field of
vision.
When I crawled into bed last night, god help me, her tight shirt
and rolling curves were still at the forefront of my mind. I managed
to keep my hands off my dick, but after a while, instinct took over. I
started grinding my dick against the bed, imagining April beneath
me. Her soft thighs cradling my hips as I drove my cock home, hard
and deep, until I made a mess of my sheets.
By the time her truck pulled into my driveway at six-thirty sharp,
I’d convinced myself she was a cosmic prank. A fever dream cooked
up by my unconscious on account of not having gotten laid in over
two years.
But April wasn’t a dream. She was there, at my front door, with a
box in her arms and a smile on her face, far too bright-eyed for just
past the ass crack of dawn.
I carried her mattress upstairs and showed her where the
vacuum and other cleaning supplies are stored before I left for work.
All day, I’ve been picturing her alone in my house, dusting and
vacuuming her new bedroom, carrying boxes up and down the
stairs, working up a gorgeous sheen.
 The light turns green, and I hit the gas. I tell myself my mouth is
only watering because I can smell the hot pizza on the seat beside
me, but my body’s not convinced. The closer I get to April, the faster
my heart beats.
Seeing her truck parked in my driveway brings me far more
satisfaction than it has any right to. I park in front of the barn and
pop inside to toss some kibble into the cat’s dish—no sign of the
furry beast today, but he’s been known to go MIA on occasion.
The air inside the house feels charged with anticipation. I leave
my boots and tools in the mudroom and bring the pizza to the
kitchen. Besides the clean glass in the strainer, there’s no sign of
April’s presence.
“He—” I cough to clear my throat, not used to having to yell in
my own house. “Hey, I brought dinner, if you’re hungry.”
Silence.
I scrub my beard and sigh. Maybe she’s in class, or on the phone
with a friend—or a guy. The thought of some greasy philosophy
major reciting his overplayed schtick in her ear sharpens my hackles
into spikes. Practically speaking, I’ve got no claim to April. I’m just
her landlord. It’s not my place to be jealous of other men in her life,
just like it’s not my responsibility to feed her.
But part of me likes the idea of going out into the world every
day and bringing home sustenance. It’s a primal feeling, like
returning from the hunt, only instead of a wildebeest, I’ve ventured
into the wilds and brought back pepperoni with extra cheese.
I’m aware of how pathetic that sounds as I comb my fingers
through my graying hair. A luscious young thing like April would
never be interested in a roughneck like me. I’ve been an old dog for
so long, I’ve forgotten how to be a predator. If she’s Little Red
Riding Hood, skipping through the forest in a short skirt, I’m the
hulking wolf in her grandmother’s nightgown, salivating over her
thighs from the next room.
What I wouldn’t give for a taste of what’s between them...
I’ve gotta get a fucking grip on myself. Any other night, I’d crack
open a cold one and eat the whole pizza without her. But I want to
at least try and set the precedent that I’m not just the old guy she
lives with. I’m the old guy who cares about whether she goes to bed
hungry. What’s mine is hers, even if she isn’t. I’ll go check on her, let
her know there’s food, and be done with it.
I march upstairs and knock twice on her bedroom door. It swings
open, thanks to the broken latch. I hear water running in the
attached bath, which explains why she didn’t hear my first
announcement. I spot the orange tabby I’ve been feeding, sprawled
out on her bed like he owns the place.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I mumble. He yawns at
me.
A splash of purple above April’s bed grabs my attention. She’s
hung a tapestry on the wall and brought in a chair and a small
bedside table with drawers. The wood floors look cleaner than
they’ve ever been, and while the purple curtains she put up are a
few inches too long, they take attention away from the dated floral
wallpaper.
My gaze snags on the tripod and light setup next to April’s bed.
“What the hell...” I move into the room to get a closer look at the
expensive-looking Nikon camera. From this angle, it’s clear that the
purple tapestry has been hung as a backdrop for whatever’s
happening on the bed.
I follow the cord that runs from the camera to the laptop on the
table. The website header on the screen reads, Dream Cams Live,
followed by the greeting: Welcome, UntouchedLibrarian.
Why does April have an account on a cam site?
The shower cuts off with a metallic screech. My pulse kicks into
fifth gear. I can’t let April find me in her bedroom.
I backtrack to the door and quietly pull it shut behind me. The
top step creaks as I lower my weight onto it. I curse under my
breath.
April’s door whines open. “Jonathan?” she says. I freeze, heart
hammering. “Did you want to speak to me?”
I pivot just enough to place her in my peripheral vision. She’s
wrapped herself in a towel. I try not to think about what she may or
may not be wearing underneath.
 “There’s um... There’s pizza downstairs.” I don’t wait for her to
respond before I continue making my way back to the kitchen.
I’m on my second slice of pizza when April saunters in wearing
pajamas with cartoon eggs on them, holding the cat in her arms.
“You didn’t tell me you have a cat,” she says.
“I don’t.”
“Oh...” She looks down at the tabby. “I probably shouldn’t have
let him in then. Oops.”
