Page 1 of Daddy's Reckoning

PROLOGUE

TWO AND A HALF MONTHS EARLIER

THEO

“Arggghhh.”

When my alarm went off, I stretched and groaned, pulling Erin, the lithe, younger, med school student Rent-A-Daddy client I was kinda-sorta dating into my arms, until my cock pressed against the crack of her ass. God, she was sexy. She was also good for my ego. I wasn’t exactly middle-aged yet, but I was also no longer a spring chicken, and when I spent a weekend staying up all hours having incredible and very acrobatic sex the way we had, I felt it come Monday morning.

Still, it felt like a small price to pay when I looked at her. Young, thin, blonde, with perky boobs, and an ass that wouldn’t quit. And she wasn’t just gorgeous, she was smart, too. As a med student at the top of her class, she was smarter even then I was, and matched me wit for wit. We had incredible conversations and mind-blowing sex. The total package. The best part was she was just clingy enough to make me feel important, but involved enough with her studies to not overwhelm me with neediness. Everything I needed in a woman, Erin had.

And yeah, I was a bit of a player; that was the rep I had, and I came by it honestly. I’d been a skinny, asthmatic nerd with braces and glasses all though grade school, middle school, high school, and even college. It wasn’t until my friends and I had won a massive lottery our last week of college that I’d changed my appearance. We’d invested most of our winnings creating residual income as well as housing for ourselves by buying a pair of downtown skyscrapers and turning one into apartments, and the other into rentable office spaces. The top floor of one had the apartments my friends and I lived in, and the other had our baby: an exclusive, elite BDSM club named The Penthouse.

Most of my money had gone into that, but we’d started turning a profit almost immediately, and money, along with the freedom that came with making lots of it, opened up a whole new world for me. Lasik eye surgery, a dietician and personal trainer, pricey veneers, expensive custom-fitted suits. The whole nine yards. Within a year people I’d gone to school with didn’t even recognize me on the streets, and at The Penthouse? I was a god.

Like anyone would have, I enjoyed the perks that came with my new look, running through girls like they were water, playing with any young, willing subbie I could get my hands on.

I did that for far too long, and I never would have admitted I was getting sick of it if Rent-A-Daddy hadn’t come along.

Rent-A-Daddy was the brainchild of my best friend and business partner Bas as a way to provide our patrons with a more inclusive dynamic, aside from what they would get at just a night out at the club playing with a random Dom. Erin had been our first real client, and while Rent-A-Daddy was meant to be a platonic service, it rarely worked out that way. Some things just go together. Accountability in a Daddy Dom dynamic and sex are just one of those things. And while I fully believed a platonic BDSM dynamic can totally work, it’s not the norm.

I’d known from the second I laid eyes on Erin that our dynamic would not be a platonic one—not if I could help it. Luckily, I’d been right. We’d ended up sleeping together on our first meeting, and it had been explosive ever since.

There were downsides to dating someone younger than me. Maturity was an issue. Erin could test me to my limits. Of course, as her Daddy, I could—and often did—just flip her face down over my knee and reinforce those limits.

The thought of reddening her perfect ass made my cock hard, and I lifted the covers to peek underneath them, catching a glimpse of her ass, still nice and pink from the night before. God, what I wouldn’t have given to plunge my cock in her tight little ass right about now.

As if she could hear my thoughts, Erin stretched, her body pressing firmer against mine. “Mmmm,” she hummed, tipping her head back to smile up at me. “Morning.”

“Good morning to you.” My cock twitched, and I pulled her tighter against me.

She squirmed, turning in my arms until she was facing me, then pressed a soft kiss against my lips. Oh god. Her kisses were my kryptonite. No other woman had ever affected me the way she did. Grinding my cock against her, I pushed her hair from her face and deepened the kiss.

As I did, she jerked and went stiff, suddenly pulling away. Before I could even process what had happened or why, she threw her hand over her mouth and practically catapulted off the bed, sprinting for the bathroom. A second after the door slammed shut, the unmistakable sounds of retching floated through the room.

Wincing, I hoped she’d made it to the toilet in time. When it didn’t stop, I pulled myself from the comfort of my bed and padded across the room to knock on the bathroom door.

“Erin,” I called softly. “You okay in there?”

I rested my hand on the door handle, but was hesitant to pull it open. We weren’t really in the ‘hold each other's hair while you puke or watch each other go to the bathroom’ stage of the relationship yet, and frankly, I didn’t want to be. But she puked again, and I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.

Jiggling the door handle, I found it locked, and couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped my lips. Still, I was worried.

“Erin,” I called again. “Unlock the door, baby. Let me help you.”

Her voice was weak and raspy when she answered. “Help? How are you gonna help me? Help me what? Pray to the porcelain god? No thank you. We’re not at that stage of our relationship yet, Theo, and quite frankly, I don't want to be.”

Her proclamation mirrored my thoughts exactly, and brought a smile to my lips. Or it would have, had it not immediately been followed by very unladylike gagging sounds.

Okay, so I couldn’t hold her hair or offer her water between bouts of puking, but it didn't mean I couldn't make myself useful. I wasn't a total cad.

Snatching my discarded boxer briefs from the floor by the bed, I made my way to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, filled a large tumbler with ice water, and added a can of ginger ale and two slices of dry toast before loading it up on a tray. I figured with that spread, I had all the bases covered. Next, I popped some immunity-boosting vitamins and several vitamin C just to be on the safe side.

Obviously, I couldn't boot a sick woman out of my apartment, but if she had the stomach flu, I didn't want to catch it.

I made it back to the bedroom just in time to see her fling open the bathroom door looking more wrecked than I'd ever seen her. Her skin was sallow, her eyes were puffy, and her hair was slick to her head.

I held out the tray like an offering. She dismissed it with barely a glance and a wave of her hand, shooing it away. Obviously her stomach was still upset. I set the tray on top of my dresser and turned to watch her. She sat carefully on the edge of my bed, and laid her head in her hands.