All For You, Daddy

Warning: 18+ only. Featuring hardcore taboo and age-gap erotica.

This is an erotic boxset containing yet another twelve stories of irresistible steam, steam, fun, and naughty stories. If you're not up to eighteen, this book is not for you.

Get ready to be intrigued. To feel. To...burn.

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"You think I'm a softie?" My voice is deceptively gentle when the rest of me is so hard. "Do you know why I pulled over?"

"Why?" she says, seeming to hold her breath.

"I pulled over because I know tight pussy when I see it." I frame her jaw with my right hand, tilting her blushing face up toward mine. "I'd like to fuck you on all fours, right here in the middle of the road, little girl. Rough as you can stand. Still think I'm a softie?"

"No," she gasps, the green of her eyes deepening to a forest shade. "I don't."

"Good."

Book One: All For You, Daddy.

William Jones is known as the Lord of the Manor.

He's in his forties, but he looks twenty-five. Has been our landlord for years now, and my family haven't been able to foster a stable relationship with him. Would you blame him? His position is at the top, and we're below.

When he serves us an eviction notice after days of Papa playing him, we're helpless. We have nothing to offer in exchange for ridiculous amount of rent we owe.

Nothing but me.

Passion is a very funny business, and neither of us expected the surge of adrenaline that engulfs us from the very first touch. But William harbors demons far stronger than my angelic light. Will I truly teach the Lord how to love again? Or will I be defeated in this cold battle?

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1: Grace.

The Lord comes to collect today.

That's what my parents call our landlord, anyway. They've called him that for so long that it stuck. Now everyone in the neighborhood calls him that, crossing themselves behind his back. Or running and hiding in their apartments.

I don't run.

I'd never miss my chance to watch him move in that sleek, panther-like way, the master of everything he sees. When he climbs from the back of his limousine and buttons his suit coat with precise twists of his long fingers, I grow short of breath. Even his mean expression makes my hand wrap tightly around the branch of the tree where I'm perched across the street, sweat gathering between my breasts.

William Jones.

He owns every tenement building in this neighborhood and many, many high rises in others. On the first of every month, he swoops in to collect checks from the building manager's office where we send our rent. If the check for that month is short—and in this economy, it often is—someone usually ends up getting evicted. Thrown out on the street without a second thought.

That's why they call him the Lord. He has no conscience. No compassion.

My mother claims he has enough money to buy and sell us all.

And...I think that's when the fantasies started.

When I started imagining William...buying me.

Maybe he is the prince of darkness after all? Our priest is always talking about temptation at Sunday mass and how it can ruin a person's life. Lead them astray. Astray isn't exactly what I'd call the tremors that tickle along my inner thighs when William strides down the sidewalk, a king picking through the slums. What I feel is more like infatuation. Budding hunger. Curiosity.

At eighteen, I know nothing about men, especially powerful, potentially evil ones. I only know what the indecent flex of sinew in his back does to my body. His obvious strength makes me damp in places that aren't mean to be damp. Makes my nipples stiffen into pebbles, hard and achy and sensitive. And my body's response isn't even the most shameful part of all. No, it's the fact that I...have sympathy for him. Even though he's put so many of my neighbors out on the street.

Sure, his tight, cleanly shaven jaw makes it look like he's grinding nails with his teeth. Sure, his blue-black eyes are piercing and full of malice. Yes, he has no problem ripping people's homes out from under them. But every month when I watch him from my branch in the tree, I see more. I see the pain he's trying to hide.

Lord help me, it attracts me to him even more.

Across the street, William disappears into the building manager's office and I let out a stuttering breath, relieved to be hidden by branches and leaves. Because I can't stop my hand from coasting down over my breast, squeezing the mound through my ratty, second hand tank top. A gasp fires from my mouth and my fingers seek out my hard nipple eagerly, rubbing it side to side, agitating the flesh between my thighs even more.

My mother's words come back to me, as they often do.

He could buy and sell us all.

If the landlord bought me, what would he do with me?

Would he be mean? Or would he soften when we're alone?

