Page 16 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)

OLIVER

I make sure I’m home by the time Trent arrives with Harper. She’s sullen but still sassy. Some of the fight went out of her when Trent cornered her. Touched her.

The desire that flared in her eyes, that swayed through her posture built a desperate warmth in my center. And watching her in person gives me a different kind of thrill.

I catch her scent, soft with an undercurrent of silky coconut and the saltiness of her skin from the end of the day.

She turns her head sharply to glare up at Trent, her jaw clenching and the cords of her throat tightening. He’s crowding her, blocking her path to the front door like she’s going to bolt.

Harper is past bolting, even if her body language remains hostile. It’s her means of maintaining a semblance of control.

Her behavior has always intrigued me. Bratty. Combative. Needy. But her emotional empathy is highly tuned, and she can shift to meet the needs of the people around her. The people she cares for. The people influencing her life.

Hair falls from behind her ear, the loose ponytail hangs low at the back of her head, and my fingers itch to tuck those loose strands back into place. Not that I particularly want her to be neat and put together.

No…when I allow myself to imagine touching her, she never stays tidy for long.

Grant waits with arms crossed, and she mimics his stance, only letting her gaze shift when Trent walks around her to go up the stairs with her suitcase and bag.

I forget how small she is when I’m watching her through a screen. But seeing her stand against Grant reminds me of how she has to puff herself up to match her big personality.

She takes up so much space with her attitude, but any of us could easily toss her over our shoulders, tuck her under us, control her body… That burn deepens.

We would do a much better job than any of her previous conquests have. We’d take care of her body and her soul and give her not only what she wants but what she seems to crave. We can give her a little debauchery.

Does Grant know what she’s into? Does Trent?

“Let me show you around.” Grant’s low timbre engages her frown. His even tone often disarms or terrifies others.

Everything that would scare a normal person seems to light Harper up. “Time for a tour of my jail cell?”

“Come with me, Harper.”

When he turns to go, she shoots a look my way before she follows.

Yes, you naughty girl, I’m still here. Watching. I won’t interfere or intervene, but I will certainly enjoy the show.

Part of me wants to follow them. To lurk and watch. Or to pull up our in-house feed.

Instead, I climb the stairs and meet Trent in Harper’s designated room.

I’ve already been in here to set up a few strategically placed cameras.

Trent turns from setting down her things by the bed and cocks his head to the side. “Not done setting up in here yet?”

“You found something while you were there.”

He raises a brow, and I gesture for him to hand it over.

“Watching us to be sure I had her?”

What a stupid, prodding question. Of course I was watching. I’m always watching. I gesture for it again, and he simply shakes his head before proffering it to me.

It’s a small journal. One of those pocket-sized ones she likes to write in while at work.

I lift it to my nose and take a deep breath. Faux leather, bleached paper, and the soft notes of her sweet perfume.

Half of the pages are used, giving the book a lopsided but pleasantly used feel.

A few pages are bent over at the corner, and I run my thumb over them. “Did you read this?”

“Not yet.” Our gazes meet and hold. I know he found it. I know he wants to read it, but my hands are locked on the journal. I have dig through every intimate thought she’s written down. Every little dirty fantasy.

“She left it in her nightstand. She meant to take it. Changed her mind.”

“No. She wanted you to find it.” Did she want him to take it? Want to give him a reason to make the last move in the tug-of-war they’re playing? It’s likely.

“You think she’s baiting us?”

“I think she’s smarter than we’ve given her credit for.”

I flip open the journal, and what’s inside…

Would he call me a good girl?

And it makes me want to disobey.

Could I make them snap? Take what they want from me? Let them ruin me?

One after another—or at the same time.

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

I suck in a slow breath through my nose and look at Trent. A spark is ignited deep inside, and I need to let it expand. Grow. Feed it before I can burn through it.

“Are you going to read that in front of me?”

“No.”

He snorts and points at the door. “If you’re not fast enough, you’re going to be reading it in front of her.”

I snap the journal shut and stuff it under my arm before marching out of her room and to mine, where I watch Grant giving her the last dregs of her tour. They end in her room, and she smarts something off and closes the door on him.

Now that I’ve peeked at her thoughts, it’s not hard to see her brattiness as something more. More than a defense mechanism. More than a fantasy.

Harper gets ready for bed. And while she’s in the shower, I read a few more entries, taking my time to digest them slowly.

She’s got such a dirty fucking mind.

When I call them Daddy, I’m not pretending. I’m surrendering.

I don’t mean father.

I mean save me.

I mean own me.

I mean make the world stop hurting.

I want all three of them to be that for me.

I flip the page when there’s no movement on the screen.

They tie me to the bed.

Each one takes a corner—silent, practiced, military precision.

I’m naked, spread, blindfolded.

I don’t know whose hands are where.

Only that none of them let me come.

Not until I’m sobbing for it.

Harper steps out in a long t-shirt and crawls into bed. Her long legs bare across the bedspread. She rolls and squirms, and I track every movement.

Shuffling through her bag, she pulls out a book and shows me her nearly bare ass as she lays on her stomach. Those small white panties highlight the shapeliness of her cheeks and thighs, especially as she kicks her feet.

I want them to pass me around.

Grant bends me over the table.

Trent holds my hair.

Oliver tells me when to breathe.

I don’t belong to one of them.

I belong to all of them.

Fuck, Harper. She rolls onto her back, paperback aloft in her hand. Her dark auburn hair splays across the edge of the bed. The curve of her body has her shirt riding up around her hips to show off her lightly tanned skin.

The first time they all take me.

I’m blindfolded. Gagged.

I’m shaking from need.

One of them is inside me.

One in my mouth.

The third whispers in my ear how perfect I am.

I’ve never felt so cherished.

So broken.

So fucking whole.

Harper turns off the light when I’m halfway through her entries, and I imagine watching her sleep without the monitors.

I feel him. In every room. Every breath. Sometimes I pretend I don’t know about the cameras.

Sometimes, I angle the mirror just right.

I imagine him in the shadows of my bedroom.

One hand on his belt. The other over my mouth.

If he ever touches me, I won’t survive it.

I don’t want to survive it.

My jaw clenches as I read the end of that entry again. If he ever touches me, I won’t survive it. I don’t want to survive it.

My hands clench and crinkle the paper as I read it again. And again.

And again.

I’m never going to stop watching. But I will stop pretending.