Next Door Daddy Read online

  I jerk my cock faster as I lean my head against the glass wall of the shower. My mind replays the details of Lacey laid out on the bed like that with her skirt pulled high and her tight, tempting little pussy barely covered. My mind takes the memory to fantasy-land, and I picture myself pulling her panties to the side and easing my thick dick into that pink pussy. I growl as I imagine how fucking tight she’d be. My cock pulses as I picture how she’d moan as I gripped her long blonde hair and thrust into her.

  I stroke my dick until my balls tighten and the pleasure is too much to hang on to anymore. With a snarl on my lips and images of Lacey Wheatley bouncing on my big dick, I come hard. I grunt as I spray my sticky white cum against the glass shower wall.

  I’m panting and still tense as I step back under the water. I try and wash away the fucked-up thoughts and desires, but half an hour later when I finally step out, they’re still there. And I’m still hard.

  4

  Lacey

  Morning light wakes me with a start, and I frown at the sun’s glare on my face. I start to turn over to go back to sleep when everything comes rushing back. I gasp and sit upright, and then I immediately grimace as the bell bongs in my head. I wince in pain and everything spins for a minute. Slowly, I begin to remember the pieces—breaking into Logan’s house with Brad and drinking a lot of his wine.

  When I begin to remember everything that happened after that, the dread sinks in deep. Embarrassment floods my face when I look around and slowly realize that I never actually left Logan’s house. I also realize I’m just wearing a bra up top, and a fresh wave of embarrassment hits me. God do I hope to everything holy that I didn’t get freaking topless in front of him.

  I’m mostly still dressed under the blanket thrown over me, but then I spot the pile of folded clothes at the foot of the bed—a pair of sweatpants with a Yankees logo on them and big white t-shirt. I stare at them as more of the night begins to come back to me in a terrible realization just how badly I fucked up.

  My head is still throbbing with my hangover as I crawl out of bed and quickly pull on the sweats and t-shirt. I ball my skirt and t-shirt up and carry them along with my sandals as I shuffle to the door. I peek out into an empty-sounding house. I wonder as I creep down the stairs if there’s a chance in hell that Logan is still asleep, and I can just skip out.

  “Rise and shine.”

  I wince at the sound of his voice from the kitchen to my left at the bottom of the stairs. Slowly and sheepishly, I turn, and my cheeks burn deeply as I meet his eye. I look away, but I can feel his eyes still on me. I know there’s definitely no sneaking away from this. Slowly, I shuffle into the kitchen, feeling like a complete idiot.

  “Coffee?”

  I manage to get my eyes to meet his for a second as I nod. “Please,” I mumble.

  Logan just nods from behind the kitchen island. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt that hugs his biceps freaking perfectly. He turns and pours a mug and then slides it across the marble to me.

  “Thanks,” I say meekly. “I think I’m just going to go…”

  “No, you’re not.” His tone is firm. “Sit. Have some coffee.”

  My head is pounding, and my stomach feels like it’s wrapping around itself. But coffee honestly sounds like a miracle cure right now. So, I nod and take a seat in one of the bar stools at the counter. Logan slides the mug of steaming coffee closer, and I mumble another “thank you” as I pick it up and bring it to my lips.

  “Mr. Kane…” I swallow slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’m really sorry for last night, I—”

  “You broke in and stole from me.” Logan’s voice is steely and deep, and I tremble. “And there were drugs involved, Lacey.”

  My eyes fly to his. “Those weren’t mine!”

  “I’m sure,” he drawls.

  “They weren’t! And I didn’t even have any.”

  “Right, so your little boyfriend was just going to do all that cocaine by himself, was he?” Logan mutters.

  “He’s not my boyfriend!” I blurt out.

  Logan just holds my gaze with that brooding look of his. “Good. I was hoping not seeing as he was trying to roofie you.”

  My heart skips. “Wait, what?”

  “That little shit dropped cocaine and also roofies when I tossed him out.”

  My stomach clenches sickly. “Eww, what a creep!”

