Caliente was Jackson’s temper. Cream was his acute business sense. Vanilla was his innocence and lost childhood. Angel was his observation and eyes.
Then there was Liane. She was Jackson.
Cream and Vanilla trained her. Caliente rolled her eyes and scoffed at her. Liane came to find out it was a typical trait of Caliente. She simply didn’t like anyone.
The notebook of sin, she coined it, was full of what was expected of her. Weight limit and dress code were just the simple things. The more ridiculous demands—hairstyles had to be approved, all phone calls went to Jackson, and he had to know of her whereabouts at all times—solidified Liane’s case that Jackson was a pimp. All she needed was the smoking gun—going on a date with a john and servicing him afterward. Jackson would be brought to his knees in record time.
Then a stupid thing happened—she slept with Jackson.
It wasn’t by choice. Eve warned her every girl had to do it and Sienna wasn’t going to be an exception. Fine, she could handle sleeping with Jackson. She’d done it before on various missions, even going as far as slapping handcuffs on a perp just as he climaxed. Liane truly did not give two fucks.
Then there was Jackson.
He took her out to dinner, probably the same restaurant he’d used for all of the other girls. Over dinner, Jackson was charming and wonderful. They had a lot in common, rooting for the same sport teams and talking about horrible calls the refs made in past games. They’d read the same books and Liane was impressed by how well read Jackson was. While other people quoted Shakespeare, Jackson quoted Capote and Wilde. He boasted of his jazz collection that mimicked his wide whiskey and bourbon assortment.
He smiled a lot, showcasing his perfect white teeth. His blue eyes sparkled whenever he told little anecdotes about his past. His laugh was hearty and incredibly sexy. His simple outfit of a mock turtleneck sweater and jeans barely covered his muscular frame and broad shoulders. The way he walked, with a swagger and confidence that indicated he was quite comfortable with himself, implied any woman who was with him should feel privileged.
He was a walking, talking, breathing Ken doll.
He made no promises. He didn’t guarantee anything. He made Liane feel as if everything was her choice and her choice only. It was really easy to see why the other girls—Angela included—trusted Jackson. He wasn’t intimidating. He treated the servers as if they were long-lost friends.
He was every woman’s romance novel fantasy.
The first time they made love started out simply enough. She was watching TV in the living room when he decided to join her. At first, they were on separate ends of the sofa. Whenever Jackson briefly left, he returned to the sofa, sitting just a little closer to Liane. The last time he‘d returned, he was right next to her, cuddling with her.
Soon they were making out like horny teenagers. Liane’s shirt came off, then her bra, along with the rest of her clothing, then Jackson’s shirt and his pants. A condom was quickly found and rolled onto Jackson’s cock and he quickly entered Liane’s tight channel. They moved together as one, staring into each other’s eyes, daring each other to fuck harder and faster.
Jackson was insatiable and animalistic, pounding into Liane as if his life depended on it. His tongue alone brought her to orgasm several times and when she thought she couldn’t do it anymore, he showed her she could.
When Liane went down on Jackson, she showed him she was no rookie as her tongue twirled around his thick shaft and suckled on the large mushroom tip. Jackson climaxed in seemingly record time and couldn’t wait to sample Liane once again to show his appreciation.
He branded her with that nickname when she demonstrated how flexible she was. Her body became alive and willing with him, as if she had been waiting for him all her life. All of those ballet classes when she was younger and yoga sessions as she became an adult made her body incredibly lithe and flexible; able contort into different and illicit positions just for Jackson’s pleasure.
They made love throughout the weekend, only breaking for food and occasional sleep and rest. They spent the rest of the time christening the home: his shower, Jacuzzi, and in the pool.
That was a couple of days ago.
She officially moved into his bedroom and had to fight off the jealousy of the other girls. Caliente sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. Vanilla wanted to be instant best friends. Eve was cordial. Liane simply smiled. She would be long gone by the end of the week; Jackson’s business would shut down, and he would be sent off to a prison to become the pride and joy of a sexually starved inmate.
It was simple enough. Then Liane did a stupid thing—she fell for Jackson.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
The full book of Daddy’s Angel is currently available on Amazon, Smashwords, and All Romance. It’ll be on Barnes & Noble this week. The print version will be out later next month.