In the dark, with our clothes off, would he climb on top of me and...perform the confusing act I've caught my brothers doing with their girlfriends? I can't imagine a hardened man like him accepting pleasure from anyone. Or letting his guard down for a single second. But I can't help thinking about it. A lot.

My diary sits on the tree branch beside me. My constant companion. I'm already itching to write my private musings about William down on paper, putting my thoughts in their secret place where no one can see them, thanks to the lock. Only I have the combination to open it—a must in our cramped three-bedroom apartment where six of us live. My mother, father, grandmother, two siblings and me. I'm the youngest and the only girl, so I share a room with my grandmother.

I'm jolted back into awareness when William leaves the building manager's office, prowling back toward his limousine, a suited man opening the door for him.

Someone is getting evicted today.

Oh yes. I can tell by William's impatient movements. The way he plows fingers into his jet-black hair, leaving it only slightly less than perfect. Right before he folds his tall, broad frame into the back seat, he stops and looks around with a terrifying frown, nearly catching me where I watch him from the tree. But I duck back just in time to escape his scrutiny, my pulse running wild from almost having those savage eyes on me.

My heart raps against my ribcage when he drives away a moment later—and I have to write in my diary now. I have to document all these confusing emotions the landlord inspires. My pen and these pages are my only escape from the constant chaos that is my apartment. Don't get me wrong, I love my siblings, even if they torture me. My parents are good people, too. But this diary is my saving grace. It's the one thing that is all mine. No one else's.

Hopping down from the tree, I flush to the roots of my blonde hair. Now that I'm standing, the dampness of my panties is impossible to ignore. Reminding myself that no one can see it, I run across the street into my apartment building. Up the stairs, past some kids playing games on their phones and into our place on the second floor. The six of us come and go so often throughout the day, we leave the door unlocked, so I merely bump it open with my hip—

And I draw to a halt.

My mother is crying on the couch, my father pacing in front of her.

"Why didn't you tell me you lost your job?" she weeps. "We could have made up the rent some other way, but now there's no time."

That's when I notice the bright yellow eviction notice resting on the coffee table and the blood in my veins turns to ice.

"Mom..." I whisper, bringing her head up, noticing me for the first time. "Are we being thrown out?"

She swipes at her tears. "We're going to think of something, sweetie."

As day turns to evening, however, my parents hit one dead end after another. None of our friends or family can loan us money. Nothing we own is valuable enough to pawn. My brothers can't convince their minimum wage jobs to advance them paychecks. We owe more than we could hope to scrape together on short notice and oh God, I've never heard my father cry before, but he does now.

We're going to be homeless.

A tear falls from my eye, leaving a splotch on the page of my diary, a helpless feeling settling inside of me. I'm in the closet of my parents' bedroom, a place I often come to get enough privacy to write with the use of a flashlight.

I'm not expecting the door to open so suddenly and I yelp, slamming my diary closed and engaging the lock. "Mom," I say, looking up at her tear-stained face. "Are you okay? Did you think of anything?"

For a long moment, she only stares at me, her expression inscrutable. "Can you come out of there so we can talk, Grace?"

"Of course." I crawl out from beneath the hanging clothes and stand, letting her guide me to the bed where we sit beside each other. "What's up?"

My mother buries her face in her hands. "Grace, I wouldn't ask you to do this if there was any other option. But...time is going to run out." Her voice starts to swell with tears. "This apartment is our home. I have no idea where we'll go—"

"It's okay, Mom." I squeeze her forearm. "What do you want to ask me?"

She blows out a long, slow breath. "Grace, you've always been kind of a tomboy, running around climbing trees, getting filthy. But you're not a child anymore and...a lot of men in the neighborhood have noticed. Your brothers have had to knock quite a few teeth out lately."

"Really?" My jaw is in my lap. "Why?"

"Because when some men find a woman attractive, they express it by saying crude things about their body. It's not right, but it's the way things are." She shakes her head to clear it. "My point is, you're incredibly beautiful, Grace. Appealing in ways I never was. And...I hate myself for asking this, but I wonder if that beauty might buy us some time with the landlord."