  Logan’s stern gaze holds my eyes coolly. “You need to make better choices, Lacey.”

  The patronizing tone rubs me the wrong way, and I purse my lips and glare at him. “Gee thanks, dad,” I mutter.

  “Drop the attitude.”

  I shake my head as I stand and step back from the countertop. “Look, Mr. Kane, thank you for… you know, for letting me stay here last night, and for helping with that asshole. But I’m going home now.”

  I snatch my clothes from the stool next to me and Logan just smiles at me.

  “No, Lacey, you’re not.”

  I glare back at him. “Yes, I really am.”

  I whirl to storm dramatically from the room. But Logan’s next words stop me cold.

  “I spoke to your aunt this morning.”

  The color drains from my face, and I whirl back towards him. “You told on me?!”

  Logan rolls his eyes. “Actually no, I didn’t. Much to the chagrin of my moral compass.” His eyes snatch my attention and hold it, and I breathe a shaky breath. “I told her you thought you’d heard a sound in your house last night and came over here to your closest neighbor to ask me to help. We decided there wasn’t anyone trying to break into your house, but I offered a spare guest room for the night.”

  Slowly, I nod and look at my feet. “Thank you. Honestly. Thanks for not telling her about… you know, the rest of it.”

  He’s silent, and when I look up, he’s smiling thinly. “We spoke about how maybe it’s too big of a house for you to have all to yourself, and your aunt seems very concerned about...” He rolls his eyes. “Immigrants. But, regardless, I offered to keep you here at my house until she gets back, and she agreed.”

  My stomach drops to my feet. “I’m sorry, excuse me?”

  Logan’s face is neutral. “You’re staying here for the week, Lacey.”

  “Like hell I am!” I glare at Logan and then jab a finger at him like I’m making a point. But his face stays totally neutral—totally neutral and totally gorgeous, with those beautiful blue eyes holding mine and those absolutely perfect lips thin and determined. “This is kidnapping.”

  His lips curl slightly with an amused grin. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  “Define ‘staying here,’” I demand.

  Logan shrugs. “You’re not leaving the house.”

  “This is totally kidnapping!”

  “No, this is keeping an eye on you,” he growls back sternly.

  “Well I don’t need that!”

  Logan laughs, which only infuriates me even more. “Yes, you fucking do.”

  “I can’t even go outside?!”

  “You can go in the backyard. We’ll discuss more if you can prove you can behave and follow the rules.”

  I stare at him dumfounded as I slowly shake my throbbing head. “Yeah, fuck this.”

  He shrugs again. “I could call her back and tell her what actually happened last night if you’d rather,” Logan says conversationally. “Hell, I could tell the goddamn police department too, at that.”

  Our eyes lock, and mine narrow in a glare. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  “Well, you’re a little brat,” he throws back effortlessly.

  “What about clothes? My toiletries? Did you think about that, asshole?”

  Logan ignores my petty name-calling. “After breakfast, we’ll go get some of your stuff from your aunt’s house.”

  “Well, where the fuck am I going to sleep, huh?”

  “Lacey, it’s a nine-bedroom house, and it’s just me here. I think you’ll manage.”

  “This is fucki
ng bullshit!”

  “Watch your language,” he growls.

  “Stop acting like my fucking dad, because you’re not it!”

  “Yeah?” Logan suddenly snaps with a booming voice that has me gasping. “Well maybe you need one!”

  “That it?” I sneer. “You wanna be my daddy?” The moment the words fall out of my mouth, I cringe in embarrassment. I mean, virgin or not, I obviously get the more adult implications of calling him “daddy.” I blush deeply and look away. Mercifully, Logan doesn’t comment on my cringe-inducing outburst.

  “Finish your coffee. If you’re hungry, there’s breakfast making stuff in the pantry.”

  “And if I make a run for it?”

  He shrugs. “If you do, I’m much faster than you, and much stronger than you.”

  “You willing to bet on that?”

