Please Me, Daddy

Warning: Mature Content

"Tell me all your sexual fantasies, princess."

"I want to be fucked, ruined, choked, and marked until I’m a moaning, crying mess, leaking all over your sheets, daddy."

Grace’s world shattered the night she found out her fiancé was gay. Drunk, devastated, and desperate to forget, she stumbled into the wrong hotel room, and into the arms of Apollo Reed. He is a sinfully hot, cold-hearted forty-year-old man, twice her age. He’s everything she was never supposed to want. And everything she never knew she needed. But reality hits hard the next morning when she realizes the man who gave her the first orgasm of her life is her new boss.

Will she let him take her again? Please her until she’s trembling, begging, and utterly his? Or will she finally learn that wanting a man like him always comes with a price?

"Good girl. Now spread those legs."

My fiancé is gay

Gracie

My fiancé is gay.

That was the thought echoing through my head as I stood there frozen, watching a scene I could never unsee. I stared at the man thrusting into my fiancé’s ass, and at Charles moaning like a goddamn whore in heat.

This was my fiance, the man I was supposed to marry in five days. The man I had shared a bed, a future, a life with for five whole years. But he was there, legs spread wide, eyes rolled back in bliss I had never seen cross his face when he was with me.

I couldn’t breathe anymore, everywhere felt like it was spinning. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My eyes stayed locked, watching as if my brain couldn’t register that this was real.

“Ah, fuck, Mark… yes, I love this… fuck… you’re so big.” Charles moaned, and the words hit me like punches to the gut.

My hand flew to my mouth, pressing hard to keep the nausea down. My heart felt like it had been torn from my chest and shoved down a garbage disposal. Was this a nightmare? Was I going to wake up in our apartment, beside him, with his arms around me and none of this real?

“Fuck yeah, Charles, baby,” the man grunted. “Take my big boy. Take him good.”

“Ah, daddy! Give me your big boy!!!”

Tears burned the back of my eyes. My knees buckled slightly, and I reached out to the doorframe for support. Daddy? He had never called me anything in bed. What was I saying? He had never seemed that interested in sex with me. Two minutes. That was the amount of minutes he took before he came. Anytime I asked him for more, he would say he was tired or he would just give me a disgusted look before leaving.

My mind raced, spiraling out of control.

Is he gay? Bisexual? Has he always been like this? Had he been faking it with me? All these years? Every kiss, every time he said I love you, every plan we made for the future, was it all a lie?

I felt humiliated, sick, and like a goddamn fool.

How do women process this? How do they act when they find out their supposedly straight fiancé is getting his back blown out by another man days before the wedding? But what was I saying? Most women haven’t caught their future husband mid-thrust with another man.

I felt something wet on my cheeks. My hand lifted, brushing my skin. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“Fuck, yes, I’m close!!” Charles moaned from the bed.

I shook my head slowly, like maybe if I shook hard enough, I could wake up from this twisted reality. But the sound of him panting, the sight of them tangled together was still there.

I laughed bitterly. “You know what?” I said, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You’re really fucking shameless, Charles.”

They froze and Charles’s head whipped toward me. His eyes stretched wide in panic. He scrambled away from the man between his legs, grabbing at the nearest blanket and yanking it over himself like that could somehow undo what I’d just seen.

“G-Gracie…” he stammered, his voice cracking. “What… what are you doing here?”

I pressed harder against the wall, still wiping at the tears with the back of my shaking hand, trying to stay on my feet.

“What am I doing here?” I repeated slowly, meeting his eyes. “That’s the first thing you have to say? After I walk in on this?”

He shook his head, still clutching the blanket. “No. No, it’s not— it’s not what it looks like.”

“Not what it looks like? Not what it looks like?!”

I pushed off the wall, legs wobbling, hands balled into fists. “Charles, you’re cheating on me with a fucking man. In our bed. In the house we brought to live together after our wedding. You are spreading your ass for someone else, moaning his name like you have never been fucked before, and you have the audacity to tell me it’s not what it looks like? What exactly does it look like, then?

