Page 10 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Nine

Ella

When Sebastian said he’d drive me home, I thought that meant he’d do the actual driving. But no, like a rich prick, he has his own driver. We slide into the back seat.

I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.

If I say it often enough, I’ll remember it the next time Sebastian tries to flirt with me.

There’s something familiar about him, beyond the fact that I’ve seen him at the Tyler building. I wish I could figure it out, but no matter how hard I stare at his face, it’s not coming to me.

It’s not as if staring at his face is a hardship, though. He’s so handsome, it makes my chest ache. Those hazel eyes of his seem to see right through me, and he looks at me like he wants to know everything. Ever fleeting thought, every filthy desire.

And looking back at him, at his well-muscled physique stretching out his dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up slightly to bare tattooed forearms? Holy fuck, I am feeling a lot of filthy desire.

I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.

I thought at first that Sebastian would slide all the way across the back seat so we’re next to each other, but he remains on his side of the car like a gentleman.

Well, he would look like a gentleman, other than the salacious, lustful look in his eyes and the bad-boy ink all over his arms.

Primly, I fold my arms across my chest.

His low chuckle blends with the car’s deep rumble. “You don’t have to worry about me, Ella,” he says. “Like I told you, I won’t push anymore. All you have to do is ask. When you’re tired of playing with the boy, the men will be waiting.”

My heart skips two beats. “The men?”

“The man,” he says, winking.

I don’t think he meant the man . No, of course he did. My sick brain would rather think about him and another man. And I won’t be thinking about any generic man, but one man in particular. Kingston Tyler.

The thought gets me hot and wet. I can imagine Mr. Tyler and Sebastian with me in Mr. Tyler’s office.

The lights low, as Mr. Tyler keeps them in the later hours.

Mr. Tyler would’ve called me in because the dusting wasn’t done to his satisfaction.

But instead of allowing me to do it over again, he would first want to punish me. And Sebastian would want to help.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” Sebastian asks suddenly.

I give a little start. I hadn’t meant to go so far in the fantasy, and now I’m ultra conscious of my wet panties. I need to get into my apartment and take a shower with my waterproof vibrator, is what I need to do.

“Ella?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, trying to give him a natural smile.

His eyes narrow. “You’re lying, brat.”

“Maybe. But I was trying to be polite. Because the thoughts in my head don’t belong to you, sir.”

Shaking his head, he says, “Let’s get you home before I break all of my promises.”

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the need to push him. What happens if he breaks all of his promises? Does that mean he’d whisk me to his place? Would he invite Mr. Tyler? Would they take turns with me, each of them watching?

My panties only grow wetter, with every passing block.

Finally, we’re in front of my apartment building.

“Thank you for the ride,” I say.

Before I can get out of the car, he takes my hand in his. Pressing a soft kiss to the top, he holds my gaze and says, “Anytime, princess.”

Kingston

The dream is so good, I don’t want to wake up.

It features Ella, of course. And even knowing this, even knowing I can snap myself out of this dream and avoid spanking my son’s girlfriend, I stay right where I am, my face pressed against her shoulder while I take her from behind.

Bash is there in the dream, too. He’s fucking her mouth, rough because she was acting like a brat. His movements are so fast and deep, tears spring to Ella’s eyes. He gently wipes them away with his fingers, praising her.

I know she loves it, because in my dream, she’ll love every dirty thing we do to her. But also, her tight pussy is spasming on my fingers while I fuck her ass.

Sebastian finishes and pulls out of her mouth, coming all over her chest.

She turns around and says to me, “It’s so wrong, Daddy. So wrong.”

Fuck yes . It is so wrong, and that’s what makes it so fucking good.

“You like it, you naughty girl,” I say, holding tight to her hip with my free hand, making sure she can’t go anywhere. She’s ours.

Her moans are so sexy, and the way she looks over her shoulder and watches me fuck her ass, her gorgeous brown eyes locked on mine, damn near sends me over the edge.

My body tightens, ready for release.

“Dad?” A voice penetrates through the haze of my lust. “Dad, are you home?”

Fucking hell. I open my eyes to a dim living room. I must’ve dozed off while reading.

Joel walks in, carrying my skis. “Sleeping, old man?”

“This book is boring as hell,” I say, setting it on the coffee table. I don’t know why I thought I wanted to read about the rise of the railroads in the nineteenth century, but obviously I was mistaken.

Or maybe I would much rather fantasize about my son’s cute girlfriend. There is that angle to consider.

“How was Tahoe?” I ask.

“It was fine. Thanks for lending me the skis. Do you want me to put them somewhere?”

“Just set them down, I’ll stuff them in the closet later. Have you talked to Ella?”

He raises his eyebrows. “The maid? No…what about?”

Annoyance moves through me. It’s been three days. He’s been in fucking Tahoe, skiing and having a good time. If I’d known he wasn’t checking on her, I would’ve found some way to do it. “I told you there was something bothering her the other day, asked you to talk to her about it. Remember?”

“Oh shit, I forgot. Sorry.” He sets down the skis and gives an unconcerned shrug. “Well, I’m back now, I’ll give her a call.”

“You do that. And Joel?”

