Page 1 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

Lessons From Daddy

Eve Fontaine

Chapter 1

Lily

Ishouldn’t be in his office.

Not like this.

Not with mascara streaking down my cheeks and my thighs pressed together like I can hold in the shame. Like I can pretend the hallway stares didn’t happen. Like I didn’t hear Tyler laugh when he showed my photo to his friends.

I’m not even crying anymore.

I’m shaking.

And when the door creaks open behind me, I flinch so hard my knees knock.

“It’s just me, sweetheart.”

The principal’s voice is quiet but underneath it, there’s something…off. Like he’s holding back a thunderstorm.

I don’t turn around. I hear the soft click as the door closes.

“Turn around and look at me.”

God, I can’t.

Not when it’s him.

Not when it’s Dane.

The man who used to make me pancakes with Mickey Mouse ears. The man I’ve called dad for years.

After he gave my mom an ultimatum, quit drinking, go to counseling or else, she chose or else.

She left a note and me behind. Dane didn’t flinch. He never made me feel like being left behind with him was a problem.

Dane Weber is my stepfather and also the principal at my school. It’s been an interesting four years.

I turn as my heart hiccups.

He’s across the office in three long strides, all six foot four of him in that tailored black suit that makes him look more like a bodyguard than a school administrator. Hands flexing. Jaw all hard right angles and those ice blue eyes that send heat waves prickling over my skin.

Why does he have tolooklike that? All the girls talk about him. They wonder how big his dick is. Theyaskme. Tease me.

I don’t know for sure. I’ve never actuallyseenit, but I’ve seen hints.

Evidence against the front of his pants. An occasional gray sweatpants sighting.

A new rush of wetness coats my panties.

God, I’m going to hell, I know it.

My step-father is forty-two. I’m eighteen, a month from graduation and he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen. None of theboys at school compare. Dark hair, silver at the temples, just the right kind of lines around his eyes and in his forehead.

And don’t get me started on his forearms. I’ve been drooling in my Captain Crunch at breakfast for longer than I should staring at them every morning as he sits bare chested at our kitchen table, drinking coffee, asking me questions about the upcoming day, what I might need help with not knowing that I’m secretly fantasizing about how his lips would feel on mine.