Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 66(@200wpm)___ 53(@250wpm)___ 44(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 66(@200wpm)___ 53(@250wpm)___ 44(@300wpm)
I unlock my phone and pull up my app before scrolling straight to his profile and joining his livestream. My heart races as soon as his broad frame fills the screen. He's sitting in the shadows again, his long legs outstretched before him. He has his hands laced together over his stomach.
I whimper, pressing my thighs together at the sight of him. Even though the only part of his face that's visible is his full lips and the stubble on his jaw, he's sexy as hell to me. He isn't ripped like most of the men who post thirst traps. His name fits him. Mr. Dad Bod. He's husky, with broad shoulders and a stomach that extends a little over his belt. There are literal trees smaller than his legs.
Everything about him screams sex to me. Judging by the number of women in his livestream, I'm not the only one. We love a bigger man, especially one with a voice like whiskey.
"Ask him for what you want," he says, presumably answering whatever question he decided to tackle tonight. "Most men would fucking kill to know what you think about, what you dream about, what gets you so hot you can't stand it. If yours isn't curious or belittles you for having desires, throw the whole fucking man out. You don't need nor deserve to be treated like a second-class citizen in your relationship, and most certainly not in your bedroom. Your desires and fantasies are just as important as his. Your pleasure should be his priority. It should be his motherfucking mission in the bedroom."
I sip my wine as he talks, fascinated by every word. I'm clearly not the only one. Comments whip by at the speed of light.
Danni: Ugh. Someone please show this to my man. If he doesn't breed me soon, I'm going to snap.
Pixie Dix: Listening to you gets me hot.
Baby Girl Sloane 1990: I want mine to share me with a random stranger. I think that would be so hot.
Daphne Davis 0202: I want mine to tell me to STFUATTDLAGG. Preferably while he has his hand around my throat. ;)
I narrow my eyes on the screen, draining my glass as envy slides through my veins. They talk so freely, saying exactly how they feel. They don't care what anyone thinks. They just go for it, completely unrepentant.
Mama Meow: I'll be your mission any day.
Good Girl Gone Brat: Operation Me Next, please.
I drop my empty glass on the coffee table, already tapping out a message. I don't think about it. I just go for it, saying exactly what I want for the first time in months.
Dear Mr. Dad Bod, where do I apply to be your baby girl?
Chapter Three
Madden
Olive's question hits my livestream like a bomb blast. I see it pop up on my screen, and my dick immediately reacts. Half of my viewers see it pop up and chaos descends.
Mama Meow: OMG! Olive Crosby in here!
Delectable Rae: Holy shit. Did Olive Crosby just ask Mr. Dad Bod to be her daddy?
Pixie Dix: Gross. No one even watches your lame dance videos, Olive.
A warning growl rumbles in my throat as a handful of catty bitches sling mud Olive's way. I make note of the names to block them. If they can't treat her with respect, fuck them. I don't want them in my livestreams or anywhere near me.
Most everyone else is just stunned by her question, I think. God knows I am. I didn't even know she knew I existed, but she's here right now, her question unanswered.
Shit. I haven't answered her.
"Tiny Dancer," I growl, leaning slightly forward while still keeping my face obscured so she knows I'm talking directly to her. "No application necessary. My baby girl gets whatever she wants."
My response doesn't calm our audience down any at all. Their responses fly by so fast, I don't stand a chance of seeing hers if she says anything else. That isn't going to work for me.
"We'll pick this up again later," I tell everyone. "Remember your safe words and enthusiastic consent. Sweet dreams." I end the stream immediately and scroll back through the comments, but don't see anything else from her.
Did she leave before I responded? Did she see what people were saying and get anxious? Poor baby is probably freaking out right now.
I grab my phone and pull up her page before clicking to send her a DM.
Me: That was quite an introduction, baby girl.
I sit back in my chair with my hand on my cock, trying to ease the ache.
Tiny Dancer: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Tiny Dancer: You followed me today.
I smile, practically reading the accusation in her statement and the avid curiosity. She's dying to know why.
Me: I did.
Tiny Dancer: Why?
I unzip my pants, pulling my cock out…not giving a shit if jerking off while talking to her makes me a goddamn creep or not. She asked to be my baby girl in front of twelve thousand people. I'm too fucking hard not to take care of it.