Page 1 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)

HARPER

D oes the first day on the job make a familiar building look different?

It sort of does.

I don’t think I’ve looked up in the three-story lobby since the first time my dad walked me to the elevators.

Expensive steel and chrome reflect under the early morning sun, the windows bathing the white marble floors with warm light.

The black and dark blues accent the sterile place with luxurious comfort.

As a girl, I used to jump on those couches in the corner while my dad met with someone or another.

Now, I can imagine taking myself there when I need a break from my desk.

I’m not the kind of analyst who can sit in one space for too long without feeling like my brain is getting sluggish.

It’s better to challenge myself with new spaces to gain new perspectives.

But my reminiscing is getting me left behind.

The other six interns are nearly in the elevator, so I speed walk my way back to them in time to slide into the car like I was never distracted to begin with.

We’re filed into a conference room and handed piles of paperwork.

My stack had at least four major contracts and a binder for my manuals.

The onboarding section looks seriously thick, and I have a sinking feeling that today is not going to be as exciting as I’ve always hoped.

“Do we all have the same contracts with our own personal info substituted?” I ask the HR person, Lenny.

He’s leaning at the end of the long rectangular desk, lean arms crossed. He drops them at my question.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Cool. Instead of all of us suffering through reading this on our own, how about we take turns reading it aloud and following along to reduce some of the burden?” I swing my gaze around the other six interns.

The only other girl grins at me and nods.

“I’ll start.” She chirps the words and sits up straighter, snapping the contract to start reading.

It goes much faster after that.

Until I have to fill in all of my tax forms, direct deposit forms, emergency contact, security clearance…

This is taking forever!

I need movement and coffee break, to get out of this room for a little while.

My skin is crawling with crackling energy, and I push away from the table when I’m only halfway through.

Lenny straightens, startled by my sudden movement. “Where are you going?”

I raise a brow at him, a challenge.

I’m an adult.

If I want to stand, I will.

“To the bathroom. Or do I need to sign a form for that, too?”

I pause just long enough to let him stammer before I head out of the door.

The bathrooms are easy to spot, even though I never hung out on this side of the offices.

The men milling about should be intimidating, but I’ve been around men like these guys my whole life.

Dad was former military and worked in security after he retired.

Smart, intimidating men have always been a norm for me.

So I strut on my way to the bathroom, catching a few eyes and sending a few winks.

My tight pencil skirt shows off my best assets: hips and booty and maybe an inch more of leg than appropriate.

I pace around the inside of the women’s room, which is more posh than I imagined in this sausage fest, but I’ll take it.

I mean, it’s also a little too pink, too, but I suppose I should have suspected as much.

It’s as outdated as the other side’s bathroom when I was a preteen.

Sighing, I turn on my heel again and click-clack across the tile.

Today won’t be the norm for every day.

I mean, I know there will always be mountains of paperwork.

That’s fine.

It comes with the territory.

But I need a challenge before my spirit crawls free of my physical form.

After using toilet, I stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands, making faces of exasperation and giving myself a small pep talk to get through the rest of this boring shit.

Shaking myself out, I march back out into the fray.

More of them pay attention this time, and I catch Trent across the room, trying to pin me in place with his glare.

Not phased, buddy. The stories Dad has told me about you make it sooo easy to shake my hair off my shoulders and strut.

I’m a brat.

All of Dad’s friends know it.

So I’m expecting it when I throw a wink at a cute computer nerd in a nearby cubicle, and Trent hovers between me and the conference room door.

He’s a mountain of a man, and sometimes I imagine him dressed in red flannel with an ax propped on his shoulder.

Like the Paul Bunyan statue from the waterpark Dad used to take me to as a kid.

I stop and cock a hip, looking up at him.

Slowly, he leans down to drop an easy reprimand in my ear. “Behave.”

“Mmm.” It’s a sassy sound, dismissive and probably downright disrespectful, but it’s also a clear message.

I’m all grown up, buddy.

Boss or not—Dad’s best friend or not—I will not tone myself down for you.

The heated challenge in his gaze before he steps around me to go do—well who knows what?

I’m not privy to his schedule—has a rush of heat swathing me.

It piles onto the dirty thoughts I’ve been having of him and Dad’s other two friends this past year.

Since they’ve been less peripheral in my life as an adult moving into the same field as my father.

Mentally shaking myself free of the onslaught of ready fantasies, I stomp back into the conference room and plop back into my seat.