My brow is furrowed, trying to decipher her meaning. I'm still reeling from the revelation that I'm considered beautiful. I don't even brush my hair most days. And my feet are usually dirty from forgetting to wear shoes. Don't women have to wear perfume and dresses to be considered beautiful? "I don't understand. How can I buy us some time?"

"It might not work." My mother wets her lips nervously. "But...oh God, I can't believe I'm saying this. But some men, Grace, will forgive a debt if his...sexual needs are met. By a woman. By...you."

Heat begins to thrum in my belly. If that isn't proof I've gone down the road of temptation, nothing is. I should be horrified by what my mother is asking me to do. Instead, I'm shamelessly eager. Excited. "You want me to go to bed naked with the landlord?"

That's the only way I know how to describe what I've accidentally seen between my brothers and their girlfriends. Two people in the dark, jerking around and making weird sounds in the sheets. Why does the idea of doing that with William make my femininity clench tightly?

"Yes," my mother whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek. "That's what I'm asking. I'm asking you to trade the pleasure of your body, your...virginity...to stop us from being evicted. We're so desperate. If there was any other choice..."

She trails off and I think, really think, about what I'm being asked to do. I'm being asked to offer myself to the Lord so my family won't be thrown out on the street. I would do anything to prevent that, of course. Anything. But...

"What if he says no, Mom?" I ask, looking down at my old cutoff jeans. My dirty knees. The way my breasts jut out, pointy and small. Unlike the women I see in magazines with gorgeously round bosoms. "Will he want...this?"

A cynical laugh leaves her. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." She points to the door of the bedroom. "Go take a shower. We have some work to do."

2: William.

I'm not sure what causes me to look up from my paperwork, through the rain-blurred window of the limousine. Ever since yesterday, there has been an itch between my shoulder blades. Something prickly under the starched collar of my dress shirt. If I believed in bullshit hocus pocus, I might even think it was a premonition.

Ever since I had the sensation of being watched yesterday, I've been unable to focus on work—and I don't take kindly to this kind of distraction. Work is the only thing worth focusing on, after all. So when I look up from the rental reports on my lap and see the girl walking in the rain, I tell myself it's not my fucking problem.

I've been left in the rain before. Literally and metaphorically.

It's only the end of the world if one allows it to be.

And I certainly didn't allow myself the self-pity.

Whoever this stranger is, she shouldn't have been stupid enough to forget her umbrella. Maybe she'll learn a lesson from getting stranded on this long stretch of road without assistance. God knows when I faced the same obstacle, I decided to change my life. Decided never to be left out in the rain again—and I haven't.

At age thirty-one, I do the leaving now.

Ignoring the sting in my chest—and despite my best effort to ignore the girl—I lean forward in the backseat to get a better look as we pass.

"Stop."

That barked command to the driver is pulled from a deep, untouched recess inside of me. As I sit staring at the vision on the other side of the window, the itching between my shoulder blades dulls and stops completely. I don't like that. I don't like it one bit. Who is this...creature? She is soaked to the skin, her thin dress molded to a tight, young body. Long blonde hair is plastered to her shoulders, neck and forehead.

And she's smiling.

I don't realize I've moved as close as possible to the glass until my ragged breath fogs the window and obscures my vision. Cursing with impatience, I throw open the back door and step out, buttoning my suit coat. An action I normally perform out of habit, but this time doubles as a method of hiding my erection.

Fuck. I can't remember the last time a specific female got me hard.

I've been with women, of course, but I prefer the efficiency of my own fist. It's fast and doesn't require any conversation. I only engage in sex or masturbation to meet the needs of my body. Not for enjoyment. Certainly not for love. In short, I'm shocked to find myself painfully hungry for this girl in a matter of seconds.

My jacket is growing more and more drenched while I try to distinguish the color of her nipples through the thin dress. With an inward command to get myself in order, I reach back into the limousine for my umbrella, opening it and marching over to the waterlogged blonde.

Drawing closer, I'm disgusted when I'm attacked by an uncharacteristic wave of sympathy. The girl can't be more than eighteen. Who the hell left her vulnerable out here in nothing more than a slip? Because my God, is she ever vulnerable. If someone with more sinister intentions were to drive by, she'd be in serious danger, this beautiful, fragile little thing.