“It’s fine. I’ve been trying to get him to come inside for weeks.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Probably.” I don’t mean to be brusque with her. On top of almost
getting caught snooping in her room and discovering her camera
setup, I’m not used to talking this much after work hours.
“We should give him one.” She sets him down on one of the
kitchen chairs and pets his back. “How about Mango?”
The tabby lifts his back end in the air as she scratches the base
of his tail.
“He is very...orange.”
“I think he likes it.” She sits across from me at the table and
teases a slice of pizza from the box. “Thanks for sharing your pizza.
I’ve been so busy cleaning that I forgot to eat.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Next time, I’ll treat you to ham and pineapple.” She laughs out
loud at the face I make, and the sound makes my ribcage feel tight
around my heart. “What? It’s the perfect combination of sweet and
salty.”
I squint at her. “Get out.”
She grins once she realizes I’m not serious.
“I’ll win you over to the dark side one day.” She has no idea how
far she’s already won me over. “Where’d you live before you bought
this place?”
“A rental in Lincoln Park,” I tell her. After a short pause, I tack on,
“You?”
“I lived with my dad and my stepmom in West Hills.”
“Why’d you move out?”
 “It was time for me to find my own space.” Her tight smile makes
it clear there’s more to the story than she cares to discuss. If I had
to guess, the amateur film studio upstairs probably had something
to do with her decision to leave home.
The neckline of her shirt dips as she reaches for another slice of
pizza, confirming my cock’s suspicions that she isn’t wearing a bra.
She catches me staring and frowns. “What?”
My throat closes. I shrug.
“Nothing.”
“I like to eat.” Her firm gaze challenges me to comment further.
Does she think I have an opinion on her taking another slice?
“Who doesn’t?” I reach for my next slice, grateful she hasn’t yet
realized what a pervert her new housemate is. At the same time, I
can’t stand the thought of her feeling self-conscious about her
appetite.
April isn’t gorgeous in spite of her curves. She’s gorgeous. End of
story. Whoever fed her the lie that she’s anything less than perfect
had better pray the two of us never cross paths.
“You’d be surprised,” she says. “By the way, when you have a
sec, I’d like to get the latch on my door fixed.”
“I’ll fix it tonight.” I finish eating and push up from the table to
go get my toolbox.
“Jonathan?” April looks up at me from beneath thick, dark lashes.
“Thanks again for letting me move in.”
I nod and force my feet to carry me away from her sweet smile.
The whole time I’m fixing her door, I keep thinking about that
camera, aimed at her bed. It’s not there anymore. She must’ve
moved it before she came downstairs, knowing she’d ask me to fix
the door. Still, it doesn’t matter whether or not I can see it. The
camera’s existence is all I can think about.
I know what cam models do, though I’ve never sat down and
actually watched one. They put on stripteases and play with sex toys
for the pleasure of their audience. It’s the same stuff you’d find on
any adult streaming site, only live and interactive. Call me old-
fashioned, but I generally prefer my me-time to be a solitary act.
 But I can’t deny that I’m intrigued by the thought of watching
April take her clothes off.
Alone, in the dark, in my bed, my mind keeps drifting toward
fantasies of April pushing her breasts together, pinching her nipples.
It’s a good thing I don’t have to work in the morning, because the
last thing my body wants to do is rest.
My cock aches at the thought of April spreading her thighs for
the camera—for my gaze alone.
Fuck it...
I throw off the blanket and shuffle over to one of the boxes I
haven’t unpacked yet to dig out my old laptop with the battery that
doesn’t hold a charge. Thankfully I had the foresight to pack the
power cord in the same box. I sit back down on the king-size
mattress that takes up most of the floor. After failing twice to guess
my password, I log in and pull up the Dream Cams Live website,
then search for April’s username.
UntouchedLibrarian is now live.
My fingers hover above the track pad. I should definitely close
the laptop and forget I ever saw the camera in April’s room. But
even if I could resist watching her livestream tonight, the temptation
would rear its head again tomorrow, and the night after that.
This is the closest I’ll ever get to having April for myself.
I have to look.
I’m not sure what I was expecting. That’s not entirely true. I was
expecting a lot more skin. Not a curvy cutie dressed in a pink
button-down sweater, reading aloud from a tablet.
“‘He crouched so I could swing my leg across his back,’” April
reads. “‘Holding tight to Rex’s fur, I watched the familiar woods fly
past as we bounded off into the darkness. Back to my home, back to
my brothers. Back to my pack.’”
She lowers the tablet and smiles seductively at the camera.
“Shifter erotica isn’t my usual go-to,” she says. “But I really liked
that story. Thanks for suggesting it, Big Ben.”
Who the hell is Big Ben? I wonder. Then I understand she must
be talking to one of the guys in her chat. Sure enough, he responds.
BigBen60: the knotting was really hot
 April bites her bottom lip.
“Yeah, I really enjoyed that part, too.” She unfastens the top two
buttons on her sweater, revealing just a hint of cleavage. The white
shorts she’s wearing do an excellent job of showing off her creamy
