The DILF (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

3: In Which She is the Pharaoh's Concubine

3: In Which She is the Pharaoh's Concubine

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Born in Cairo, Egypt on December 24, 1978, Devin Lateef Shaw was brought up by his American father in Brooklyn, New York. Shaw's first job as a teen was as a mechanic but since he showed a keen interest in the arts from a young age, his father decided to...

"What am I doing?" I asked myself, exiting the Wikipedia page and slamming my laptop shut. I leaned back in the chair, pulling my knees up under my chin. "This is stalking."

Besides that, I was no doubt being scrutinised by the secret geek Bates had probably hired to monitor my online traffic. Googling Topless Devin Shaw was sure to draw some concern.

Seriously, Rory – you have bigger things to think about, I thought, pushing my chair back and getting to my feet. Like how to get Devin to notice poor Fee.

Actually talking to Devin about it was the real problem. For starters, I couldn't go two footsteps near him without acting like a tongue-tied, star-struck groupie. It was humiliating, to say the least.

Just remember what a prick he is. And a nutcase. And an utter hottie...

I slapped my forehead as if I could slap all thoughts of throwing the man down and having my wicked way with him out of my head. It didn't help – at all. I sighed heavily and went to the balcony. Outside on the beach, Ophelia was chasing Lydia's loyal German shepherd, Bullet, under the woman's watchful eye. Sunday was my day off and, whenever I could, I went out to town and comforted myself with mindless shopping. I never thought I'd find shopping so tedious, but it turned out that the more money I had, the more it became more of a chore. I missed my fiver budgets.

Ophelia looked up and waved frantically. I waved back before returning to my bedroom. Cracking my knuckles, I went back to my perch in front of my laptop. If Devin didn't want to listen to me, I knew exactly who he'd probably listen to: Dr. Phil.

Everyone listened to that bald-headed know-it-all.

 ***

"What the hell is this?"

I quickly looked up from Fifty Shades, startled by Devin's unsubtle intrusion. Half-dressed, he stood in the doorway, his face a picture of irritation. Reading about Christian Grey and actually seeing a topless Devin was not a good combination, especially for my raging hormones. Cursing under my breath, I bookmarked my page and placed it on the nightstand before sliding out of the covers, careful not to wake Ophelia.

"What's the matter?" I asked Devin, although from the sheaf of papers in his hand, I already knew.

"What's she doing in your room?" Devin's attention was momentarily grabbed by his slumbering daughter, who was spread-eagled in the middle of my bed. If I'd thought that that bed was even remotely huge, sleeping with Ophelia had made me rethink my entire perception of size.

"She had a bad dream. That usually happens when little children watch slasher-movie reruns."

The scowl on Devin's face returned and he flung the compilation of Parenting-for-Single-Parents printouts – the ones I'd slipped under his bedroom door earlier that day – in my direction. The sheets of A4 paper fluttered about the room but none of them came even slightly close to hitting me.

"Go to hell," he said through gritted teeth.

"Me?" I asked incredulously, careful not to raise my voice in my anger. "You think I should go to hell? Did you even read the stuff I gave you? If anyone should go to hell, it's you, Satan's stepdad!"