Lahat ng Kabanata ng All For You, Daddy: Kabanata 171 - Kabanata 180

"No way. I don't interview waitresses."My colleague, Craig, jogs to catch up with me as I march down the carpeted hallway between offices. "Please. I've got a staffing issue tonight I've got to deal with. Just ask the girl a few questions, make sure she's got a nice ass and send her off to HR to do paperwork.""No.""God, you are such an asshole," he laughs, but there's frustration beneath the sound.So be it. I'm not here to make friends. In fact, in my position as a pit boss on the casino floor, I'm better off not having friends. I'm here to make sure cash flows the right direction and every cent of it is accounted for. I'm here to monitor gamblers and dealers, to make sure no one is trying to steal from the house. That's my profession, I'm damn good at it. And interviewing waitresses is not in the job description.Besides, there are rumors about how Craig likes to "interview" the girls and I want no part of that vile behavior. I witness more than enough debauchery throughout my ni

"Never." I'm very annoyed at him and yet...I want to crawl into his lap and pout and incite him further. My urges seem to conflict with the situation. Shouldn't I want to slap him, instead of crawling closer and getting right in his face? Because that's where I am. Leaned forward, matching his pose, until our faces are very close together. "Tell me what I'm built for.""No," he booms.Though his raised voice makes my insides tremble a little, I stand my ground. Somehow I know he wouldn't lay a finger on me out of anger. But how do I know that? "Then I'll just go get a job at a different casino and find out."That's a bluff. None of the other casinos answered my résumé submission—which I spent all day yesterday sending out from a Staples off the Strip. I don't lie often, but again, there is something inside of me that naturally pushes this man's buttons for enjoyment. Like I'm supposed to. Like it's the right thing for us.His gaze is locked on my mouth and he swallows over and over ag

My breath is fogging the glass because I'm trying to get a better look up her skirt. What is it going to be like when she's living in my home? Torture. But not knowing where she's living or if she's safe would be a hundred times worse.She leans closer to the glass and I can't help it, I can't keep my gaze from devouring her perky tits where they spill out of her neckline. Braless. She obviously took off the white underthing to sleep. God help me. "If you give me the waitressing job," she says through the glass. "I'll come with you."This girl is going to cause absolute bedlam in the casino. But in that moment, I would give my life in exchange to have her warm in my apartment, eating a meal. Safe. "Very well, Talia. But there will be rules."A few seconds tick by. Then she unlocks the rear passenger door. I waste zero time wrenching open the rusted metal barrier and scooping her off the back seat, marching around the back bumper of my SUV with my eyes resolutely ahead. Don't look. Don

A few minutes later, I'm out of the shower. I've used his comb on the sink to brush through my wet hair. I've even used his deodorant and dabbed a little bit of his cologne on my wrists, just wanting to smell like him. Have him touching me in any way possible. I open the door partway and retrieve a black T-shirt, pulling it on over my head, the hem falling well below my knees, the neckline drooping off one shoulder.I'm starved for the sight of Daniel by now.My fingers are curled into my palms and every inch of me is sensitized. The heat from the shower did nothing to calm the ache he has created. A throb that has his name on it. I stop in my bedroom to leave my dirty clothes on the bed, then I move on jelly legs to the front of the apartment where I find Daniel heating soup on the stove, a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches at his elbow. And I'm nearly overcome by the sense of homecoming. Being home.More at home than I ever felt on the farm.His back muscles tense by way of welcome

I sit shirtless on the edge of my bed, praying the rosary for the third time.There is something particularly vile about reciting the words when I'm covered in a sheen of sweat and my cock is dripping in my boxers. I'm all but shaking with the animal need to walk across the hall and pummel that little pussy. It's mine. She has offered it to me. She was mine the second I spotted her on the security monitor.But I'm going to stay strong.I'm going to help this abused girl. Assist her in starting a new life, finding her footing.She's not going to start her life as a plaything for a man twice her age.I'm not the kind of man who has playthings, either. I'm not some sick pervert who role plays and calls himself Daddy.That's exactly what you ache to be. For her.Yeah. Somehow she's made me want these unspeakable things. To take the job of the man in her life. Protector, provider. Pleasure giver. I want to consume her. To be her world. And that's wrong. It's wrong. Especially after what sh