thighs while keeping her intimate areas hidden, though I can easily
make out the dark outline of her underwear.
Thighman24 tips her a hundred tokens. She smiles into the
camera.
“Thanks, Thighman. How are you doing tonight?” Her demeanor
is flirty, but there’s something... I don’t know... Wholesome about
the whole exchange, if that makes any sense. It doesn’t feel like a
porn show so much as a conversation you might have with a cute
girl at a bar—or the library.
“What should we read next?” she asks.
GashSmasher227 says he wants a private bedtime story. “If you
want to take me into a private room, you have pay upfront.”
No fucking way am I letting her go anywhere, even digitally, with
someone who calls himself GashSmasher. My fingers sail over the
keyboard as I scramble to make an account and purchase tokens,
praying none of the jack-offs in her chat beat me into a private
session with her.
As soon as I have tokens, I return to her chat and click the link
to start a private show. I pay for the maximum amount of time
allowed—two hours—and wait for her to accept the invite.
“I’m heading into a private session,” she says. “This will probably
take me to the end of my stream. Y’all have a good night.”
She taps on the mouse pad on her laptop and suddenly the
interface changes. The option to chat is still there, as is the option to
turn on my own webcam.
“Hi there, ElectricJay,” she says. ElectricJay20 is the best I could
come up with on the spot; I’ll never claim to be creative. “What are
you up to tonight?”
My heart starts to pound. I type, Couldn’t fall asleep.
“That sucks. Hopefully I can help with that.” She smiles at the
camera, and even though I know she can’t see me, I start to sweat.
 My cock throbs as she undoes two more buttons on her sweater.
Her bra is navy blue with lace trim, and it presents her breasts
beautifully.
“I was a little nervous about coming in here with you. Sometimes
first-timers get pushy.”
ElectricJay20: How so?
“They assume I’m going to get naked,” she says, “even though I
make it clear in my profile that I only ever strip down to my
underwear.”
In my rush to get her out of the main chatroom, I’d forgotten to
even glance at her profile. I pull it up and read through her stats.
Age 19, location Southern USA. At least she knows better than to be
any more specific than that. She describes herself as a college
student and an aspiring librarian—
And a virgin.
She’s a virgin camgirl.
”Is that going to be a problem?”
It takes me a second to recall that she’s talking about her clothes
and not the fact that she’s a virgin. I type, Not at all. You should
only reveal what you’re comfortable showing.
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, we can just enjoy
ourselves.” She picks up her tablet. “What kind of story are you in
the mood for?”
ElectricJay20: What are my options?
“Well, we could read an excerpt from one of the classics. Or, I
just downloaded an age-gap story collection. There’s all kinds of
stuff in there. Boss and employee, best friend’s dad, Dad’s best
friend...”
Her words wrap around my cock like I wish her fingers would.
She picked out an age-gap story collection. Does that mean she’s
into older men, or did she buy it for her undoubtedly older male
audience?
Dealer’s choice, I type. It’s your bedtime, too.
“Oh, um, sure. Let’s see...” April bites her lip as she scrolls on her
tablet. Once again, the descriptor that came to me the day we met
pops into my head.
 ElectricJay20: You’re adorable.
She smiles at her laptop screen, then at the camera.
“You’re sweet, ElectricJay.” She unfastens the last three buttons
on her sweater and shrugs the garment off.
Fuck me. Even restrained by her bra, I can tell her breasts are
amazing. I catch myself mid-groan as I imagine sliding my tongue
between those lush mounds.
“Let’s read this one. It’s about a girl who hooks up with her
mom’s ex-boyfriend in a doomsday bunker after a chemical attack.”
Mom’s ex-boyfriend. A man old enough to be her father. The
need to reach out and touch April burns within me. Since I can’t
touch April, I settle for touching myself, rubbing my aching cock
through my boxers.
ElectricJay20: Sounds exciting.
“It’s one of my favorites...” She hesitates. “It’s kind of a Daddy-
Dom, baby-girl story. I hope that’s okay.”
My pulse stutters. Her favorite story is about a girl who fucks an
older man she calls daddy, who calls her baby girl. My cock strains
against my underwear. Is this what April fantasizes about when the
cameras are off and she’s alone in bed?
A boyfriend-slash-father figure who wants to care for her in all
the ways a real father can’t?
I type, Does the thought of being someone’s baby girl turn
you on?
Her cheeks take on a pink glow that makes me want to kiss them
through the screen.
“It does.” She laughs nervously. “I don’t usually tell people that.”
ElectricJay20: I’m glad you told me.
“I’m not sure why I did. Does it... I mean, are you... Never
mind.”
ElectricJay20: What is it?
April shakes her head. “Nothing. I was just curious if you were
hard, but we haven’t even started reading.”
My cock throbs like it knows it’s being called on.
ElectricJay20: I’ve been hard from the first moment I
saw you.
 A smile plays at her full lips. “Good.”
She makes herself comfortable and starts to read from her tablet.
“‘My bedmate, Casey, whimpers in the dark,’” she reads. “‘The
double cot we share trembles with her movements. Not enough to
wake me, but enough that once I am awake, I know exactly what
she’s doing...’”
4
 APRIL