  He smiles an amused, patronizing smile. “Are you?” I glare back in silence, and he calmly sips his coffee. “We’ll get your stuff in half an hour. Enjoy your coffee. There’s more Tylenol in the drawer next to the stove.”

  Without another word, Logan Kane turns and strolls calmly from the room. Alone with my coffee and my throbbing hangover headache, I slowly start to digest the fact that I’m about to spend the next week living at my hot, much older neighbor’s house.

  5

  Logan

  It takes about half an hour to reevaluate how shitty an idea it’s going to be to have Lacey living here for the next damn week. First, she makes breakfast loud enough to wake the dead, which is unfathomable to me given the size of the hangover I know she’s working through. She burns toast to the point where my smoke alarm goes off, and then she leaves the whole fucking mess strewn across the counter and filling the damn sink.

  I’m perfectly aware that a man of my means could have a full-time staff of cooks and cleaners, but I don’t. I’ve got a team of three that cleans my house every three days or so, but I keep it ship-shape clean fine enough on my own. And I cook my own damn meals, thank you very much. But then suddenly, here’s another force in my orbit, making a damn mess, and noise, wherever she goes.

  Going to get her clothes for the week from her aunt’s house should take all of ten minutes. In reality, it takes us two fucking hours for her to pack six days’ worth of clothes into a suitcase big enough to move to Antarctica with. And of course, she sasses me every step of the way, dropping plenty of “you’re not my father” bullshit whenever she can.

  There’s two parts to me having her in my house. Yes, there’s the darker side full of a dangerous lust for the tempting little teasing brat. But the other reason I’m keeping her with me is that I truly do worry about her being on her own in that house. I know people enough to see that Lacey is a very smart girl. She’s the kind of smart that ends up coasting because the world operates at a level beneath her.

  But she’s also sheltered, and naïve, and way too fucking innocent for her own good. My dust-up with the pampered little snot who wanted to get her drunk, high, or roofied is proof of that. Her driving around barefoot in bikinis blowing through stop signs and texting is even more proof. And so, messes and smoke alarms or not, she’s staying with me. But damn is it going to be a long week.

  Hours later, after I’ve taken care of some lingering work items, I look up from my computer and find myself growling. The windows of my study look out over the pool area, and my eyes quickly fix on the sight before me. Lacey’s stretched out across a lounge chair, a string-tied yellow bikini barely clinging to the soft curves of her tight young body. She’s wearing sunglasses, and I growl at the sight of her skin glistening with suntan oil. My eyes move hungrily over her, taking in the contrast of yellow suit to sun-kissed skin. And God help me, my cock thickens and lengthens in my jeans until I’m so hard it’s almost painful.

  She stretches languidly like a cat, and I groan at the way her top barely holds her perky, full tits. She rolls onto her stomach, and the animal in me growls at the way her tiny bottoms cling to the curve of her tight ass. Lust unlike anything I’ve ever known for any woman grips me. I realize I’m clenching my jaw tight as my cock pulses in my jeans. I take a breath and stand, my pulse racing as I storm away from the wide-open view of temptation.

  I know I should just… well, “take care of” the problem tenting my jeans, but I chastise myself. No, last night was bad enough, spraying my cum against the shower wall as I pictured fucking her into the mattress of my guest bed. I won’t be repeating that though, because lusting after Lacey Wheatley is beyond wrong. It’s fucked up, and I’m stronger than that.

  Instead, I go for a run. A very, very long one. I run until my muscles ache and my lungs want to give out, all in an attempt to purge the desires I have for the off-limits nineteen-year-old writhing around in a lawn chair by my pool.

  Mercifully, when I do finally get home, she’s not by the pool anymore. I know damn well part of me wanted her to still be out there when I came back. But in a way, it’s a sweet relief that she’s not. I get water in the kitchen before I head upstairs to shower off. A thought hits me, and I frown as I realize how quiet the house is.

  “Lacey?” My frown deepens as I begin to prowl through the house. “Lacey?” God fucking damnit, if she’s run off, she can be damn sure I very much will chase her down and drag her bratty ass back here.

