Killing Me Softly: A Romantic Suspense Anthology, page 214
I’m so emotionally weary, I don’t even blush when I tell him, “A kiss.”
He sighs and shakes his head, though not in response to me. More like he knew where this was going, and he let it go there anyway.
“All right, little one. You’ll get your kiss.”
My pulse beats like hummingbird wings. I tilt my face back and close my eyes.
This is it. He’s finally going to kiss me.
His hands disappear. At the sound of footsteps receding, my eyes snap open.
“Where are you going?” I call after Aidan.
“You didn’t specify that you wanted it today.”
I scoff as he rounds the corner.
“Fucking sadist,” I mutter.
11
Aidan
Jen pages through the playbill in her lap. “It says here that Grace performed as the Sugarplum Fairy in The Nutcracker last Christmas. I would’ve loved to have seen that.”
Her boyfriend, Ethan, pats her knee. “I’m sure this won’t be the only time you get to see her dance, love.”
I flip absently through my own playbill, keeping an eye on the stage. The local theater Grace’s ballet company has chosen for their performance of Giselle is small and dated, but it’s not without character. I check the time on my phone; two minutes to showtime.
It’s been almost a month since Grace returned to school, and there’s no denying that I’ve missed having her around. But this time apart has opened new avenues for us to converse.
Part of our arrangement includes daily good-morning and goodnight texts. I’m strict about her bedtime, but I’ve recently found it difficult to set my own phone down.
What began as a method of keeping tabs on Grace while she’s at school has become an icebreaker. It’s easier to be candid with the aid of a screen and some distance between you. I've shared things with her that I rarely discuss. Stories about my mother, and about growing up with Calvin. The selfies and photos I’ve asked Grace to send are an invaluable glimpse into parts of her life that I can’t witness. I’m consistently heartened by her eagerness to share herself with me.
I’m also more confused than ever.
This isn’t how I behave with my submissives, texting in bed and swapping histories. I've become Pavlov's dog; every time my phone vibrates, my hand moves to check the sender, even if I know the text won't be from Grace. In my past vanilla relationships, I’ve gone long stretches without seeing or speaking to my partners.
If Grace goes longer than five minutes without responding to a message, I start to pace.
I stopped dating altogether after the mistake I made with Liam's mother. When I opened back up to the possibility of a relationship, I was in my mid-twenties and no longer starry-eyed and fresh-faced. I was hardened by loneliness and regret. I couldn’t be intimate with a woman without the shadow of my mistake looming overhead. It’s a feeling I’ve yet to shed. But somehow, in these fleeting intimate exchanges with Grace, I’m able to forget the darkness in my past.
Her warm-sunshine smile is bright enough to send the shadows scampering.
A hush falls over the audience as the lights flicker and dim. The cry of a violin cuts through the quiet. The curtains part to reveal a painted village backdrop, as two young men around Grace's age take the stage in modified period costumes.
After a few minutes, Grace emerges from the wings, twirling and frolicking.
I’ve watched her practice this dance countless times in shorts and leotards. Seeing her in full costume is like watching a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis. It’s never been more clear to me that her body was made to do this.
The young man playing the prince tries to kiss her hand. She pulls away, and he dances after her. I watch the push-and-pull of their exchange so intently I'm sure she can feel my gaze warming her from a distance. She knows Jen and I are in the audience. What she doesn’t know is that I’ve planned a special treat for her and a friend tonight. Something I think her feet will appreciate after a long day.
The music changes and more dancers join Grace and the prince on stage. I recognize Grace’s friend, Jasmine, from Grace’s social media posts. The ballet company is small, and a few of the younger dancers miss their cues, but overall, they put on an impressive show.
After a fifteen-minute intermission, followed by the dramatic final half, the performance ends, and the dancers receive a standing ovation.
I make my way to the lobby with Jen and Ethan, where the dancers have come out to mingle with their adoring public. Grace's smile consumes her whole face as soon as she sees us.
"You were brilliant, darling," Jen says, pulling her into a hug.
“Thank you,” Grace says. “I’m so glad you guys came.”
Her eager gaze lands on me, awaiting my reaction.
“Jen’s right,” I tell her. “You were amazing.”
She beams.
Jasmine’s parents come over to congratulate Grace on a job well done. Grace introduces us. Apparently the Hills were Calvin and Evelyn’s friends. I can tell Jasmine’s mother is curious as to why Calvin never mentioned me. Luckily, they can’t chat for long.
“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” I ask the girls after Jasmine’s parents have left.
“I’m not sure,” Grace says. “My mother used to take Jas and me out to dinner to celebrate, so I guess we’ll get food?”
Her smile falters. The urge to wrap my arms around her nearly overtakes me.
I scrub a hand through my hair. "Well, I figured your feet would be killing you after tonight’s performance, so I had Jen book you two an after-hours private pedicure treatment at the nearby spa."
“Really?” Jasmine’s smile widens.
“Absolutely,” I say. “We’ll grab take-out on the way.”