I’M STARTING to think that Jonathan enjoys having me around. At

the very least, he seems to like having someone to cook for.
“This smells amazing.” I dish myself up a plate of sausage and
eggs and take a seat at the table. “Thanks for making breakfast.”
Jonathan grunts, his version of you’re welcome.
Mango hops onto the chair beside me, his gaze following my fork
from the plate to my lips.
“Don’t even think about it, dude.” I pet his orange head. “I bet
Jonathan already gave you your dental treats today.”
About a week ago, Jonathan and I took Mango to the vet to get
him up-to-date on his shots. We didn’t intend to go together. When I
mentioned I was planning to bring Mango in myself, Jonathan said
he’d do it, since Mango’s technically his cat. But I wanted to be there
in case Mango got scared. It was actually kind of sweet, the three of
us together in the waiting room, like concerned parents taking their
kid to the doctor for his vaccines.
“I fed him before you came down.” Jonathan sets a mug of
coffee with vanilla creamer beside my plate. He still doesn’t talk
much, but I’ve come to appreciate that about him. I’m constantly
talking while I stream, so it feels good to rest my vocal cords. I can
imagine us orbiting around each other like this for years, like an old
married couple, alone together, in this big silent house.
I sip my perfectly sweetened coffee and pray the caffeine kicks in
soon. I have a mountain of homework to get through today, on top
of getting ready for tonight’s “date” with ElectricJay20—shaving my
legs, plucking my eyebrows, the usual.
After our first private chat, Jay paid in advance to have me all to
himself for the next three nights. During those sessions, I continued
reading from the same age-gap story collection. I still can’t believe I
told a brand-new viewer how much I enjoy Daddy erotica. He must
enjoy it, too, though because he insisted on buying up all of my
sessions for the rest of the month.
Normally, I wouldn’t let a client dictate when I go live and with
whom, but I take genuine pleasure in camming for Jay. What’s more,
after talking with him every night for almost three weeks, he’s begun
to open up to me.
In-between the dirty stories, we have real conversations. I’ve
learned that he lives alone, has never been married, and hasn’t
dated or slept with anyone in years. He thought he wanted kids, but
it wasn’t in the cards for him, which I thought was kind of sad. I
found out his birthday is April sixteenth. He’s turning forty-eight this
year, making him two years older than my dad.
That last bit of information would probably turn some girls off,
but I must be wired differently because it does the opposite. The
thought of an older, experienced man like Jay teaching me how to
please him makes me want to do things for him I swore I’d never do
on camera, like show off my breasts, or touch myself—
“I put air in your tires,” Jonathan says.
I shake myself out of the fantasy I’ve slipped into; I’ve been
doing that a lot these days. “What tires?”
His brow crimps above the rim of his coffee mug. “Your truck.
The back tires looked low, so I put air in ’em.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I smile appreciatively. If I had a dollar for every
time I’ve thanked Jonathan since I moved into his house, I wouldn’t
need to cam for a living. He seems to like doing nice things for me,
just because. I’ll admit, I like him a lot more than I should. I watch
him hammer nails and lift heavy things and imagine how it would
feel to be held by him, cradled against his chest and belly, where
nothing and no one could ever hurt me.
 But, as much as I like Jonathan, acting on my attraction toward
him feels too much like cheating on Jay. Not that Jay and I are
together. Practically speaking, he’s no different from any other
viewer. Yet, emotionally, he’s somehow become more to me than
just lines of text. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I know him. When
he says he thinks about me all the time, I believe him.
Jonathan sets his mug in the sink. “I’m gonna prime the living
room today. Can you keep Mango in your bedroom?”
“Sure,” I say.
I finish breakfast and wash the dishes, then refresh my coffee
before taking Mango upstairs. He curls into a ball to nap beside me
on the bed while I start my reading for Modern American Lit.
A few hours and one hastily written essay later, my phone rings
with an incoming call from my dad. I hadn’t heard from him since I
moved out, though Eloise has been leaving messages almost daily.
I’m excited to finally talk to him.
I answer, “Hey, Dad. I’m glad you called.”
“Well,” says Eloise, “I guess that answers my first question.”
My jaw clenches. I should’ve figured Eloise would try calling on
my dad’s phone next, having tried and failed over a dozen times to
reach me from her number.
“Hi, Eloise...”
“It’s been weeks since we heard from you, April,” she says, her
voice dripping fake concern. “How’s the new living arrangement
playing out?”
I massage my forehead. “It’s great. I’m pretty much settled in.”
“You know,” she says, “your dad and I would love to see it
sometime.”
“Yeah, totally.” I don’t doubt for a second that she’d love to see
where I’ve landed. Eloise was always the first to show up at a
neighbor’s open house. “It’ll have to wait till Jonathan’s done
working on the first floor though. The whole house is kind of a
construction zone.”
“Who’s Jonathan?”
“He owns the house,” I say.
 “Oh.” Her tone is accusatory; why didn’t I mention this person
before? “That must be annoying, all the construction racket.”
“It’s fine, actually. He works during the week, so he pretty much
only renovates on weekends.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s an electrician,” I say.
“Have you found a job yet?”
My jaw tightens. She knows I wouldn’t have left home if I wasn’t
still camming. She’s just angling for confirmation. I refuse to give her
the satisfaction.
“Do you need help paying rent?” she asks when I don’t respond.
It fills me with a sense of triumph to be able to tell her, “I’m
actually making more money than I was before.” The desire to wave
my success in her face overtakes me. Before she can say anything
else, I add, “You and Dad should come for dinner next Sunday.”
“I thought you said the house wasn’t ready.”
“The first floor should be good to go by then.” At least, I hope it
will be... I’ll offer to paint and vacuum and whatever else is
necessary to get the house ready for visitors. I’ll cook a big,
delicious dinner and serve red wine, even if I can’t drink it myself.
I’m determined to show Eloise that I can land on my feet, no
matter how hard she tries to throw me.
But first I have to tell Jonathan we’re expecting guests.
5
 APRIL

