Call Me Daddy

Taylor's P.O.V Being a 17 year old girl with a body similar to Nickis' minus, the plastic surgery has its good points and its bad points. This is one of the bad points. Apparently, my best friend Malia thinks that I'm equipped enough to become a stripper. When I told her that I wanted a part-time summer job, she said that there was a job that I would quote on quote die for... pssshhh.....as if I'd agree. I instantly declined, and for the past hour, I've been listening to her preach about how gifted I am and how my body could instantly turn a gay guy straight in the blink of an eye. I unknowingly fell asleep a couple minutes after she started talking, and now I have to listen to her preaching for another hour after being rudely awakened. "T, I can not believe you won't even think about it. Look at it this way, you can get to fuck some hot guys for dollars or you can just shake your ass and still get the money." I unconsciously roll my eyes at her before replying. "Then why don't yo

Aidenl's P.O.V And she's laughing, like outwardly laughing, like I'm in a clowns costume or I told her something extremely funny. I'm staring at her confusedly while she wipes her imaginary tears. She looks really cute, though, and hot! After about three minutes, she calms down, but she still has that goofy look on her face. "Did I say something funny mi more?" (My Love) "Correction, you said something extremely funny." She laughs a little, then eyes me from head to toe and back to my eyes. "First of all, I don't belong to anyone but myself! Second of all I don't fucking know you so who are you to come to me acting all high and mighty claiming shit, especially not me. Talking about mates, what the fuck are you a dog or something?" she glares at me to which my wolf growls. 'Who the hell is this fiesty angel in front of me, and why haven't I seen her before?' 'Kiss mate!' My wolf keeps demanding and walking around in my head. 'I'm trying to get her, not scare her away. I can

Taylor's P.O.V I'm home. Lights off. Shoes kicked away. Still annoyed. Still rattled by that guy—his arrogance, his eyes, his strength. I head to the bathroom and pull off my top to wash off the club grime. That’s when I see it: A faint silver mark on my shoulder. It’s shaped like a crescent surrounded by runes—elegant, ancient-looking. I lean in, confused. It pulses slightly. Just once. Then it fades.Gone. I rub the spot. Nothing. 'What the hell…?' I walk into the hallway and find my aunt in the kitchen sipping tea, like I knew she'd be up. “Hey,” I say cautiously. “Do you know anything about… birthmarks that glow?” My aunt stiffens for a second. A fraction of a second. Then smiles. “Probably a heat rash. Or your perfume reacting with the club lights. You know your skin’s sensitive, sweetheart.” “It looked like… symbols or something.” “You’ve been drinking. Or dreaming. Get some sleep.” No questions. No curiosity. Just that same perfect, too-calm tone.