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His face crumpled as he looked at me with shame, guilt, and mostly fear.

“You’re a bastard,” I hissed. “After everything I’ve done for you. After five years of loyalty, patience, planning our goddamn future together, this is what I get in return? This is who you are when I’m not looking? How dare you do this to me!”

The man who had been inside him only moments ago rolled his eyes and sat up. “Jesus,” he muttered. “How dramatic.”

He started pulling on his clothes, unbothered. “I don’t want to be caught up in this mess, Charles. I’m out.”

Charles turned to him, panicked. “Mark, wait— I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

Mark cut him off with a dismissive wave. “It’s fine. You were right about her, though. She is dramatic.”

That did it. Something inside me snapped. My whole body shook with rage. Why were they acting like this was normal? Why were they not on their knees begging? Why was no one crying but me? He didn’t even look surprised, that meant he knew Charles was already in a relationship and still went ahead and fucked him on our bed.

“You fucking asshole!”

I stormed toward him, hand raised, ready to deliver the slap he damn well deserved, but before I could reach him, Charles moved fast.

“Stop it, Gracie!” he shouted, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back. His grip was tight, fingers digging into my skin. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?” I spat, eyes blazing. “Stay out of it, bastard! Wait for your fucking turn.”

I jerked toward Mark, but Charles stepped in front of me again, blocking my path. “Don’t be delusional,” he said coldly. “I won’t let you touch him. Don’t even dare.”

My heart dropped. He sounded so… protective of him.

The man he cheated with. The man who had just mocked me, smirked at me, and walked out of bed with my fiancé like this was some goddamn sitcom.

“Why?” I whispered, stunned. “Why are you protecting him? Are you seriously defending him? After what you did to me? Shouldn't you be on your knees right now?”

Behind Charles, Mark straightened his shirt, not even trying to hide the smugness on his face. Then he looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Why are you surprised?” he said, shrugging casually. “Did you honestly think he ever liked you in the first place? Use your brain, girl.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“If it weren’t for your families being involved,” Mark continued, “do you really think he’d even look at someone like you?”

My vision blurred with anger. I could feel the blood roaring in my ears. “Let me go,” I growled through gritted teeth, yanking at my arm. “Let me go this instant, Charles!”

“No!” he barked. “Stop it, Gracie!”

I shoved him hard enough to make him stumble back a step. I charged toward Mark, ready to slap the smug off his goddamn face but Charles lunged between us and in a flash, his hand shot out and slapped me hard.

My head jerked to the side, cheek burning at the sudden impact.

“Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on Mark!”

He hit me

Garcia

He hit me…..he hit me to protect this guy.

I held my cheek, stunned in place. The sting felt hot across my skin, but that was not even the real pain. My heart felt like it was about to explode.

I looked up, and our eyes met. His eyes widened, like he had just realized what he had done.

“G-Gracie…” he choked out. “I…”

Tears blurred my vision again, I didn’t even try to stop them. I didn’t know if I was crying because of the slap, or because the man I loved more than anything in the world had just hit me.

The man who used to open car doors for me. Who rubbed my back when I had cramps. Who once cried when I got food poisoning because he couldn’t stand seeing me in pain.

That Charles just hit me to protect his lover.

I backed away slowly, breath coming fast, it felt like I couldn’t get enough air. My hands trembled at my sides.

“Gracie, please,” he said, stepping toward me again. “I didn’t mean it. I just—”

“Don’t you dare touch me, Charles!” I screamed.

He flinched and froze, his hand still halfway toward me. He took a step back, his face twisting with guilt.

Mark or whatever the hell his name was moved behind him and placed a hand gently on Charles’s back.

“It’s okay, Charles, I know you didn’t mean to. You’re too soft for that kind of thing.”

My chest tightened until it felt like something was crushing it. I looked at the both of them, standing there like they were the wronged ones, like I had stormed in and ruined their peace.

God, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to catch my breath, to keep myself from collapsing into the floor.

I opened my eyes to see Charles was staring at me with pity. Mark still had that smug little curl on his lips. I swallowed the lump in my throat. My voice came out quiet, barely audible. “I just have one question for you, Charles.”

“W-what is it?”

“Are you attracted to women?” My voice cracked. “To me?”

Charles opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Mark scoffed. “Does it really matter?”

I ignored him, keeping my eyes locked on Charles. His gaze dropped as he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

It was just one word, and I understood immediately, he was gay. The guy I was about to marry in a few days was fucking gay.

My knees felt weak again. “S-So why? Why would you do this to me? Lead me on? If you are gay, why did you pretend to love me?!”

“I’m sorry, Gracie,” he repeated, like that would fix the hole in my chest. Like that could explain why the man I trusted most became the one to hurt me the deepest.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, my voice hardening. “Don’t give me apologies. Just answer the goddamn question.”

“You know our parents want us to get married,” Charles suddenly said, his voice low. “When my parents found out I… liked men, they were furious. They didn’t want a gay son. They wanted someone normal. They pushed me into this, Gracie. They thought marriage would fix it. That you would fix it. I didn’t mean to—”

“Cut the crap, Charles,” I snapped.

He flinched. He had probably never seen this side of me before. I was always the cute, innocent type when I was with him.

“Do you really think I’m going to feel bad for you now? After everything?”

He opened his mouth again, but I didn’t let him speak.

“You used me, I was just a tool, a cover story for your parents. A perfect little bride to make you look straight. And I loved you. God, I loved you despite everything. Despite how cold you were sometimes. Despite how distant you felt in the bedroom. I thought it was stress, or work, or anything but this. But you played…..you played with me from the beginning.”

I blinked away fresh tears, furious they were still coming. “If you had just told me the truth when we met… I would have understood. I would have helped you. But instead, you lied. You let me fall in love with you. You let me believe we had something real.”

“Don’t make your parents the villains,” I said. “You’re one too. Don’t justify cheating with your sexuality!”

“I really am sorry,” he said, staring at the floor.

I wiped my tears roughly with the back of my hand. “Keep it. I don’t need it.”

My fingers trembled as they touched the ring on my hand. It was our engagement ring. I remembered the night he gave it to me. The way I cried, the way I kissed him over and over again, promising I’d never take it off. And now, I was about to do the very thing I never imagined.

I pulled it off slowly, like the metal burned my skin, and I threw it at his feet.

“It’s over between us, Charles,” I said, my voice flat. “I want nothing to do with a scumbag like you or your trashy family again.”

Charles shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t do that, Gracie. I know you’re angry, but this… this is a business deal. You know that. Our families—”

I let out a dry laugh. “A business deal.”

So that’s all this had been for him. I was just a business deal.

“Fine, then I’m walking away from your precious business deal. Find someone else willing to sell themselves for your lie. I’m done playing this role.”

I looked him in the eye, and for the first time, I saw fear.

“Seeing you disgusts me,” I whispered. “I regret ever falling for you.”

“Gracia—” He was about to say something, but I didn’t wait for the next lie. I turned and walked away, leaving behind the ring, the wedding, the life I thought we were building, and the man who never loved me at all.

Am I having a wet dream?

Gracia

I stared down at the glass of whiskey in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the bar lights.

“So, yeah,” I muttered, the words slurring slightly. “That’s the story of my fucking life.”

I gave a bitter little laugh and tipped the glass toward my lips, feeling the burn all the way down.

“I found out my fiancé was gay, days before the wedding. And not just gay, ” I snorted, shaking my head. “The bastard even hit me. Can you believe that?”

I turned to the bartender, who was wiping a glass but had frozen mid-motion, his eyes wide.

"I was the one who was supposed to be doing the hitting! How could I have let that bastard lay his hands on me? I should’ve hit them so hard in the face instead of just standing there and crying like a fool."

