Daddy's Princess
Table of Contents
Prologue
Epilogue
Weeks Earlier…
Chloe
Damian
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Daddy’s Princess
Nikki Wild
Contents
Prologue
1. Weeks Earlier…
2. Chloe
3. Chloe
4. Damian
5. Chloe
6. Chloe
7. Chloe
8. Chloe
9. Damian
10. Chloe
11. Chloe
12. Chloe
13. Damian
14. Chloe
15. Damian
16. Damian
17. Chloe
18. Chloe
19. Chloe
20. Chloe
21. Chloe
22. Chloe
23. Chloe
24. Chloe
25. Chloe
26. Chloe
27. Damian
28. Chloe
Epilogue
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Other Novels by Nikki Wild
Prologue
Chloe
“You’re mine…”
“Yes Daddy…”
The words felt dangerous and illicit as they slipped from between my lips. This man wasn’t my Daddy, but with just two tiny little words, I’d just given in to his dominance one more time. Tonight, I’d be his little Princess just one more time…
I gasped as his hand slapped down on my ass.
“Louder.”
“Yes Daddy!”
“That’s a good girl,” he said, slapping my ass even harder. I was at his mercy, bent over his desk with legs spread wide and my body on full display.
As his huge cock slipped between my wet folds, I lost myself in the pleasure and the pain.
“Are you ready Princess? Are you ready for Daddy’s cock?”
Deep down, I knew there was a time before all of this.
Before I let this man bend me over the desk…
Before I called him Daddy.
“Fuck me Daddy… Fuck me!”
Weeks Earlier…
Chloe
“Relax, doll!” Christa glanced over at me from her bed. My hippie college roommate of two years at Philadelphia’s Temple University, and my very best friend of many more, she was always the levelheaded one out of our dynamic duo. “You’ve done this, like, a million times already. It’s gonna be totally fine!”
I palmed my hip and whirled around. “This would be my third time.”
“So what? I rounded up,” She girlishly smirked with a shrug. “Point is, you’ve got this in the bag. Most of these guys just want arm candy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to! They’re just sugar daddies…”
Nervously, I flipped back to the app on my phone, Candy Companion. Twelve more messages had already piled up from other prospective sugar daddies – mostly businessmen, local politicians, the rich and semi-famous.
The usual suspects.
All of them were looking for a young, broke college student to look the part for social mixers, business dinners, and alma mater reunions…
But my focus went straight to the one that was the most important. Tonight’s date.
The picture had drawn me in from the start. Even with his face cropped out of the photo, I found myself attracted to the confidence in his body language.
He was a businessman of some kind. His bio hadn’t been very clear on what he did, but the photo standing in front of his dark Mercedes set the tone and expectations.
I was just supposed to be eye candy, but the message was clear. This rich, confident stranger was looking for a girl to take to a business social with some clients and partners. Nothing more.
Things didn’t get strange until you scrolled down to the ‘desired traits’ section of the profile.
Highly Intelligent and Docile.
I might have turned him down right there, but he was willing to pay a lot of money to the intelligent and docile girl who made the cut.
My nervous gaze wandered towards my stack of advanced biochemistry books, slapped together on the thigh-high bookcase beside my desk.
“I can pull off ‘highly intelligent’, right?”
“Chloe, you aced organic chemistry and the professor tried to get you to tutor for his doctorate level classes. I kinda think you can handle looking smart.”
“So, what about docile? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She opened her mouth to retort, letting her eyes slowly trail away. “Well…”
“That’s what I thought.” I threw my hands up in defeat. “I can tell this guy all about organelles, protein synthesis, saturated triglycerides… but how the hell am I supposed to be docile?”
I snatched up my pair of glasses from my desk – I didn’t need them, but I’d been fascinated with the look since I was a child. I tossed them onto my nose and threw Christi the most snobbishly intellectual expression that my freckled face could handle. “Did you know that mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell? Is there anything else you’d like to know about, master?”
Suppressing a smile, my BFF took the phrase throw pillow to its obvious extreme. I let loose a small squeal as I turned to deflect it with my back.
“You’ve overthinking this,” Christi laughed. “He just doesn’t want some stuck-up bitch. Send back another flirty message, get out there, and get your money!”
I sighed heavily.
“But I’ve been flirting with this guy all week. What if it he does want more than just arm candy?”
Christi shrugged. “So what? If that happens, you either walk away… or maybe you go along with it. You know, it’s not ALL bad, right? Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll have a huge…”
I laughed and tossed the pillow back at her before she could finish.
“There’s no way I’m even thinking about that…”
She held her hands up in pretend surrender. “I’m just playing Devil’s advocate. I mean, that guy looks like sex on wheels. I’d show him just how docile I can be.”