I LOG into the private webcam app and message Jay to let him
know I’m ready for our date. Shortly after, an incoming call pops up
above all my other apps. I accept. Since Jay hasn’t activated his
webcam, it’s my bed that fills the screen. Some guys will go cam-to-
cam with models during private chats, but Jay says he prefers to
focus on me.
ElectricJay20: Good evening, baby girl
“Hi, Jay.” I sit up a little straighter so he can get a good look at
the silky blue crop top and pajama shorts he bought for me. He’s not
the first viewer to send gifts to my PO Box, but these feel special
because they’re from him and they make me feel pretty. “How was
your day?”
ElectricJay20: Decent. Did some work around the house.
ElectricJay20: My day’s much better now that I get to see
you.
His words wrap around me like a fuzzy blanket. I wish I knew
what he looked like so I could picture him with some semblance of
accuracy, but I don’t want to pressure him into turning on his
webcam if he’s not comfortable. He’s been so good about respecting
my boundaries. I’m the one having a hard time remembering why I
shouldn’t play with my nipples while we talk.
ElectricJay20: You look beautiful, btw. How are you?
“I think I may have gone insane,” I tell him. “I did something
kind of crazy.”
 ElectricJay20: What did you do?
“I invited my parents to have dinner at my new place next
weekend.”
Jay knows all about Eloise kicking me out of my dad’s house. I
wouldn’t normally bring up such a downer subject with a viewer, but
Jay seems genuinely interested in my unfiltered life.
When I told him all the hurtful things Eloise had said to me, he
went quiet. As time ticked by, I thought maybe he’d gotten bored
with the conversation, which hurt because I’d just shared something
really personal and traumatic. He returned soon after and apologized
for going MIA. He said he needed to step away because my story
had made him furious, and he didn’t want me to bear the brunt of
his rage.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have someone in my
corner, even if he’s thousands of miles away.
ElectricJay20: Are you sure you want to sit down to
dinner with your stepmom?
ElectricJay20: I don’t like the way she talks to you.
“If I want to spend time with my dad, I have to see her, too.” I
sigh. It helps to know that Jay feels protective of me. I bet I’d feel
better about sitting down to dinner with Eloise if he could be there
with me. “You know, I got so excited when I thought my dad was
calling this morning. But it was just Eloise, using his phone.”
ElectricJay20: He still hasn’t called?
I shake my head. “Nope...”
A moment passes.
ElectricJay20: His loss.
ElectricJay20: Any father would be lucky to have you in
his life.
ElectricJay20: I know I would.
I have no idea whether my dad feels lucky to have me. I think he
wishes I was more laid back, like him, less prone to pushing back
when slighted. The thing is, Eloise doesn’t just push. She picks and
pokes and prods until you snap, and then she points and cries, “How
dare you bite me.”
 But I’m done talking about my parents. Eloise doesn’t deserve to
eat into my time with Jay.
I finger the hem on my crop top, inching it higher on my belly.
“You want to be my dad, Jay?” I ask in a soft, girlish voice. “You
want to brush my hair and cut the crusts off my sandwiches and
read me to sleep?”
ElectricJay20: I want to do all that, baby girl.
ElectricJay20: And so much more...
My lower body tightens. I already feel like wriggling, and we
haven’t even started reading yet. I pick up my eReader. “I bought a
new short story collection today.”
ElectricJay20: What’s the theme of this one?
“More age-gap Daddy stuff. It’s by the same author of the other
collection.” I tap to pull up the table of contents. “We could read this
student-professor one. He propositions her to be his little girl for a
better grade.”
ElectricJay20: Sure, if it interests you.
I squint. He’s been letting me pick pretty much all the stories