Grace says goodbye to Jen and Ethan, and I find a bench to sit on while the girls run backstage to change. After swapping their tutus for casual dresses, Grace and Jasmine follow me out to the car. It’s a warm night, which I’ve thoroughly embraced by taking the convertible out of storage.
Jasmine pets the side of my Benz before she hops in the back.
“Uncle Aidan’s got a fancy ride,” she says.
Grace shoots her friend a look. “He’s not my uncle.”
We pick up Thai food on our way to the spa where the nail technicians greet us warmly. As soon as we’re settled in, they get to work on the girls’ feet, soaking and scrubbing their calves and soles with sweet-smelling products.
Grace and Jasmine devour their dinners while regaling me with stories of past performances and blunders. I’ve never seen Grace look so relaxed. I force myself not to study her as openly as I would if we were at the house. Jasmine isn’t sure what to make of me, and I don’t know how much Grace has told her about our arrangement. If she’s referring to me as Uncle Aidan, I can only assume, not much.
The girls climb back into the convertible with softened heels and painted toenails. Pulling up in front of the dorm, I get out to open the door and fold the passenger’s seat forward so they can easily climb out the back.
Jasmine gets out first. Before my little one can slide off the seat, I say, “There’s one more thing I need to give you, Grace.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. She turns to Jasmine. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Jasmine glances between the two of us, thanks me for dinner and the pedicure, then heads inside the building. I slide into the seat she just vacated and shut the door.
“Did you have fun tonight, little one?” I ask her.
She floors me with one of her megawatt smiles. “Oh, yes. Everything was perfect. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” Sitting this close to her in a public place feels downright dangerous.
The high points of her face glow beneath the light from the nearby buildings. Her beauty is otherworldly. She crosses her legs in my direction, drawing my gaze to the smooth expanse of her thigh. “What did you need to give me?”
I swipe my finger across my lips. “I promised you a kiss, remember?”
Her eyes widen. She nods.
I’m aware that kissing her now would break every rule I’ve set for myself. But I made a promise, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.
Grasping her ankle, I draw her foot into my lap. She gasps as I slide her sandal off, baring her tender sole. I’m convinced I can hear her heart pounding from across the backseat, assuming it’s not the sound of my own heart rioting in my chest.
My cock swells. I’m not supposed to touch her, yet here she sits, her slim foot in my palm, a perfect representation of Grace herself. Tender delicacy and iron strength forged by pure will.
Closing my eyes, I cradle her sole, and press a gentle kiss to the top of her foot.
A whimper floats from her mouth like a feather.
I should pull away, but what I want is to pull her closer and kiss her harder. I want to paint a path with my tongue, from the inside of her ankle to her inner thigh. It takes every drop of my control to force my hands to move, wedging her foot back into her sandal, and lowering it to the floor.
Kissing her was probably a mistake. I seem to be making a lot of those lately, which should put me on my guard. The more time I spend in her world, and the deeper she slides into mine, and the more I want her, not just as a plaything. I want the girl, the dancer, the ray of sunshine on cracked concrete where daisies have managed to grow.
But that’s not how this works. If I want her as my submissive, I can’t take her as a lover. That’s how it’s been done for twenty years, and how it has to stay.
“Text me before you go to bed.” I reach for the doorhandle.
The click of the latch seems to shake her out of whatever trance she’s in.
“Can I come home tonight? It’s Friday.”
“It is Friday,” I say. “But graduation’s next month. You should cherish the time you have left with your friends.”
I step out of the car and hold the door open for her.
“But graduation’s so far away.” She climbs out of the car with a sigh. A handful of weeks is all that stands between Grace and the end of this chapter of her life. Less than a month from now, she’ll move into my house full-time. And shortly after that, comes an even more momentous date.
June third, her eighteenth birthday.
“It’ll be here before you know it,” I say.
12
Aidan
“No more,” the blue-haired woman cries. “I can’t take it.”
“What’s that, you say?” Matthew cups a hand behind his ear. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your orgasm.”
Dante puffs on his cigar. “I believe she said, fuck me faster.”
“Well, if she insists.” Matthew increases the speed on the fucking machine currently pistoning in and out of the blue-haired submissive’s cunt. He’s got her on all fours in his living room, her wrists and ankles cuffed to spreader bars.
I’ve watched Matthew top this particular sub many times before. She gets off on resisting, and no, stop, and don’t are not her safe words.
She wails like a siren and begs him to make it stop.
Dante rises from the curved leather couch where I’m still seated and returns a moment later with a bottle of brandy. He refills his glass, then offers to top mine off. I shake my head. I’m meeting my son in less than an hour and I want to feel steady.
I turn my attention to the wall of windows and the New York City skyline. I’ve born witness to and taken part in countless scenes in this penthouse apartment. Under different circumstances, I might find the outspoken subs antics amusing, if not altogether arousing.
But today, I’m sidetracked.
In three days, Grace will be graduating from high school. Unless she decides to move out on her own when she turns eighteen, she could be living in my house for the entire summer.
I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off her.
