Page 73 of More, Daddy

The downtown area? I had no idea you were a renovator

I expect a string of replies, speaking to his vintage home and all the glorious things he’s had done to it over the last few years. Instead, he simply responds,

See you soon, sweet girl

Those last two words get my heart racing again. He’s struggling to even converse with me because he wants me so bad. I can sense it. God, I am so in love with this man. I cannot wait until we can put that placeholder Cadence aside and get to us.

The real us.

I chose a white lingerie set,because white symbolizes purity, and the first time West has me, I want him to think of me as his sweet girl, his innocent babygirl. And anyway, all the focus on the kink leaves very little time for him to focus on that pesky little detail of menotactually being Cadence.

If I can get him lost in a passionate moment where we both get to be who we truly are and make each other and ourselves incredibly happy, I know I’ll be able to explain everything else to him after. I just need him to want me in the flesh as much as he wants me otherwise.

Then I need him to fuck me.

Like I said earlier, it’s not entrapment if it’s what he wants, too. Hedoeswant this. He thinks he wants it with Cadence. He doesn’t yet realize he wants it with me.

But that’s what tonight is for.

I refuse to be nervous.

It’s going to work out.

Positive thinking, right?

Covering the strappy filigree lace set is my favorite fancy winter coat—one I got after graduation as a treat to myself. One that coincidentally, Cadence Caine actually owns. She shrugged it off in class one day and I happened to see the label when I got up to sharpen my pencil.

I bought myself the same coat, and it’s my cover-up for tonight.

If West has ever seen her in it, or if he has any hesitations or reservations, hopefully the small familiarity of the coat will keep his curiosity in check.

Honestly, though, I don’t think I’ve raised a single red flag.

I said I was Cadence. Then I messaged him from Cadence’s work computer. That can’t be faked.

Tying the coat at my waist, I flip my hair out from underthe collar, letting it fall in long waves down my back. My hair isn’t as light as Cadence’s but I am a blonde. It’s longer than hers, though, which is better. Gives Daddy more to play with when he wants to.

Applying a thin layer of mascara to my already doused lashes, I spritz on another few pumps of perfume, rub my lips together to spread the red lipstick into all the fine lines, snatch my purse from my bed and make my way down the hall, nothing but my shrimp line nude stockings and my high heels exposed.

Muted light flickers against the old wood paneling in the living room, and when I make it to the end of the hallway, there’s a news program playing on TV. Some man is missing in Oakcreek, or something. Dad holds a glass of whiskey in one hand, the back of his hair already matted from headrest rub.

Sticking my finger through the keyring, I snatch up the keys to my old car and move for the front door, not bothering to say goodbye.

But my dad seriously believes he still has some say in what I do, nevermind that I’m almost twenty and pay for as much as or more than he does.No way.

“Briar, is that you?” he struggles to twist in his chair, searching for me through the haze of his alcohol-driven incompetence.

I roll my eyes. “No, it’s not me.” The stupidity of his question—caused, of course, by his perpetual inebriation—makes me narrow my eyes at the side of his face. Rolling them wasn’t enough. “Do you need something?”

His voice is hoarse and his words have space between them, strung apart like pendants on a string. “Come over here, let me see you.”

God.

I hate it when he’s an emotional drunk. Mean drunk is my favorite, because then we have a row, and I can hold my own against him. But crying, regretful dad? No thank you. Disgusting.

“No.” Then I enunciate each word as if it were its own sentence. “Do you need something?”

He shakes his head. “No.”