Misadventures of the First Daughter (Misadventures Book 5) Read online

  Misadventures of the First Daughter

  Meredith Wild

  Mia Michelle

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2017 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Waterhouse Press

  Cover photographs: Shutterstock

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For Krystin, thank you for everything...

  –Meredith

  For Emma, Braelyn, and Fuchsia—I am so incredibly blessed to have you beautiful ladies in my life. Thank you for always believing in me, even when I didn’t. I love you with all my heart.

  –Mia

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Continue the Misadventures Series with

  Chapter One

  More Misadventures

  About Meredith Wild

  About Mia Michelle

  Chapter One

  Charlotte

  Every minute that passes, I seem to sink farther down into the couch. I’m smaller, heavier, less noticeable. I’m not sure I mind.

  The room is noisy with music and people I don’t want to talk to. I may be one of the most important people in the room, but I’m still new to the DC scene. Right now, there aren’t that many friendly faces, though I’m sure that will change quickly. Our parents might run the world, but the rest of us just want to get fucked up and have our fun while no one’s watching.

  I take a gulp of tequila from my crystal tumbler and glance sideways toward the hallway. Zane stands there like a stone mountain, his body half-obscured behind the wall, the other half visibly squared toward me. His eyes are slate gray and seem to blacken when he’s particularly pissed off. The rest of his features match his dark demeanor. His neatly trimmed chestnut hair does nothing to hide the earpiece he wears constantly. His skin is a natural olive. His typical black suit is tailored perfectly to his muscular frame, and my gaze lingers where it shouldn’t—the apex of his thighs.

  I return my focus to my drink and take another sip. My head is already buzzing with the effects of the alcohol, but I don’t care. I’ve been living and breathing my father’s election for almost two years. All eyes on us. All the right moves. Cameras, interviews, gossip, drama. At some point, my anxiety took over. And at some point, I started using whatever means I could to temper it.

  The life of a politician’s daughter was one I was used to, but nothing could have prepared me for the nationwide attention of the campaign. Months of brutal, relentless attention. As much as I wanted him to win, I dreaded the life we were signing on for. A new home in a new city, new friends, new everything. The only plus was no one was going to be looking at me under a microscope that way anymore. At least not until the next election.

  Over the rim of the glass, one familiar face stands out among the group gathered in the large living area. Nate Christiansen’s curly brown hair is tight to his scalp. He’s tall with a pale complexion and a bright, practiced smile. The more I drink, the more attractive he becomes. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, either. This is the third time he’s invited me over to his penthouse. Once for another party, and once for drinks that could have led to sex. But of course Zane was banging on the door, telling me I had to get back home.

  Well, not tonight.

  The inauguration buzz has died down, and my parents have settled into a routine that doesn’t involve me. My mother’s redecorating the Lincoln Bedroom, and my father has his finger on the pulse of the world. No room for me. No time for the daughter who only tried to be perfect for them.

  I lift myself from the couch, steady myself on my heels, and move toward Nate. He turns away from the person he’s talking to—another senator’s son, no doubt—and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smug grin. I match it, and by the time I reach him, he’s alone.

  “Hey, stranger.” I greet him in a sing-songy voice.

  He trails his fingertip down my bare arm. “How’s the party? I feel like we haven’t talked all night.”

  “The party is great. But you know what?” I hand my empty glass to him. “Sometimes talking is overrated.”

  His lips part slightly as his gaze takes a journey from my lips to my tits and back up again. “You’re absolutely right, Charlotte. I don’t want to be inattentive to the needs of my guests. So tell me, how can I make this night everything you want it to be?”

  The suggestion in his tone is heavy and obvious. Unquestionably, I’m heading down a path that will lead to his bedroom. And that’s what I want. I want the tequila to numb the last of my inhibitions, and I want to get fucked out of my mind.

  “Perhaps we could find a quiet spot,” I say.

  I glance back to Zane, who’s crossed the threshold into the room and has me in his crosshairs, as usual. His intense gaze has my breath catching. Without a doubt he works out, and I’m guessing years of training has armed him with lethal skills that he’ll never have to use following me around for the next four years.

  I’m trouble, but I’m not that much trouble… Well, maybe I am.

  I turn back to Nate and keep my voice low. “Problem is, I have a hard time getting any privacy.”

  Nate’s focus shifts to Zane and then back to me. His eyes are still and calculating. “Sure. Listen, the guest bathroom probably has a line. Why don’t you use the one in the master at the end of the hall? It has a connecting room on the other side. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  I smile easily, because the tequila is warming me, and I want a man’s hands on me now at any cost. His plan sounds perfect.

  Without another word, I spin and head back toward Zane, who is guarding the path I need to take. I don’t bother acknowledging him or my plan in any way and slip past him. I’m almost to the door at the end of the hallway when he says my name.