we’ve read so far.
“Does it interest you?” I ask.
ElectricJay20: Anything that makes your pussy wet
interests me.
My inner muscles throb so hard, I have to shut my eyes.
ElectricJay20: That. Whatever has you making that face,
I want more of it.
I have to chuckle. “You’re making me make this face with your
dirty talk. Saying you like my pussy wet. Are you hard right now?”
ElectricJay20: Always when I’m looking at you.
I catch my lip between my teeth. I love being the reason Jay’s
cock is hard. I love the thought of making him come. He says his
orgasms haven’t been this explosive since he was my age. I get so
horny imagining him coming all over his chest and stomach. I can’t
picture the real him, but he once described himself as a big guy with
a beard and a belly.
I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I picture Jonathan in Jay’s
place while we talk. It makes for awkward breakfasts the next
morning, but it feels so good in the moment.
“Are you touching yourself?” I ask.
ElectricJay20: Not yet. Still enjoying the view.
ElectricJay20: Do you want me to stroke my cock?
“Yes, please.”
I start to read. The sexy story, plus the mental image of Jay as
Jonathan with his hand around his fat cock, has my skin feeling
hypersensitive to the point that gliding my own fingers down my
thigh elicits a gasp.
“‘My legs spread apart like they instinctively know what’s about
to happen,’” I read. “‘Maxwell’s cock is a constant presence against
my hip. I buck and tremble, pulling at my binds. My hands long to
touch him, but I savor the feeling of being at his mercy. He’s my
daddy, and I’m his little girl. He can do whatever he wants to me...’”
The ache between my legs pulls at my focus until I can no longer
concentrate on the story. I knead my inner thigh, painfully close to
the source of my torment and my pleasure.
ElectricJay20: Poor baby. I bet your pussy’s crying for
Daddy.
ElectricJay20: If I was there, I’d take such good care of
you.
I’ve fantasized about the things Jay and I would do together
every night since the first cam session. The games we would play.
“What would you do?” I ask in a voice that’s slightly higher-
pitched than my own.
ElectricJay20: I’d sit you on my lap and kiss your lips
until they’re tender and swollen.
I touch my lips. “Then what?”
ElectricJay20: I’d grab two good handfuls of those
gorgeous breasts and tease your nipples through your top.
I grope my breasts reflexively, my nipples already stiff against my
palms. The silken crop top makes every point of contact feel twice as
sensitive, twice as pleasurable.
“Then what?” I ask again.
ElectricJay20: I would ask my baby girl where she wants
Daddy to touch her.
 ElectricJay20: And I’d make you beg me to touch you
there.
“Oh, Jay...” I press my thighs together. “I wish you were here. I
wish you were...”
ElectricJay20: Go ahead, baby. Say it.
ElectricJay20: You know you want to, and I want to hear
it.
I do want to say it. Not only because it turns me on, but because
it feels right to say it to him.
“I wish you were my Daddy.”
ElectricJay20: Good girl.
Heat and longing sweep through me like fire. I don’t know how
long I’ve been waiting to hear—or see—those words directed at me.
But now that I have, it’s like something inside me can finally lie
down and rest.
I’ve been good. I am good...
“Say it again, Daddy. Please.”
ElectricJay20: You’re Daddy’s good girl, baby.
My whole body flushes. I desperately need some form of contact
against my clit, even if it isn’t direct pressure. I wedge my hand
between my legs, pressing the side of my palm to my mound. It’s
not enough to sate me, but it’s enough to make me whimper.
ElectricJay20: Are your panties wet?
“Yes,” I whisper.
ElectricJay20: Let Daddy see.
I hesitate. I promised myself I wouldn’t get naked on camera
because I didn’t want those images being used against me later. I
want to believe Jay wouldn’t do that, but this is still the internet.