As it is, I'm not positive she's safe from me.

Up close, my attraction burns even hotter. She's nothing short of angelic. I've never seen such a luscious mouth, skin that begs for a man's hands. Tits designed to scramble a lesser man's brain. Wide green eyes. She's a sexual fantasy and yet, her innocence gives her an air of being almost...off limits to a bastard like me.

Too sweet to sully.

Suddenly I'm finding it hard to swallow. "What the fuck are you doing out here in the rain?" I bark, much louder than intended.

Her smile dims. She blinks. "W-walking, sir."

Sir. That word vibrates through me, leaving sensual destruction in its path. "Walking. From where?"

"Home. I just went for a walk. I didn't know it was going to rain, but..." She looks up at the sky and the sun chooses that moment to peek through the clouds, bathing her face in light. "I don't mind it. Rain is nothing to be scared of. It just means the angels are watching a sad movie."

"The other angels, you mean?" Christ, I didn't mean to say that out loud. The blood that has left my brain and relocated in my groin is obviously affecting me mentally. That almost qualified as a compliment and I don't dole those out. Saying nice things to people makes them want to stick around and I'm not interested in company. Being alone is my preferred state. "I suppose you think I'm going to offer you my umbrella? I'm not. You should always be prepared for a storm."

The girl nods. "Are you talking about the weather now?" she whispers. "Or...have you learned that lesson in life?"

How...odd that she is the one in a see-through dress, yet I'm the one feeling completely exposed here. There is something about her that makes me feel uncovered. Like she can see straight through me. Maybe she really did fall from the sky? "Both," I mutter, finally answering her question. "Do you always ask strangers such personal questions?"

She considers that. "I don't really meet a lot of strangers."

"Obviously not," I snap. "You don't recognize the danger they pose when you're all alone, walking around in this..." I brush a finger along the short hem of her dress. "Scrap."

When I drag my attention back up from her creamy thighs, I'm surprised to find her eyes pinched shut, her breaths coming in quick pants. Certainly not because I touched her dress...? "Oh, I don't know," she murmurs. "Not every stranger that drove by would be bad. One of them might be a kind man who shares his umbrella with me."

"I'm not sharing my—" I glance up in astonishment to find I'm now covering her head with my umbrella. Putting both of us beneath it. Far too close for my peace of mind. She smells like fresh apples.

The girl giggles at the dismay I've failed to hide. "I won't tell anyone you're a softie. Don't worry."

I'm lecturing her on safety, but the twist she's causing in my chest is twice as dangerous. This interaction might be nothing to her, but it's the most I've conversed with anyone outside of my employ in years.

I don't allow anyone to get close. I don't like people. They are lazy, deceitful, opportunistic, selfish. Their true colors always show through in the end. It's why I don't feel a hint of remorse when I evict my tenants. No one is truly good or worthy of empathy. Not to mention, I've been at the bottom of the barrel without so much as two dimes to rub together and I've built a billion-dollar real estate empire. If they can't come up with a thousand bucks for rent, they can cry me a river.

The fact that this slip of a girl got through my defenses is not sitting right. I don't like having my indifference challenged. I especially don't like the wisp of satisfaction I got when she called me kind. I'm not.

For some reason, I damn well want her to know it.

3: William.

"You think I'm a softie?" My voice is deceptively gentle when the rest of me is so hard. "Do you know why I pulled over?"

"Why?" she says, seeming to hold her breath.

Don't you dare. She's innocent. I say the words, anyway, however. I want to drive her away. Now. She caught me with my walls down and that is the ultimate invasion, made worse because I crave it happening again. "I pulled over because I know tight pussy when I see it." I frame her jaw with my right hand, tilting her blushing face up toward mine. "I'd like to fuck you on all fours, right here in the middle of the road, little girl. Rough as you can stand. Still think I'm a softie?"

"No," she gasps, the green of her eyes deepening to a forest shade. "I don't."

I ignore the regret stabbing me in the neck. "Good."

She tugs her chin out of my hold, skirts around me and continues walking up the road, arms stiff at her sides. I'm monetarily dumbfounded by the sense of loss I experience without her in front of me—and then I'm turning on a heel, going after her. "Get in the limo. Now."