“What?” He sounds exasperated.

“Remember what I said about treating women with respect. Be honest, and listen to them.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves over his shoulder as he leaves my apartment.

I sigh. I think I’ve raised a fuckboy.

Ella

Joel’s office is empty for the fourth night in a row. I keep walking past it, as if he might poof into existence all of a sudden.

But nope.

I go through the motions of emptying wastebaskets, cleaning the bathrooms, tidying the break room and washing down the snack counter. When Joel still hasn’t shown up by the end of my shift, I slump down at the table in the break room and pull my phone from my dress pocket.

The maid uniform might be as ugly as sin, but at least it has pockets.

I don’t get to go to the gala. I can’t afford the gown I picked out, and what’s worse, I can’t afford any gown because my absolute idiot of a brother stole the last of my money.

Already I won’t be able to eat very well over the next month, but I could’ve gotten through it on the memories of attending the Tyler Gala.

I dial Joel. I would rather share this news in person, but it’s been three days, and if the shithead won’t come to work so I can see him, then I guess I’m left with the phone.

If he doesn’t pick up this time, I’m just going to text him.

He picks up, though. “Ella?”

“Joel! Hi, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Sorry, I was out of town on business.”

“Oh. You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere.”

“Oh, sorry about that.”

I’m a little hurt, but it’s fine. I mean, there’ve been a couple of red flags with him, but he wouldn’t have asked me to the Tyler Gala if I meant absolutely nothing to him, right?

“Last minute trip,” he adds, sighing heavily. “I was so busy, I had no time to call. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Are you coming to work tonight?”

“Nope,” he says. Then, almost as an afterthought, he says, “I miss you, though.”

I’m not convinced he misses me at all. Which makes this next part of this conversation easier. “I can’t go to the gala. I’m sorry.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

“I can’t get a gown in time.”

“Seriously?” He sounds puzzled and frustrated. “There are stores all over San Esteban.”

How do I explain to him that I’ve already tried to choose buying a gown over buying groceries? How could someone like Joel Tyler ever understand where I’m coming from?

“I just can’t do it,” I say.

“Okay, sure, whatever.” He yawns. “I’m going to get some rest after that business trip, okay?”

“Of course,” I say, blinking back tears. If he can hear the strain in my voice, he doesn’t comment on it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yep, talk to you later, babe.”

I hang up. A notice immediately pops up on my screen, reminding me that the phone bill is due in one week.

“Dammit,” I mutter.

“Haven’t we talked about your potty mouth?” a low voice asks from behind me.

I whirl around. Mr. Tyler is standing in the doorway, a disapproving expression on his face. Feeling guilty even though I am fully within my rights to swear at my phone when I think I’m by myself, I say, “Sorry, Mr. Tyler. I didn’t know you were there.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “It’s okay. Are you on a break right now?”

I have to answer yes, even if I technically am not, because otherwise I shouldn’t be sitting down and talking on the phone—I should be cleaning, doing my job. “Yes, Mr. Tyler.”

“Wait,” he says, “you’ve been crying. Do you need to talk about anything?”

Gone is the sexy grin. I mourn its absence.

“No, everything’s fine,” I say.

“I can tell something’s wrong.”

I shrug. It’s not his business.

“Ella,” he says. “Talk to me. If not about what’s bothering you, then anything else. Please. I’d feel like an asshole if I left you alone right now.”

What if I want to be alone? I think of asking. But I don’t want to be alone. Mr. Tyler standing here, in this room with me, is a salve.

“What do you want to talk about, then?” I ask.

“Whatever you want. What’s your favorite food?”

I think back to when I had plenty of groceries to cook with. It wasn’t like I could ever be truly indulgent, but I used to be able to buy enough to cook good meals. “Lasagna is my comfort food,” I say finally. “What’s yours?”

“Macaroni and cheese. Out of the box.”

“No,” I groan. “That is an affront to all that is good in this world.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I used to request it for every birthday.”

“What’s your star sign?” I ask.

He frowns. “I can’t remember.”

“Well, when’s your birthday?”

“December sixth.”

“You’re a Sagittarius,” I say. “I’m an Aries. We’re both fire signs.”

He rubs a hand over his whiskers. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Me neither,” I say with a shrug, “but it’s interesting.”

“Tell me more about this fire sign thing.”

His voice is deep and commanding, and I find myself rushing to obey.

“Oh, I don’t know much about it,” I say, “just that different signs are associated with different elements. Leo, Aries, Sagittarius are all fire signs. There are also air, earth, and water, but I’m not sure which signs they go with.”

“Interesting,” he says, still standing in the doorway. “When is the Leo birthday?”

I can’t remember, so I look it up on my phone. “July twenty-third to August twenty-second.”

His sexy smile returns. “Oh, that’s very interesting.”

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“My best friend is a Leo. Do fire signs get along?”

Shrugging, I ask the search engine. The reply comes immediately. “Very well, it seems.”

“Maybe I could get into this astrology stuff after all,” he says. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sighs. “I have to take this. I’ll see you later, Ella.”

I find myself smiling at his retreating form. Mr. Tyler helped me forget all about my troubles, for a little while.

If only my boyfriend were more like his father.