The bartender set the glass down and shook his head, looking genuinely rattled. “Woah. When I said I wanted to hear your life story, I didn’t think it’d be that bad. Jesus.” He whistled low. “I can’t even imagine how terrible you must be feeling right now.”

I dropped my glass onto the bar with a clink, blinking hard as my head spun. The alcohol burned in my throat, and everything felt a little too much.

I didn’t even remember how I got here. One second, I was storming out of that godforsaken house, and the next, I was parking outside some random hotel. Instead of booking a room like a normal person, I went straight to the bar and ordered the biggest bottle of whiskey they had.

Now, most of it was gone. I frowned, picking at the peeling label on the bottle like it had wronged me personally.

God, this is so cliché, I thought miserably. I was cheated on, drinking myself to death, and spilling my sob story to a total stranger.

I used to roll my eyes when I saw women doing this in books and movies. I used to think, Wow, how unoriginal. The author should find a better coping mechanism. But now, I understood how they felt.

When you felt so shitty, so useless, so fundamentally worthless, sometimes the only thing that numbed it was drinking yourself stupid.

I pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"Imagine this," I said, my voice bitter. "Finding out your fiancé is cheating? Sure, that's bad enough. But finding out he was never attracted to women to begin with? That he loved someone else and was just using you to hide the fact that he's gay? And not only that, he had the audacity to hit you while protecting his lover."

The bartender swallowed hard, setting his towel down. His face was pale.

“Yeah…if that were me, I’d probably just kill myself.” He held up his hands quickly. “Don’t kill yourself, though! I mean, seriously, don’t.”

He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured another full glass for me, setting it down like he was offering a truce. “This one’s on the house. Don’t worry, hon, you’ll find someone way better. Someone better than that trash.”

Someone better? I stared at the golden liquid swirling in the glass. Who was better than Charles? I’m twenty-three. Most men my age were just as bad, annoying, childish, and unable to give me the things I wanted. Maybe I should just go for older men at this point in my life. At least they would know how to satisfy a woman and treat her right.

I picked it up and tossed it back in one long gulp. I set the empty glass down harder than I meant to and dropped my head into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. I hated this. I hated this feeling so fucking much.

My phone started ringing, vibrating against the bar counter. I blinked down at it, my vision swimming slightly from the whiskey.

I stared at the caller ID for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. It was my mother. I didn’t want to answer. God, I didn’t. Because I already knew how this would go. I could explain everything, I could scream, cry, beg, and it wouldn’t matter. It never had with my family. But some small, pathetic part of me still hoped. I wanted to believe that maybe, this time would be different. That maybe she would actually listen. Maybe she would defend me, or at least pity me, right?

I answered the call. “Mom…”

I didn’t even finish the word before her voice exploded through the speaker.

“You stupid child!” she screeched. “What is this nonsense I’m hearing from Charles’s family?! You broke the engagement? Are you insane? Do you know the wedding is in a few days?!”

I bit my lip, an old, nervous habit I thought I’d outgrown but clearly hadn’t.

“Mom, I… Charles, he—”

“Shut the fuck up if you can’t talk properly!” she barked. I flinched, holding the phone slightly away from my ear.

“I want you to go back to that house this instant,” she commanded. “Get down on your knees if you have to. Beg him to take you back!”

For a moment, I was frozen. Staring down at the bar, at my empty glass.

“Mom…” I said, my voice shaking. “How can I take him back? Charles… he cheated. I caught him—with someone else on our bed.”

There was a pause at her end and I thought she would get angry for me. Maybe she would finally stand by me, but then she laughed mockingly.

“And so what?” she scoffed. “Is he the only man who cheats? Anybody can cheat. He’s a man. It’s normal for men to cheat.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the world tilt around me again. “I—”

“Your father cheated on me all the time,” she said, like she was talking about the weather. “You don’t hear me complaining. He gives me everything I want. That’s what matters. So use that thick head of yours, Gracia.”