  It’s low and clipped and sends a shiver down my spine. I spin toward him instantly, and he almost barrels into me. I brace my hands against his chest, but I’m off balance. He lassos my waist with his arm and straightens me before I fall.

  “Sorry,” he mutters, but there’s no genuine feeling behind the word. He steps away, regaining a professional distance between us.

  I blink a few times because I can’t remember another time when he’d touched me that much. A subtle touch here or there to guide me through a crowd, but nothing that demonstrated his strength, his warmth… I’m probably just revved up in anticipation of being with Nate, but I feel like all the blood in my body just rushed between my legs.

  “It’s no problem,” I say wistfully. God, I’m ready to fuck anything with a third leg right now.

  “Where are you going?” His unfeeling tone brings me back to reality. He’s only here to protect me and
kill every chance I have at fun.

  I take another step back. “I’m going to the bathroom. There’s a line at the other one.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in there.” He nods toward Nate’s bedroom door.

  I roll my eyes. “Zane, I’ve been here before at Nate’s invitation, as you well know. I don’t think he cares if I use his bathroom.”

  Zane’s jaw hardens, and he resumes his normal posture. Legs wide, hands clasped together. Cold, silent eyes. “Fine.”

  I exhale with relief and hurry away before he changes his mind. I’m so horny now I can barely see straight. As I slam the door behind me, a door on the other side of the bedroom opens and Nate’s there. He’s head-to-toe smug white privilege, from his collared polo to his designer Italian leather shoes. He’ll never be my type, but this is my life. I’ll probably end up marrying someone like him. Might as well get used to it.

  For right now, though, I just need release. I need to get out of my head, because the tequila’s only done half the work.

  I walk toward him, and he meets me halfway. His mouth is on me before I can say anything. He’s all tongue and teeth. Bourbon on his breath. Awkward grasps that have my body tensing despite the fact that I asked for this. He nudges me to the edge of the bed and has his hand on the prize, groping me roughly over my panties. My arousal doesn’t belong to him, but I try to ignore that and kiss him back.

  I just need to disappear and forget this warped existence of mine for a while. Can he give me that? Maybe he’s a better lover than his foreplay skills suggest. He takes his hands off me long enough to unzip his slacks. Uncertainty falls like a stone in the pit of my stomach when he whips out his dick. It’s long and thin and pale, just like its owner.

  “You good?” He’s got his hands on my hips again, pushing me firmly into the mattress.

  I swallow and find my courage. “Turn me around.”

  He smirks. “You like it like that?”

  I nod, because I’m not sure I want to see him when he’s fucking me. I can think of something or someone else this way.

  Zane. With his strong hands and eyes like a cold December morning. I gasp when Nate takes me out of my fantasy, spins me around, and yanks my dress up over my hips. He’s rough in his motions, but I take two fistfuls of the blanket and brace myself for whatever he wants to do.

  I wait for him to pull my thong out of the way when instead he takes a handful of my hair and tugs it painfully. I bite my lip to stifle my objection to his roughness.

  Smack.

  I yelp the second his hand makes contact with my ass. I struggle to get out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than I am. Tears well up in my eyes.

  He slaps me again, harder this time, and his fist tightens in my hair.

  “Nate…no.”

  He’s yanking my thong to the side. No, not like this…

  I put my hands behind me, trying to push him away so we can end this before it begins. I’m stone sober now, my heart racing with panic.

  “Sorry, baby. I should have told you…I like it rough. All the girls want it this way now. You’ll see…”

  Before I can beg him to stop, a thunderous banging on the door freezes us both.

  “Charlotte. Open this door.”

  “Jesus Christ. Tell him you’ll be out in a minute. I won’t take too long.”

  I shake my head even though it hurts to. I don’t want this anymore. “We should stop.”

  “Nah. This guy’s cockblocked me for the last time.”

  I feel Nate’s fingers against my pussy, and I can’t help it. I scream.

  Bang! Bang! Crack!

  The sounds of the party carry into the room when the door busts open. Zane kicks it closed behind him, but it won’t latch because the wood from the jamb is lying in a dozen splinters on the floor.

  “Get your fucking hands off her.”

  Nate releases me and starts backing away from Zane’s approach. He puts his dick away fast, and then his hands are in the air in surrender. “Hey, she asked for it.”

  Zane looks at me for a second. I yearn for his compassion, but his expression is hard and unfeeling as it always is. It’s enough to push my tears over. He slides his intense focus back to Nate.

  “Doesn’t look like she asked for it.” He takes Nate’s shirt and shoves him against the wall with a thud.

  “You can’t touch me!” Nate’s eyes are wide. He’s scared to death, and for good reason.

