Dear Daddy, Please Spank Me - Chara Croft Page 0,16

which meant nothing. At least, nothing for me. Because he’d had plenty of time to check out my profile if he’d been interested, so the fact that he’d never responded meant that either he hadn’t been curious enough to even look, or he had, but hadn’t found anything in my painfully honest self-description to impress him.

And really, it was to be expected, but—

A private message window suddenly appeared on my screen. Jordan’s user name at the top, and the word naughty blinking at me in the middle.

Another auto response.

He’d replied?

To me?

Before I could catch my breath, three dots appeared at the bottom, indicating that he was typing. And then another message appeared. A phone emoji followed by ten digits.

He was sending me his phone number?

For a split second, an overwhelming feeling of… of rightness and satisfaction rolled through me, but then that second passed, and I frowned. What the hell was he thinking? We hadn’t even chatted yet. What if I actually was a creepy stalker? The app was set up so that nothing in the profiles gave away personal information that could be tracked into real life, but a phone number? That definitely could be.

I tapped out a quick message and hit send—

You shouldn’t give your number out to strangers.

—and then groaned, dropping my forehead down to the desktop.

“Ellen, I’m an idiot,” I said, almost feeling sick.

On the one hand, I was right. It wasn’t safe, and he shouldn’t. But on the other hand, Jordan Wendt had just asked me to call him... and instead I’d sent a message guaranteed to end our conversation before it even started.

Proof? The crickets I got in response.

I sat back up and looked at my phone. Yep, still nothing.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I muttered, even though I didn’t normally resort to profanity.

I checked again. Not even dots.

Then I stared at the message thread for another minute, willing it to magically change into something that didn’t spell the end of all my hopes and dreams. Another fail.

Then I finally broke—because at this point, what did I have to lose?—tapped the number, and hit the call button.

“Hey, Daddy,” Jordan’s husky voice answered after the first ring, making all the blood rush straight down to my dick. “Thought you weren’t going to call.”

“It’s not safe to give out your number like that,” I said, because I truly was an idiot.

Jordan just laughed. “What are you going to do about it, Daddy? Come over here and spank me?”

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. It was one thing to feel like maybe I had an affinity for this Daddy thing after reading about it online, but actually hearing the word from Jordan’s lips? I was suddenly so hard that I ached.

“Because pretty sure that’s the whole point,” Jordan went on, sounding so damn sexy that it almost short circuited my brain. “Your hand, my ass, making me sorry for being so naughty… then, when you realize I’m actually not sorry at all, you’ll have no other choice but to force me to be good on the end of your dick.”

“I would never force you,” I blurted, cementing my status for all time as the antithesis of cool, the least suave hookup in the history of all gay sex, the “what not to do” tutorial for sexting, voice edition.

More crickets.

“Dammit,” I muttered, covering my face with my hand. It was like I’d reverted to being the high school freshman who knew he’d never have a chance. “I’m so bad at this.”

“Dude, you really are,” Jordan agreed after a beat, laughing again.

I took a breath. At least he hadn’t hung up on me. Which brought me back to the whole giving-your-phone-number-to-strangers thing.

I’d gone from “Daddy” to “dude,” so I’d obviously lost any chance whatsoever of actually hooking up with him—much less fulfilling all the ridiculously out of reach happily-ever-after fantasies I’d been carrying a torch for all these years—but at least…

I swallowed, pushing aside my disappointment and focusing on what mattered: taking care of him, even if I’d never be doing it the way I’d started to get my ridiculous hopes up about now. But at least I could still try to help him make better choices in the future… and wow. I really was just as overbearing, responsible, and without game as every guy I’d ever tried to date had told me I was. Fabulous.

I forged ahead anyway, because this was important.

“Jordan, seriously though, you can’t just give your number out like that,” I said, rubbing a hand over my