“You’re just our adopted daughter. We can’t take care of you forever. Charles can, he cares about you. He’ll give you the life we never wanted to waste on you. Don’t be stupid, and fix this before tomorrow. If your father finds out, you know what he’s capable of doing to you.”

Right before she hung up, I heard her mutter under her breath, “That useless child. So ungrateful for everything. She should be happy a man like him wants to marry her instead of complaining.”

The call ended. I sat there, holding the phone in my hand, feeling like someone had carved out my insides with a knife.

The bartender leaned across the counter, looking at me with pity. "Are you okay, miss?"

Was I okay? Was I? Why doesn't anyone love me? Why do people keep hurting me?

I wasn't a complicated person. I didn’t need expensive things or grand gestures to feel special. I just wanted someone, just one person to care about me. To choose me, and love me honestly. Why was that so hard? Why did it feel like I was asking for the world?

My fingers tightened around the glass before I forced myself to let go. I pushed myself up on unsteady legs, feeling the room sway slightly around me.

The bartender reached out like he might try to steady me, but I shook my head.

I dug into my bag, pulled out a large bill, and dropped it onto the counter. "Keep the change," I muttered.

Without waiting for his reply, I turned and walked toward the lobby. The bright lights hurt my eyes. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I approached the front desk.

"Hi, is there a room available? Something not too expensive, please."

The receptionist smiled brightly, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. "Good evening, miss. Just a moment, I’ll find an available room for you."

As I waited, someone stepped up beside me.

"Excuse me," the man said to the receptionist, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "I need a spare key for Mr. Reed, please. I’m his secretary."

I barely glanced at him as his phone rang, and he answered it immediately.

"Oh, yeah," he said into the phone, "I’m at the reception now. Grabbing the spare key for Mr. Reed. Gotta make sure his stuff's ready tomorrow morning."

I tuned him out. The receptionist placed two room keys onto the counter. One had the number six. The other had nine.

The man grabbed the one marked nine without looking at it, he was still talking into his phone as he strode away.

I took the key labeled six, thanked the receptionist in a mumble, and made my way toward the elevator.

I leaned against the elevator. I had to focus on not falling face-first onto the floors. When I finally reached the first floor, I stumbled toward the right door.

Room 6.

I fumbled with the key, then finally pushed the door open. The room was huge and far more luxurious and way too nice for what I had paid.

I frowned. I hadn’t booked a premium room. Maybe the receptionist made a mistake? I shrugged. Their problem, not mine. I was too tired to deal with it tonight. They could fix it tomorrow.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and instantly heard the sound of running water.

The shower’s on? Maybe someone forgot to turn it off.

Like I said I was too drunk to care, I kicked off my shoes, tugged my dress over my head, and tossed it somewhere across the room.

I stood there for a moment in the lacy black lingerie I had stupidly bought to seduce Charles tonight. I pushed the sad feeling down. Whatever. I just needed sleep.

I stumbled over to the massive bed and flopped onto it. The sheets were so soft. I closed my eyes instantly, falling asleep, but something wet hit my face after a while.

I frowned, "What the hell… Is it raining inside?"

I forced my heavy eyelids open and came face-to-face with the prettiest hazel eyes I had ever seen.

A man loomed over me, dripping water onto the bed. His black hair was wet. His eyebrow was arched in confusion and frustration. His chest, lean and sculpted, glistened under the soft light. A towel hung dangerously low on his hips.

I blinked at the sight of a hot stranger in my hotel room.

"Am I...having a wet dream?"

I was getting hard

Apollo

I frowned down at the woman sprawled across my bed, wearing nothing but her lingerie.

Why the hell does this keep happening to me?

Last week, I caught a new intern naked in my office, legs spread on the desk like a cheap offering. Two days after that, I was in a meeting with a potential business partner when his barely-legal daughter started sliding her foot up my leg under the table, aiming right for my cock, giving me seductive little glances like she had any clue what she was doing.