"Why would I do that?"

"How about so you don't catch pneumonia?" I growl. "Or get kidnapped."

"Or roughed up on my hands and knees in the middle of the road?" she inquires primly over her shoulder, hurt dancing in her eyes.

More regret piles onto my head. "I said I would like to do those things, not that I'm going to," I say through my teeth, following on her heels. "Stop walking away immediately and tell me your name."

"Since you asked so politely, it's Grace. Grace Hellington," she says, spinning back around to face me. "I don't understand. Why would you want me to think you're terrible and rude? Can't you just be the man who shares his umbrella?"

"Grace Hellington." That name hits me with such an odd sense of déjà vu, I feel slightly dizzy. I shake my head to clear the sensation. "I'm William Jones."

She crosses her arms, pursing those bee-stung lips, and my cock turns harder than fucking steel in my slacks. "You didn't answer my question, William."

Is it my imagination or does my name roll off her tongue as if she's said it a million times? "You asked me a personal question. I don't answer those." She starts to turn again, but I catch her by the elbow. "If I make an exception this time, will you get in the limo? I...find myself wanting you warm and fed. Immediately."

And spoiled rotten, dripping in diamonds, pearls and my come.

Some of the ire fades from her eyes. "Everything is 'immediately' with you. Do you ever have to wait for anything?"

"No." My answer makes her smirk, cross her arms and wait. For the answer to her question, I assume. Can't you just be the man who shares his umbrella? There is a shard of discomfort in my throat when I answer. "Sharing an umbrella might seem like a small gesture, but it made you expect more from me...emotionally. I have nothing to give in that way." My jaw is tight enough to shatter. "If you come home with me, however, I have possessions that will make the fact that I'm an asshole seem irrelevant."

A line forms between her brows. "You think I won't mind you being mean just because you have nice things, like a fancy limo?"

"Exactly."

Her smile is tremulous. "You're wrong."

I arch an eyebrow. "Prove it. Come with me and stay for a night in my home. I'll remain my total bastard self while I'm spoiling you silly and we'll see if you truly want to leave in the morning."

Visibly mustering her confidence, she sticks out her hand for a shake. "It's a deal, William."

My hand slides around hers and static ripples up my arm. And since our deal gives me permission to be my typically ruthless self, I pull her up against me roughly, flattening her sweet little tits against my chest. "You just made a deal with the devil, little girl," I rasp, stooping down and throwing her over my shoulder. With her sputtering in shock, I turn on a heel and stalk back toward the open limousine door, already envisioning her in my home. In my bed. "No going back now."

4: Grace.

It's incredible how quickly my plan went out the window once I came face to face with the man I'm supposed to be bartering with. My body for our home. Or rather, it's my mother's plan I'm failing to execute. She's the one who dropped me off less than a mile from our landlord's gated mansion, advising me to walk the road indefinitely in the hopes that William would stop to offer assistance.

We thought about simply arriving at his home and asking to make the trade, my virginity in exchange for cancelling the eviction, but my mother didn't think that would work with a man as shrewd as William.

You'll have to get under his skin first, honey.

Make it impossible for him to say no.

If anyone can do it, it's you.

Dripping wet on the expensive leather seat of the limousine, I have no idea if I'm succeeding. William watches me from the dark end of the vehicle, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a frown on his harshly attractive face as he considers me, his fingers in a steeple in front of his mouth.

He really is mean. Crude. Demanding. He didn't even recognize my last name—the last name of the family he's decided to evict.

But just like always, like every time he's come to my neighborhood to pick up the rent, I sense there is so much more under the surface. Past all the scar tissue around his heart. Deep down, he's the kind of man who couldn't help but hold the umbrella for me.

When will I know if I'm under his skin?

Part of me wants to blurt the truth now—that I'm one of the tenants he's throwing out. That I came to offer him sex to let my family stay. But what if he says no and my time with him is over as quickly as it started? I'll lose my one and only chance to reach the man beneath the devilish exterior. I'll miss my opportunity to find out about him. To spend time in the presence of the man I've been dreaming about since the first time I saw him.