  A twisted sneer curves Zane’s lips. “You sure about that?” His tone is low and lethal.

  “Let’s go, Zane. I’m sorry. This is my fault.” I barely recognize my own voice. It’s watery and weak. I’m an idiot. So stupid.

  My words are enough to end the increasing tension between the two men in the room. Nate’s still shaking as Zane releases him and comes toward me. I’ve pushed my dress back down, but I don’t feel like the same person who came into this room moments ago.

  “Come on,” he says quietly. “Time to go home.”

  I nod and let him wrap his arm around me and coax me toward the door.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” Nate calls after us.

  Zane stops us and turns his head back. “I’m sure the senator can take care of it. Because if her father hears about this, that door will be the least of your problems.”

  More tears fall. I should care that every reckless act is a threat to my father’s image, but I barely know the man now. Everyone’s too wrapped up in power mongering to notice me or care what I’m doing.

  Zane guides me swiftly through the hallway, past the party, and through the front door.

  I close my eyes and turn my face into Zane’s chest. I feel like everyone can see Nate’s hands on me. Have I ever felt so violated? A second later, we’re taking the elevator down and Zane ushers me into a limo waiting outside. I’m still in his arms once we’re inside. I usually ride alone, but I’m so grateful he’s here now.

  The vehicle moves and tense silence stretches between us. My eyelids flutter open and for a few seconds, I take it all in. Zane’s possessive hold on me. His cool masculine scent drifting over my senses. It’s irrational after what Nate just did to me, but the arousal that burned from Zane’s earlier touch is back.

  The tears have passed, and somehow being cocooned in his embrace is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced. Maybe because I’ve been so deprived of touch, of attention. And I crave more of it…

  I shift so that more of our bodies are touching. My thigh presses against his. My chest aligns tightly with his torso. When I look down, my breath catches.

  Zane’s erection is unmistakable.

  The ache between my thighs can’t be ignored either. I lift my gaze and try to rationalize Zane’s hard expression with his body’s reaction to me. Had I misread him all this time? Does he feel what I feel?

  Only one way to find out…

  I drag my hand from his chest down to the strained fabric by his thigh. My lips part with wonder when I feel his heat and girth under my palm. That quickly, he snatches my wrist and lifts it away.

  “What are you doing?” His voice is a cold snap against the comfort he’s given me.

  I feel like I have whiplash. Who is he?

  “You want me.”

  The muscles in his jaw bulge, but he says nothing. I struggle to free myself from his grasp, but he doesn’t let me go. He tightens his hold, and somehow it’s the perfect amount of pressure to make me dizzy with need. The heat between my thighs is almost unbearable.

  “Take me,” I beg.

  His expression relaxes a fraction, and he shakes his head slightly. “You’re drunk, Charlotte. The reasons don’t end there.”

  I frown, frustrated as ever. “Nate didn’t care and neither do I.”

  “Not sure if you noticed, Charlotte,” he says each word clearly, as if I’m a child, “but Nate and I don’t have a lot in common.”

  “I noticed.”

  I stare into his dark eyes, try
ing to communicate that this attraction didn’t just crop up in the past twenty minutes. Zane’s been protecting my family for months. How long has he wanted me?

  I focus on his lips. I lick mine as I imagine how they might feel against me. Is he soft and gentle, or intense and passionate? What does he taste like?

  “Kiss me. Just once,” I whisper. I have to know how he feels.

  “Charlotte…” His suit jacket tightens as he pulls in a slow breath. “This is dangerous.”

  “Please.” The word is a whimper. I know he won’t give me everything I want tonight, but maybe he’ll give me this one thing. God help me, I need something to channel all this sexual energy toward.

  He releases my wrist and cradles my face in his palms. My heart is pounding at his unexpected tenderness. My body is pulsing with anticipation and pleading for more contact. I can’t wait anymore. I push up in the seat and press my lips against his with a desperate moan.

  I expect him to push me away, but instead he opens his mouth against mine and suddenly we’re fully engulfed in the most intense kiss of my life.

  He’s nothing like Nate. He gives as much as he takes. He seeks and savors. He tastes sweet and smoky. His movements aren’t rushed. If anyone’s rushing, it’s me, because I’m desperate to feel more of him and get him inside me. But his palms never leave my cheeks, and with them he angles me how he wants. Dipping and sucking and exploring every crevice of my mouth with his velvet tongue. Good God, his tongue. If kissing was this good, I couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d feel on my pussy.

  As if that very thought has a physical tie to my clit, a fresh burst of desire hits me, and I’m drenched with arousal. I deepen the kiss and shift to straddle him in the backseat of the limo. I lower myself so I can grind on his stiff cock. Maybe he’ll take me right here…