It made me wonder what the hell they were feeding young women these days, what made them so damn desperate to crawl into my bed.

Well, it’s not like I really needed to wonder. I already knew the answer.

My so-called father.

The old man had been trying to set me up for years, ever since my wife died.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I was still mourning. That part of my life was over. It had been over for a long time. That wasn’t why I never remarried.

The truth was simpler, I just wasn’t interested. I wasn't interested in the messy, fake relationships my father wanted for me, or the endless parade of women thrown at my feet.

Do I have sex? Sure. I wasn’t a monk. I was human. Every now and then, when my body demanded it, I would find a woman, one who understood the rules, and we would satisfy each other’s needs. It was clean and simple. There was no attachments, it was always safe, and it was always a one time thing. No one would carry a child I never wanted, but my father didn’t approve of my methods. He wanted something else.

“Other sons are giving their fathers grandchildren,” he’d complained a few weeks ago. “I’m the only one without. Do you know how jealous I get when I see my friends playing with their grandkids? They tease me sometimes because of you. You're already forty, Apollo. I need a grandchild!”

I told him, very clearly, that I wasn’t interested in the women he was shoving at me. Apparently, the old bastard misunderstood. He thought I meant older women, so he switched strategies. Now he was sending younger ones, thinking maybe a fresher body would tempt me into giving him what he wanted.

And this woman, sprawled out on my bed was clearly one of his recruits.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared down at her, the muscle in my jaw ticking.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me. Her gaze trailed down my body, like she was inspecting a cut of meat to see if it was medium-rare. The way her eyes lingered made something hot crawl under my skin.

Seriously? Had my father picked a crazy one this time? Wasn't I supposed to be the one judging if she met my standards, not the other way around? Still, I had to give the old man some credit. He'd done his homework, it seemed.

The woman had the kind of body that could drive a man insane. A slim waist, long legs, perky breasts barely contained by delicate black lace. Her gray eyes sparkled, and her full, soft lips were slightly parted. The lingerie clung to every curve perfectly.

Damn it.

I caught myself checking her out before I realized it.

"Am I... having a wet dream?" she mumbled, her lips curling into a smile.

I raised an eyebrow at her. Did she hit her head when she barged in here? She was the one naked in my bed, trying to seduce me, and she was the one acting like this was some fantasy?

I ran a hand roughly through my hair and muttered under my breath, “Damn, I don’t have the patience for this tonight.”

I turned, about to walk toward the counter where I kept my phone.

This was a mistake. Another mess I didn't want to be dragged into.

I was seconds from calling my secretary, telling him to come clean up this mess, and throw her out, he could settle whatever payment my father probably promised her, but before I could reach the phone, I felt her arms wrap around my waist. I froze at the sudden contact.

“No, please don’t go,” she whispered. “Please… don’t leave me too. This is just a dream, right? It’s just a dream. You don’t know how useless I’d feel if even the man in my dream didn’t want anything to do with me.”

I looked down at her indifferently. She was kneeling on the bed, her cheek pressed against my abdomen, her arms tight around my waist. From this angle, her face was level with my hips, dangerously close to where the towel barely clung to my body.

Her hot breath brushed against my skin, sending an unexpected jolt through me.

"Am I not attractive enough?" She pulled back just slightly, enough that I could see her face. Her gray eyes were glassy, half-lidded as she spoke. "Why can't anyone pleasure me the right way? I’m twenty-three..." she murmured, almost as if ashamed. "And I’ve never... never had a man satisfy me. I’ve never even... come before. That asshole was my first, but he never once satisfied me."

She bit her lips and her fingers reached for the towel around my hips. She tugged it down slowly, exposing more of me. "Even if this is just a dream," she whispered, voice thick with need, "I’ll take it. I need to know what pleasure feels like."

My gaze darkened. I didn’t know what was more surprising, her words or the fact that despite all my frustration, despite every logical part of my mind screaming at me to stop, I was getting hard.

Fuck.