  I’m brooding as I make my way to the guest room she’s staying in. The door’s open, and I stick my head in ready to continue my search downstairs, when the sound of water stops me. I pause and step into the room, and when I turn, my gaze hardens, because I just found her.

  She’s in the shower, her hands raised as she shampoos her long blonde hair and the water cascading over her utterly naked body. The glass walls of the shower are only slightly fogged, too, and my cock swells to full size in half a second as I drink in the sight of her.

  Fucking me. She’s absolutely perfect.

  Her back is to me, and she sways slightly under the water. I groan as I watch the tight globes of her ass undulate with the movement of her hips. She half turns, rinsing the suds from her hair before pushing it back away from her face. Her hands slide to her breasts, cupping and soaping them, and I swear her fingers linger on her nipples for a second longer than necessary.

  She keeps swaying under the shower spray, and her hands slide over her body. She soaps her torso, and her hips, and then her thighs. But when her hand pushes between her legs, I know I’ve lost the battle for my own self-control.

  With a grunt, my hand drops to the enormous bulge in the front of my running shorts. I snarl quietly as I cup my thick cock and rub myself through the nylon. In front of my eyes, Lacey’s hand stays right where it is between her legs. I hear a quiet gasp from her lips, and my cock throbs against my hand. I growl as I grab ahold of the waist of my shorts and tug it down. My big, pulsing dick bobs free. I hiss as I wrap a hand around myself, and with my eyes glued to the very off-limits sight in front of me, I start to stroke it.

  Lacey starts to moan as she leans against the shower wall. Her arm moves back and forth as her hand works between her thighs. She moans again as she slides her other hand up to cup her tits, and I growl quietly as I start to jerk faster. The pressure builds and my pulse rings like a bell in my head as I pump my cock. I get harder and harder. Harder than I’ve ever been before. My balls feel swollen with the need to release. I have to stop—I need to stop—before I go past the point of no return. But I know I can’t look away, and there’s no way I’m stopping now.

  Lacey moans louder, and her hand works faster. Her body arches, and suddenly she cries out. She’s coming, and when I realize it, my cock begins to pulse. I’m standing right next to her bed, and my eyes quickly sweep over it, spotting a pile of her clothes. Right there on top is a lacy pink pair of her thong panties. I don’t have time to think or to tell myself how fucking bad this is. All I know is, I’m a half second away from coming after watching her come, and there’s no stopping it.

  I grab her panties and wrap them around my cock.
I stroke my big dick, until I start to come. I hiss through clenched teeth as my cum pumps from my cock. Big creamy ropes of it fill her panties until it’s dripping through the lace into my hand.

  The water in the shower shuts off, and the sound rips me back into reality. I look up. She hasn’t seen me, but she’s opening the shower door. I mutter under my breath and whirl to dash from the room, my cock still out and her cum-soaked panties in my fist as I storm back to my own master suite.

  6

  Lacey

  I pause at the foot of the bed, and my brow wrinkles. The clothes I laid out to wear after my shower are still there, but it’s like something is missing. Or maybe different. When it suddenly hits me, I tremble a little, and heat washes over me.

  It’s my panties that are missing. For a second, I assume I just blanked on actually digging a pair out of my suitcase. But when I turn and glance at the open door to my room, I tremble again. What if…

  No, no way. I shake the thought from my head and chastise myself for the ridiculous idea. No, Logan did not come into my room and steal my damn underwear while I was showering. I blush as I think of it. It’s actually kind of a hot thought to dwell on; definitely hotter than it should be. I think of him seeing me in the shower, or of him taking my panties, and I feel the pull of desire between my legs. But I quickly put an end to that. Besides, he’s probably still out for a run anyways.

  The sound of an engine pulls me to the window, and I look out to see Logan behind the wheel of a gorgeous vintage-looking red convertible sports car with white tires rolling down the driveway. He’s still in his running clothes, which lets me know he probably didn’t even come inside since he’s not showered and changed. I can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment that I feel though.