Jay seems to understand my reluctance.
ElectricJay20: You don’t have to take them off. Just show
Daddy the wet spot.
I reorient myself on the bed and spread my legs, sliding the
crotch portion of my shorts aside to show him my dampened
panties.
ElectricJay20: Every inch of you is fucking beautiful, baby
girl.
 ElectricJay20: Touch yourself for Daddy.
ElectricJay20: I don’t care how you do it, if you need to
keep your face or your pussy out of focus.
ElectricJay20: I want to see you come.
And I want to come. But, more importantly, I want Daddy to see
me come.
I grab a pillow for my neck and then shift onto my stomach,
making sure I can still see my laptop and the chat box. My face,
upper body, and the curve of my hips are all visible on the screen,
but everything below that is out of the frame.
Wedging my arm between my body and the bed, I push aside my
shorts and my underwear. I gasp as my most sensitive parts are
exposed to the air, then moan as my fingers reach my clit.
ElectricJay20: How does it feel, baby?
“It feels so good, Daddy... So wet and...sensitive.” I stroke my clit
like I do when I’m alone in bed with no cameras on, thinking about
Jay...or Jonathan.
Again, I keep picturing Jonathan on the other side of the screen,
fisting his cock, calling me his baby. I try to imagine someone else in
his place, but it doesn’t work. So instead of fighting with myself, I
picture two men: Jonathan with his big, veiny monster cock in front
of me, and the faceless, mysterious Jay behind me, whispering in my
ear.
ElectricJay20: Daddy needs you so bad, baby.
ElectricJay20: I’ll die if I don’t get inside you.
I rub my clit faster. In the fantasy, when I call out for Daddy,
both men answer. When I beg Daddy to fuck me, Jay reaches
around to spread my legs so Jonathan can push inside me.
ElectricJay20: Do you want Daddy to be the first man
inside you, little girl?
“Yes, Daddy. I want you to be the first. I’ve been saving it for
you.” I can feel my orgasm surging like a river after a rainstorm,
rising higher, breaking over the banks, rushing around the bend. My
clit pulses against my fingers.
ElectricJay20: Because you’re Daddy’s good girl.
ElectricJay20: and Daddy loves you.
 Pleasure washes over and through me. I moan into the pillow as
my whole body shakes with the force of my orgasm. Colors burst
behind my closed eyelids. With each additional swipe of my fingers, I
feel a deep, internal throb, dragging out my climax, spreading the
pleasure all through me.
I open my eyes to reread Jay’s last message and find a new one
below it.
ElectricJay20: Fuck Daddy’s coming too
I picture cum spurting from the head of his cock onto the
keyboard, splashing the screen, dripping down over my face and
body. I’m sure Jay’s a lot more careful than that in real life, but I
enjoy the visual.
It’s a good distraction from the message on my screen that I
can’t bear to think about.
Daddy loves you.
There’s no way he meant it. Guys say all kinds of things during
cam sessions, things that sound hot in the moment, but mean
nothing once the camera turns off—
ElectricJay20: I meant what I said, baby.
My pulse leaps three stories.
“Oh... You know, you don’t have to say that, Jay. We were just
roleplaying.” The words taste false, but I don’t want him doubling
down just to avoid hurting me. I’d rather my heart get bruised
tonight from a slip of the tongue—er, fingers—than have my heart
broken a month from now when he tells me he never meant it.
ElectricJay20: I wasn’t just roleplaying.
ElectricJay20: I love you, baby girl.
I fight to keep my heartbeat steady. I know what I feel for Jay is
real. It’s how I’ve felt for weeks, and although it hasn’t been a full
month since we met, I can’t ignore our connection. It doesn’t matter
that I’ve never seen his face or heard his voice.
He’s the man I keep coming back to every night.
“I love you, too, Daddy.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
No. 55, GREAT QUEEN STREET,
STAIRCASE

