I wake up startled, my heart beating rapidly, as if I’ve just run the mile in four minutes flat.

The images of my dream are starting to fade, but I can still remember some of them.

My dad was there in my dream, the way he often is. His pants were sagging around his waist because his belt was in his hand.

“Come here, you little brat,” he was saying, speaking out of the corner of his mouth in the nastiest, cruelest tone imaginable. “You know what I do for you? You know how hard I work for you? And what do you do? Nothing, you’re just a little piece of shit, a little brat.”

Just a dream, I tell myself. Just a dream.

I sit up and reach for the glass of water on my nightstand. The water is room temperature, and it soothes me, calming my system down.

I take a couple deep breaths and lie back down on the pillow. But as soon as I close my eyes, the images come back.

But it wasn’t so bad, right? It was basically a spanking with a belt. Nothing more. That happens to a lot of people, right, especially when I grew up? It’s nothing I should be having nightmares about. It’s not like it affected me in any negative way. For proof, just look at how far I’ve come in the business world.

I open my eyes again and check the clock. 4 AM, on the dot.

I might as well get up. Too much sleep is bad for a man anyway. Makes him weak.

That’s what my dad used to tell me when he would wake me up, screaming at me, early in the morning before the sun was up. He’d have been up all night drinking, and couldn’t stand the idea of me sleeping away in my bed, comfortable, and not working on anything, not doing anything productive.

Getting out of bed, I throw on some gym shorts and a t-shirt. Time to hit the home gym.

The lights in the rest of the house are off. Nancy’s in her room, sleeping, presumably.

I stop by Laura’s room, standing outside, and I put my ear against the door. Her soft, cute little snores come through the door, and they make me smile.

After all, Laura’s the most important thing in the world to me. The reason I’m doing this whole crazy fake marriage thing is just to keep her safe. It’s the reason I work so hard. Well, one of the reasons.

But a pang of longing hits me in my stomach. I wish I could connect with her better.

It’s one thing to keep her away from Alicia, but am I really providing such a great home for her, after all, if I’m not really there for her?

Am I acting just like my own parents, being so emotionally distant?

I walk down the darkened hallway and pass one of the other bedrooms. The door isn’t usually closed, but tonight it is. Putting my ear against the door, I can hear faint breathing sounds coming from it.

In my sleepy state, I’d completely forgotten that Olivia’s already moved in. That’s her, sleeping behind the door. She’s probably in a thin nightgown, with the sheets tossed halfway off of her, revealing her perfect, half naked body.

I was still at work when she moved in. Everything is set up for the wedding, which is taking place in two days. I’m going to play it off as a love at first sight sort of situation, where she’s showed me the errors of my ways and showed me that I don’t need to be a player anymore. I just hope the judge buys it.

He will, though. I’m sure of it.

I head into my home gym in the basement, flipping on the lights and standing by the weight racks for a moment, trying to wake up. But the weights will wake me up. That’s all I need.

I need to feel the cold steel in my hands. After long days in the office, I crave something that’s decidedly not cerebral, something that’s real.

Two hours fly by, doing bench presses, leg lifts, squats, and deadlifts, with a considerable amount of weight.

At about six o’clock, I head upstairs, and Nancy’s the only person awake.

“We’ve got a new member of the household,” I say to her.

“I met her last night, sir,” says Nancy.

I nod. “Everything go OK?”

“I had to show her some… things.”

I nod. I don’t want to know what they were. Probably feminine things.

“Sir, I have a question,” says Nancy, standing nervously with her hands folded in front of her.

“Shoot,” I say, pouring myself a tall glass of milk and hitting the button on the automatic coffee maker, one of the finest, that I purchased from overseas.

“Well, sir, I was wondering if your daughter knows about the new guest.”

“Oh,” I say, my face falling. In truth, I hadn’t given it much thought. I guess I am a shitty dad. I haven’t even told my daughter that I’m getting married, or figured out what I’m going to tell her about the fake marriage.

But I take a deep breath and try to think clearly about the situation.

I do some quick mental calculations, trying to figure out the various risks with each decision. That’s the way I make my business decisions. It’s just a matter of risk analysis.

I guess the only reasonable thing to do is to lie to Laura and tell her that I’m really getting married. She’s just a kid and I can’t count on her to keep a secret.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” I say. “But I’m getting married to our house guest. Two days from now, if the plans go through.”

“Oh,” says Nancy, apparently not knowing what to say. “…Congratulations, sir.”

I nod. “Why don’t you tell Laura for me? OK?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be the one to tell her? That’s a big change for a girl her age.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out how to do it,” I say.

I down my glass of milk and jog upstairs, still wearing my gym shorts and t-shirt.

Laura’s still asleep, of course. She doesn’t need to wake up for school for another two hours.

I head to Olivia’s door and knock softly on it, so that I don’t wake up Laura.

“Whaaa?” comes a sleepy reply.

“Rise and shine,” I say.

“Not time,” she says, her voice about as full of sleep as a voice can get.

Ignoring her protest, I open the door and walk into the room. It’s dark in here, with the shades completely drawn.

Olivia’s just a pile on the bed. The sheets completely cover her body and her head.

Her breathing tells me that she’s gone back to sleep, or that she never really woke up.

I walk over to the bed and pull the sheets back from her head with one swift motion.

“Time to wake up,” I say. “We’ve got a lot of things to discuss. The wedding’s in two days.”

She lets out a scream, her eyes wide and her eyebrows rising.

“It’s just me,” I say. “Remember, I’m your future husband.” I flash her a grin. “You wouldn’t scream at your future husband, would you?”

“Sorry,” she says, sounding a little more awake, probably because of the adrenaline. “I just got startled. But what are you doing in my room?”

“I didn’t realize you were going to sleep so late.”

She looks at the clock. “It’s six AM.”

I don’t say anything.

Instead, I take a good look at her. The sheets are starting to fall away from her as she shifts around in the bed sleepily.

She’s not wearing a negligee as I imagined. Instead, she’s been sleeping in a tight t-shirt that clearly displays the form of her breasts, which are naked and braless beneath it.

My cock twitches in my gym shorts.

The sheets are clumped up in a way that shows me the form of her hips and legs beneath it.

My cock twitches again.

Her hair is messy, and she’s never looked hotter. She’s not wearing any makeup, but her natural features don’t need any. Her skin is crisp and clear, and her hair and eyes shine.

“I thought this was going to be my room,” she says. “You know, my own private space.” She says it softly, as if she doesn’t want to upset me. I guess she’s worried about not getting her million dollars if she upsets me, or more likely, she’s the type who isn’t good at confrontation or expressing her own opinion.

“How was the move?” I say, ignoring her comment.

Let’s see what happens when I push her a little bit.

“It was… interesting,” she says. “But, like I was saying, maybe it would be good if we set some boundaries… I think I need to have my own personal space.” It’s obviously costing her a lot of mental effort to say this, fighting her own anxieties and insecurities. She’s not the type who can tell someone something easily.

“It’s my house,” I say. “And I’m paying good money for you. You’re going to do what you’re told, is that clear?”

She nods her head.

“And since this is my house, that means this is my room. Is it your room?”

She shakes her head.

“This is my room, right?”

She nods her head.

“And that means I can come in here whenever I like. Trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

At this point, my cock is raging hard from staring at her, from the proximity of her half naked form. My mind is running a thousand miles a minute wondering if she’s wearing panties underneath those sheets.

My cock is bulging up conspicuously in my thin athletic shorts, pulling them up farther on my muscular thighs.

I see her glance at it, and then look away, her face blushing.