Just a little longer. Then I'll explain.

I'll give him the truth and accept his decision.

The sound of gravel crunching, followed by a mechanical whir, makes me look out the window, finding the limousine pulling through two tall, wrought iron gates. Then we're speeding up a long, tree-lined driveway, the largest house I've ever seen coming into view around the bend. "That's where you live?" I whisper, turning in the seat. "All by yourself?"

"God, yes. Blessedly alone."

"You never get lonely?"

"Never." His eyes are so intense, landing on every part of me at once, his hand reaching down to adjust his gold belt buckle. "It's what I'm used to. I don't know anything else. Being lonely would never occur to me."

That sounds terribly sad to me, but I keep my sympathy to myself, sensing it wouldn't be well received. "Sometimes I like being alone, too. I sneak into my mother's closet to write in my diary." I stumble over the last word, worried I've said something that might reveal me as a tenant. This man doesn't know the people who live in his buildings, though. All we are is numbers in a ledger to him. He has no idea about the people who live within the walls. "I think nothing can be better than the silence, but then I open the closet door and smell my mother's roast chicken. And I hear my brothers arguing over the remote and it's...home."

"How very nice for you." He shifts in his seat. "It occurs to me that I haven't asked your age. If you're still writing in a diary, perhaps you're younger than I thought."

"I'm eighteen." My cheeks heat at the accusation that my favorite hobby makes me immature. "People of all ages can write in a diary."

Silence ticks by. Then, "I suppose you're right." He clears his throat hard. "If people such as war generals or ancient philosophers didn't write in diaries, we'd be missing chunks of history."

The temperature of my face cools.

Does William realize he said that to make me feel better? The answer could be yes or no, based on his scowl. "Isn't there something you do to relax and collect your thoughts?" I ask.

An evil smile curls his upper lip. "Do you really want to know the answer to that?" My breath draws short, even though I don't know exactly what he's referring to. I only sense it's sexual in nature. Before I can question him, he laughs under his breath and continues. "I could tell you I swim in my pool, play tennis on my courts or travel, but I'd be lying. I get pleasure out of buying real estate and making money. That's it. I don't need anything else."

The limousine stops at that exact moment.

We stare at each other from a few feet apart until the driver opens the door and William alights, holding his hand out through the opening and waiting for me to take it. Which I do. And then I'm a sopping wet mess with sloshing shoes, climbing the steps to a palatial mansion.

My heart races in my chest at the very notion of going inside. It's bigger than all of the buildings on my block combined, and then some. There are no flourishes or homey touches on the outside. It is strict red brick and wrought iron. A tall, imposing door that sweeps open when we approach, a housekeeper with a stiff upper lip stepping aside to allow us entry.

William takes hold of my wrist and guides me over the threshold, speaking briskly to the perfectly coiffed older woman. "This is Grace. She will be staying with me tonight. She's to have whatever she wants, whenever she wants it. Is that clear?"

"Very clear, sir." The housekeeper turns to me, showing no reaction to my wet clothing. "Is there anything I can get you, miss?"

I start to decline, of course. I've been raised to do things for myself and my elders. Not the other way around. But William did promise to spoil me silly and there are two words that have been whispering in my head since he uttered them in the limousine. Swimming pool.

"I would love to go swimming," I blurt.

William pauses in the act of removing his jacket. "Now? Wouldn't you rather get warm after being in the rain?"

"That does sound nice, but...I've never seen a swimming pool at someone's house before. Well, only on television." Feeling kind of pathetic, I hug my elbows tightly. "There's a community pool near...near where I live, but it's always packed. You can't swim two feet without running into someone and the chemicals burn my eyes. I just thought it would be nice, if it's not any trouble."

William is looking at me strangely, in a way I can't decipher. "Of course it's not any trouble." I get the impression he meant that to sound snappier than it did. "We'll require a warm towel downstairs, Pauline. And a robe."

"Yes, sir. Shall I find a bathing suit for Miss Grace?"

A muscle ticks in his cheek, those predatory eyes raking down the front of my indecently see-through dress. "That won't be necessary."