I pretended that I didn’t hear that, turning back around to scan my clothing selection. “Anyway, it’s too much money to turn down.”
She ran her fingers through her auburn hippie dreads, shifting a few of them out of her face. “For that kind of money, I’d ride that guy all the way to my checking account.”
My face scrunched up. “You’re awful.”
“You’re just jealous,” Christi grinned deviously. “So, what are you gonna do? Have you decided yet?”
“You’re damn right,” I smiled, holding up a slimming black dress. My fingertip tapped on the edge of my glasses for emphasis. “If our friend Mr. Moneybags wants smart and docile… then I’m gonna give him smart and docile.”
Chloe
Whatever I was expecting from the night changed the second I walked into the banquet room.
My mystery benefactor, enigmatic as ever, had sent me an address to a swanky restaurant atop a building downtown. This was a part of Philadelphia known for swanky clubs and a rich nightlife… both in flavor and expense.
I’d never been to this building before. The lower fifteen floors were all offices, galleries, and studios for those who could throw down a hefty deposit that would cover every hardback textbook I’d need throughout college.
The lobby was nice but nothing terribly extraordinary. I nervously smiled at the kindly old front desk attendant as I made my way to the elevators, punched in the top floor, and gave myself another shot of adrenaline-based confidence in the mirrored walls.
You
can do this, Chloe.
You’ve got this in the bag.
Intelligent and docile…
The doors eventually pinged open a few floors too early, and an older, affluent couple sauntered into the elevator. They didn’t pay me any mind as they checked the highlighted floor and nodded to themselves.
Oh good, the same party then…
After a few seconds of agonizing silence, they stepped out at the top floor. I hung back a second for distance, then waddled out in my black heels.
The greeting area wrapped past a bar and into the restaurant proper. The graying almost-statues that had interrupted my private pep talk apparently had a table reservation, so they weren’t going to be part of my evening after all.
“Can I help you?”
I blinked rapidly, turning to the smiling but concerned hostess. It looked like this hadn’t been the first time she’d asked that question.
“Oh. Right,” I sheepishly grinned. Way to go, Chloe. Off to a great start… “I’m here for the Chesterfield Group?”
It didn’t escape my notice that she quickly scanned my attire in a glance, and I fought the urge to scowl at her.
“Of course,” the hostess dredged up a polite smile. “Right this way.”
She led me across the restaurant, weaving between tables and aisles until we came to a pair of closed private doors – guarded by a bored, rotund, fuzzy server on a stool behind a pedestal.
“Name?” He wearily asked, glancing at me.
I summoned my courage. “Chloe Lockwood.”
The edge of his lip twitched as he lazily glanced down at a sheet of paper in front. With long, shaggy hair and the approximate urgency of a cat in a sunbeam, he struck me as a strange choice for an employee here. He looked like he belonged in a sloth exhibit rather than a restaurant where the appetizer prices could pay half my cell phone bill.
Lifting a pen to make a small scratch on the guest list, he finally muttered, “Alright. Come on through then.”
Brief surprise struck the hostess as she turned to me. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Lockwood.”
An overwhelmed gasp left my lips as I stepped into the banquet room. The place was huge, decked out with lavish décor and stunning luxury. I couldn’t tell what to focus on first: the crystal chandeliers, the incredible view through the solid glass walls, or the fact that everybody in this goddamn room was dressed sharply enough to put that older affluent couple to shame.
My eyes trailed down to my sleek black dress, which looked positively cheap by comparison. No wonder I was getting funny looks, I thought in disappointment. There goes my great first impression with my mystery guy…
Nobody paid me any attention as I tried my best impersonation of a confident pose. My eyes surveyed the crowd aimlessly, and that’s when it dawned on me…
I recognized some of these faces. These were the men and women whose faces lit up magazine covers, newspapers, and the front page of TIME…
This was a gathering of the Forbes 500.
I was in way over my head.
Before I could decide to stay or to run like hell, someone grabbed my arm in a firm grasp. I whirled around in surprise, ready to smack a billionaire upside the head with the business end of my purse.
“Is that how you greet an old friend?” a deep voice asked, narrowly deflecting my makeshift weapon with his free arm.
There was a face I’d met before. Damian Clarke. He’d been my father’s business partner at their accounting firm in Pittsburgh when I was a kid, but that ended in one hell of a corporate disagreement.
And that’s when Damian became my daddy’s biggest rival.
He moved to Philadelphia and started dominating the market. His new company was kicking my dad’s ass up and down the Eastern seaboard and I heard about it every time I spent a weekend back at home…
“I don’t think we’re old friends,” I replied quietly.