The girl a few seats down smiles, so I send her a wink, too.

“You don’t look at all overwhelmed by this.”

There are empty seats between us, and I nod her closer.

“No. It’s just boring.”

The girl scoots over.

Blonde, slight, a little too innocent and bright. Enthusiastic. Sweet.

The complete opposite of my jaded, demanding personality.

I rather like it. Holding out my hand, I say, “Harper.”

She takes it with a firmer squeeze than I expect. “Sunny.”

Ah, such a fitting name. She’s pure sunshine.

“Don’t let all of the postering and musk around here intimidate you. You’ll get used to it in no time.”

The other five interns send me curious looks, and I settle back into my chair like a lazy predator.

My look is all “I’ll eat you alive before you ever get a taste; don’t bother.”

Besides, the fantasies I have aren’t for boys my age.

They’re for men who know how to push and when to be soft.

Who can test my limits and pull me back from the brink.

Who can break me in all the right ways.

No one here has the balls.

Plopping my binder in my lap and smoothing out another form on top of it, I swivel my chair toward the windows into the office.

Watching people work is better than feeling restrained by that streamlined wooden table meant for efficiency and power.

It doesn’t work for me.

Once the hunched postures and tapping keyboards bore me, I focus back on the paperwork.

It’s not hard, but when my hand cramps I refocus out the window.

There’s a bit more movement.

We must be nearing lunch.

I catch Grant across the office, talking low with Trent, their heads bent toward each other enough to know it’s a private conversation in public.

Within seconds, Grant’s gaze shifts toward me, meeting mine through the window.

There’s no recognition on his face, but the man keeps calm in the craziest circumstances, so I don’t take offense.

I’ve never seen him riled.

Maybe that’s because he’s got the experience.

He’s been through more than my dad.

It’s probably why he’s in charge.

Trent clocks me, too, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns.

The grump.

He looks like a giant drill sergeant stuffed in a suit.

They nod to each other and go separate ways.

And the room ripples behind them.

It’s not until I’m collecting my things for lunch that I catch the last of my dad’s trio—Oliver.

He’s walking through at a steady clip, glancing around the room, stopping on me for a handful of seconds, before he disappears around a corner.

I wish I was privy to what’s going on at this place.

Why are they all being stealthy and charged with purpose?

I’m out of the room before Lenny can tell us to go.

The cozy cafeteria is calling my name.

It has four stations that alternate—today is pizza, Mexican inspired burritos and bowls, a classic American dinner, and a salad bar packed with bright colors.

I’m grabbing an easy bowl and a coffee, then I settle myself in one of the far circular tables by the windows.

Ten other tables are packed inside.

After a few bites, my mind wanders to the trio of bosses I’ve known at arm’s length my entire life.

The way they were all dressed to the nines as they marched around my mother’s house last year after my dad’s funeral.

The troubled way they promised to help take care of us.

The beauty of their overbearing masculinity compounded by the absolute authority they showcased today has my thoughts tumbling into dirty fantasies of being called into one of their offices and punished for not filling out my paperwork properly.

I pull out my new journal.

Entry #1

Behave… Trent’s voice low and dark in my ear, making my deepest and darkest desires shiver to life.

Fills me with the kind of heat that gathers in the dampness between my thighs.

And it makes me want to disobey.

Because what would he do then, huh?

Would he lean me over his knee and spank me?

Punish me until my cheeks are red and raw and every step back to my desk twinges with the reminder of his hands on me?

Would he call me a good girl when he’s through?

I dream about being called into a meeting with the three of them, admonished for my poor attitude.

About them hiking up my tight skirt, drawing my soaking panties down my thighs and stuffing them in my mouth to keep me quiet as they rub my bare cheeks…

Before the first swat lands.

My yelp is swallowed by the ball of fabric in my mouth.

Each of them taking turns swinging, stroking, soothing until I’m a puddle of need and satisfaction.

Until I’m barely able to keep my legs under me.

Would the slickness between my thighs—evidence of my arousal—break them?

Would their hands slipping lower to find the spot that makes me ache for them?

Could I make them snap?

Take what they want from me?

Let them ruin me?

One after another—or at the same time.

They’ve been circling closer since Dad’s death.

They were his friends.

His shadows.

And now, they’re mine.

It should scare me, maybe, but it doesn’t.

It makes me want to turn up my brattiness until I have every ounce of their attention.

Until they snap.

I want to be their toy, their girl, their little obsession.