“I want to buy a collar,” I say.
Matthew shoots me a curious glance. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Something subtle and attractive that won’t come off unless I want it to.” My previous Dom-sub relationships have all been varying degrees of casual. I haven’t needed to purchase anything more complicated than a dog collar in decades. I’m hoping my fellow Doms can point me in the direction of a discreet, high-quality jeweler.
“Have you talked to Jacob about it?” Matthew asks.
He presumes I intend to give it to Fiona.
“It’s not for her,” I say.
“Since when do you own a pet?” Dante asks.
“I don’t.”
“Then who’s it for?” says Matthew.
I take a fortifying breath.
“It’s for Grace.”
For a while, the sub’s moans and the mechanical whir of the fuck machine are the only sounds in the room. My friends glower at me the way I’d be glaring at another Dom who’d just admitted to taking on an underaged submissive.
Matthew turns off the machine and orders his sub to be quiet.
“How long?” he asks.
“A couple of months,” I tell him. “I haven’t touched her.”
“But you sure as hell want to.” Dante folds his arms.
“If you haven’t touched her,” says Matthew, “what have you been doing?”
“Helping her make honor roll.”
The two men share a tense glance. As a longtime friend and founding member of the community we’re all part of, I owe them an explanation.
“The night of the play party, Grace asked me to be her Dominant,” I say. “I told her she was too young. We went back and forth and I ultimately decided it was better to keep an eye on her than to risk her trying to get involved on her own.”
Matthew’s gaze narrows. “What exactly does keeping an eye on her entail?”
“Giving her a bedtime. Making sure she does her homework. I’ve been training her as a service submissive. But her birthday’s fast approaching—”
“And you can’t stop thinking about all that unmarked flesh,” Dante says.
I shoot a firm glare in his direction. “I thought our arrangement would run its course, but she’s thriving. I want to train her properly, once she’s old enough.”
Matthew pours himself a brandy and drinks it down. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Aidan? You haven’t had a dedicated submissive in... Fuck, how long has it been?”
“Twenty years, give or take.”
Dante scoffs. “Does the poor thing know what she’s getting into?”
“I plan to discuss the details with her when I present the collar.”
“I mean, does she know you won’t be fucking her? Assuming it’s still your intention to allow ripe fruit to wither on the vine.”
I lift my glass in mock cheers. “Indeed, it is.”
Dante shakes his head. “In that case, you should get her a vibrator to go with the collar. I’ll text you a link.”
I wait at the café for over half an hour with no texts or calls from my son. Since it’s a fair day, and his apartment isn’t too far, I decide to walk to see if he slept in. I put up with a lot where Liam’s concerned, because I know his resentment is justified. But my tolerance for childish antics has its limitations.
His roommate answers the door. Judging by the man’s tussled hair, I get the impression my knocking pulled him out of bed.
“I’m looking for Liam,” I say.
“He doesn’t live here anymore.”
I catch the door before he can shut it.
“Since when?” I ask.
The other man scowls “Since he flipped the fuck out and started waving a gun around like some kinda psycho. Crazy fuckin’ asshole got into it with one of my friends and pulled a pistol on him. I told him to pack up his shit and get the fuck out.”
“Where is he now?” This is the first I’ve heard of Liam owning a gun, and I can’t say I find the news comforting.
“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “Don’t care.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the caller ID: Liam. I thank his now-former roommate for his time and then take the call.
“Hey,” Liam says. “I’m at the café. Where are you?”
“Your apartment. Or what used to be your apartment.”
“Shit...” He sighs. “Yeah, sorry, I lost track of time.”
“You want to tell me what the hell happened? He said you had a gun.”
Liam snickers. “That guy’s full of shit. His buddy started the fight. I kicked the shit out of him. Now he’s calling me a psycho so he doesn’t have to return my security deposit.”
I can already feel a headache brewing between my eyes. It’s hard to tell over the phone whether he’s bullshitting me. As a rule, where Liam’s honesty is concerned, I find the truth usually falls somewhere to the left of wherever he says it is.
“Where are you living now?” I ask.
“I’m staying in a hotel. But that’s not going to be an option for much longer.”
“What happened to the money I gave you last month?”
“Been living off it. I haven’t had much luck on the job front.” He pauses. “Hey, you live in Connecticut, right? That’s not too far from the city. How about I come stay with you?”
I refuse to so much as entertain the thought of Liam and Grace coexisting under the same roof.
“That’s not an option.”
“Why not?” he asks. “What’s your stock worth these days? Two, three hundred a share? I bet you’ve got a nice, gold-plated mansion with plenty of room to spare.”
I’ve avoided sharing my exact address with Liam out of a sense of privacy. I’ve never liked the thought of him showing up on my doorstep unannounced. I’m especially grateful for my discretion now that Grace is in the picture.
“You’re not coming to live with me, Liam.”
“No, of course not. Why would you want to get up every morning and eat breakfast with the son you abandoned? Better to let him become homeless while you sleep soundly on thousand-dollar sheets.”