“Well you shouldn’t go attacking your clients either, Princess…” he whispered. Hearing him use his old pet name for me sent a shiver down my spine. I felt his fingertips slide an inch along my arm, and my breathing hitched somewhere in my throat.
My client?
Comprehension slowly dawned over me. I hadn’t seen Damian in maybe six years, but throw a dark suit on him and have him stand in front of a fancy car…
No wonder he cropped his face out of the pictures. If I knew it was him, I never would have come here. This was the man I’d been sending flirty app messages to for the last week. Damian Clarke was the man who just saved my ass from my first three months of college tuition.
This was bad.
“Mr. Clarke,” I choked out a response. “I think I’m in the wrong place. I’ve got to… go… now…”
Damian smiled warmly, drawing me aside out of the line. “I was hoping to enjoy an evening with a beautiful girl on my arm. If you’ve got somewhere to be that’s worth more than I’ve already paid you, then well… I’m willing to raise my bidding price.”
This was all wrong.
He read my hesitance with a glance.
“Nothing’s changed about our little arrangement, Chloe. I want an intelligent and docile girl to help me smooth a few things over tonight. It’ll be fun.”
“I’m not smoothing anything over for you Mr. Clarke. Let me go before I make a scene,” I replied.
He released his grip, taking a small step back before locking his intimidating eyes with mine.
“Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you? I’d hate for your father to find out about your little extra-curricular activities…”
My fear turned to anger in a heartbeat.
“Are you seriously threatening me?”
His expression instantly changed; his smug, arrogant visage evaporated, leaving behind a hint of surprise. “No. Absolutely not.”
I crossed my arms as he continued.
“I’m making you a promise, Chloe…”
“A promise?” I hesitated.
“Go through with tonight. Act the part I’m paying you to play. Make a good impression on the people here, and at the end of the evening you can go.”
“Is that it?” I demanded, feeling myself soften at his change of demeanor.
“That’s it,” he lifted his palms in surrender. Arrogance slowly flooded back into his eyes as he lowered them, a smirk crossing his face. “But try to step out of line, Princess… and I’m afraid that there will be consequences.”
He leaned in darkly, as if to say don’t test me, but we both became aware of a voice calling out to him.
“Damian Clarke?” A stern old man in a snappy suit was strolling towards us, a dolled-up woman thirty years his senior on his arm. “I was hoping that you’d make it!”
Recognition quickly sparked across Damian’s face as he leaned in to me.
“Oil magnate,” he whispered into my ear. “Recently merged with Triss Oil...” His fingertips instinctively slipped to my lower back, turning me towards our company. “Charles Buchanan! What a pleasure.”
The men shook hands, and I shared a polite smile with Mr. Buchanan’s date. My eye caught on her massive diamond ring, and I corrected myself internally.
Wife.
“You’ve met Mary-Louise,” the stern, elderly businessman motioned to his wife. Damian drew her hand into a kiss.
“Of course I have. Enchanté.”
“Pleasure,” Mary-Louisa cooed in that typical overacting of flattery that was expected of highbrow sophistication.
I wondered if they had specializing schools that trained you to fine-tune the precise amount of hamming it up you had to do to navigate the waters of billionaire socials.
Tuition was probably a goddamn fortune.
Charles Buchanan turned expectantly to me, and Damian redirected his attention. “Allow me to introduce my lovely date for this evening, Chloe Lockwood.”
“Miss Lockwood,” Mr. Buchanan smiled as he pressed a peck against my knuckles. “Beaut
iful and radiant! Just the woman to stand at Damian’s side tonight, although… I can’t say I’ve seen you before…”
“It’s rare that I can pull myself away from my studies long enough to make these socials,” I smiled innocently enough. “But it is a pleasure to meet you, sir… and may I say, congratulations on your successful merger. Triss has plenty of room for growth in this market, and I can’t wait to see what your leadership can do for my portfolio.”
Smart.
Just like you wanted.
But what about docile?
Charles Buchanan seemed to be pleasantly surprised, his smile turning from me back to my unexpected date. “You have a good eye for company, Damian.”
“I like to think so,” my benefactor smirked. His expression was subtle, but I could feel his fingers press a little firmer into my ribs.
I knew that I’d done well.
“I have to make my rounds,” the older businessman glanced over his shoulder, turning back, “but look for me later tonight because I’d love to have a few more words. Until then.”
The men shared a respectful nod. Mary-Louisa and I smiled warmly at one another as they departed our company.
“Keep that up, and you’ll win them all over,” Damian whispered into my ear.
Another teasing shiver slipped down my spine. It was hard to tell it if was because of his husky, confident voice, or his words of approval, but one thing was certain for sure:
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Chloe
Four hours later, Damian Clarke was walking me to my parked sedan in the multi-level garage.