PLATE 21
 PLATE 22

ELEVATION IN 1779
FREEMASONS’ HALL, PLAN OF PREMISES BEFORE 1779

PLATE 23

FREEMASONS’ HALL IN 1811

PLATE 24
FREEMASONS’ HALL, FAÇADE

PLATE 25
FREEMASONS’ HALL, ELEVATION OF NORTH END OF
TEMPLE IN 1775

PLATE 26
FREEMASONS’ HALL, THE TEMPLE, LOOKING SOUTH

PLATE 27
FREEMASONS’ HALL, SIR J. SOANE’S DESIGN FOR NEW
MASONIC HALL (1828)

PLATE 28
FREEMASONS’ HALL. GRAND
STAIRCASE
VESTIBULE TO TEMPLE SHOWING
MOSAIC PAVING

PLATE 29
MARKMASONS’ HALL,
CHIMNEYPIECE IN BOARD ROOM

PLATE 30
MARKMASONS’ HALL, CEILING IN BOARD ROOM

PLATE 31
MARKMASONS’ HALL, CEILING IN
GRAND SECRETARY’S ROOM

PLATE 32

GREAT QUEEN STREET CHAPEL

 PLATE 33

GREAT QUEEN STREET CHAPEL,

INTERIOR

PLATE 34
LITTLE WILD STREET, VIEW
LOOKING NORTH-EAST (1906)

PLATE 35
PLATE 36
No. 32, BETTERTON STREET,
ENTRANCE DOORCASE

PLATE 37
“QUEEN ANNE’S BATH,” No. 25,
ENDELL STREET

PLATE 38
THE BOWL BREWERY IN 1846

PLATE 39
PLATE 40
SEVEN DIALS COLUMN AT
WEYBRIDGE

PLATE 41