by Ava Sinclair
“Excuse me,” she finally asked, not knowing any other way to satisfy her curiosity. “But are you like this all the time?”
“Like what?” Fiona was sitting cross-legged on the floor and didn’t even look up as she pulled a dress off her American Girl doll and went through the wardrobe case for another.
“Like… like a kid…”
Fiona looked up. “Why?” The brunette’s tone was guarded. “Do you think there’s something wrong with it?”
“N-n-no!” Tiffany said. “I mean… I’m new at this, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be like you.”
Fiona smiled now, and her expression took on that of a knowing adult, even if her tone continued to be innocent. “You are supposed to be what Tiffany and her daddy want,” she said. “That might be different than what Dr. Baxter and his little want. Does that make sense?”
“So it… varies?”
“Of course, silly,” Fiona said. “Look at how we already vary. My papa likes skinny girls. Your daddy likes curvy ones. My papa said you have a job as an artist. My daddy doesn’t want me to do anything but play all day long and let him take care of me. I guess in a way, being his little girl is my job!” She paused. “Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” Tiffany said. And it did, and she understood now why Lance had brought her here—not just to prepare her for the next stage of their physical relationship, but for the next phase of their emotional one as well. He wanted her to understand that they could craft their own relationship.
It was, she realized, another way he had of taking care of her. It was all part of his training.
Chapter Ten: Saving the Princess
Even under normal circumstances, it would have been hard to get back to the real world after a weekend away. But for Tiffany, the magical weekend she’d spent with Lance and the Baxters cemented her faith that the relationship she had with her daddy was the right one for her.
It had been their third weekend with the couple. After the initial meeting at which she’d seen Dr. Baxter for her appointment, they’d been invited back, and she and Fiona had gotten on so well that another invitation had been issued. The women were becoming fast friends, and Lance and Tiffany had begun talking about moving into the community that John Baxter envisioned.
On the way back home, she’d broken into a fit of giggles, and when Lance had asked her what she found so amusing, it took her a moment to compose herself enough to answer.
“I’m so glad Nick dumped me,” she said. “If we’d stayed together, I’d have missed all of this.”
“Well, I’m glad he dumped you, too, princess. A man like him wouldn’t deserve you. I can’t say I’m sorry he was stupid enough to give up so easily. The last thing I want is to deal with some jaded ex-lover, not with a gym to run and a little to take care of.”
“I don’t think that’s something we have to worry about,” she said, cuddling up to him as they drove. She shifted in her seat as she did so. Her bottom was slightly sore from the plug he’d inserted the night before they’d left—the first of her ass trainers. Tiffany closed her eyes as she remembered how she’d leaned over the bed, her legs spread and her pussy dripping, as he’d worked the largest plug into her bottom. Lance had lubricated it with her own copious cream, and then afterwards had fucked her pussy hard, as she’d bitten the pillow to keep from waking their hosts. She’d worn the plug until just before they left, but the tenderness in her bottom was a nice reminder.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you carry your bags inside?” he asked when they pulled up to her townhouse.
“No,” she replied. “This will be my workout for the day.”
“That’s what you think, princess,” he said. “I’ll be back at five to take you to the gym. Be ready.”
“I will, daddy.”
She watched him drive away, and hummed a happy tune as she headed up the walk to her door. Inside, she put the suitcase in the hall and was just about to hang up her jacket when she noticed the overturned chair in the living room.
Instinct told her to go back outside, but the house was quiet and she went against her better judgment and walked forward.
She gave a little cry at what she saw. To say her living room was trashed would have been an understatement. The couch cushions were thrown on the floor, and coffee grounds and other contents of her small countertop compost container were ground into the fabric. A lamp lay busted by the chair and her DVDs lay strewn around the room, some of the cases open and the discs inside scratched. Her refrigerator was propped open, and she was sure the contents inside were likely spoiled. But worst of all was the damage to her beloved Winnie-the-Pooh art and her workstation. The framed cels were slashed, and her art table upended, the paints and pencils scattered all over the studio floor.
Her first thought was to call Lance. But then she remembered the conversation they’d had in the car—how he’d expressed relief at Nick’s being out of her life. How had he put it? The last thing I want to deal with is a jaded ex-lover.
She called 911 instead, and stayed on the phone with the dispatcher until a squad car arrived. By the time she opened the door for the cops, she was crying.
As one walked through surveying the damage, the other questioned her. Had she touched anything? No. Had she noticed anything suspicious outside? No. Did she have any idea who could have done something like this? She said nothing. All signs pointed to Nick, but he was in Texas. It seemed unlikely even to her that he would spend money on a plane ticket just to trash her house.
The second cop called to them from the living room. When they walked in, he pointed to the DVDs.
“Some of these are removed from the cases and scratched and some aren’t. Ms. Barlow, can you look at these and tell me why you think these were destroyed?”
Tiffany wiped away a tear. “The destroyed ones are my favorites,” she said, pointing to the Winnie-the-Pooh Christmas Special DVD, The Little Mermaid, and Cinderella.
“Roy,” the other cop called from the back of the house. “It looks like someone forced their way in through the back door. She has a privacy fence so they were able to get in without the neighbors seeing.”
“Look, miss,” the cop said. “This crime looks personal. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me who you think might have done this?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I can’t force you to tell, but the person who did it may be back. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”
“I…” Tiffany looked around. She tried to imagine Nick doing something like this. She’d not talked to him since their last angry conversation. But she had talked to Ruth Anne. She instantly dismissed that possibility as well. Ruth Anne was pregnant, making her doing this more unlikely.
“Listen, officer,” she said. “I really think this is just a coincidence.”
“Is anything missing?” he asked.
“No.”
“Miss, I really urge you to stay with someone tonight.”
“I can’t,” she said, and looked at the clock. “In fact, if you’re done here I really would like to just clean this mess up. I trust that with a break-in you’ll be keeping an eye on the neighborhood.”
“We already plan to talk to the neighbors,” the officer replied. “And we need to dust for prints at least, so don’t touch anything.”
From that point, the day dragged on. After they left, Tiffany set to cleaning up. She worked quickly, not wanting Lance to see the mess, not wanting to tell him. Having him show up two hours earlier than she expected ruined those plans. And when she saw his face, she realized her day had gone from bad to worse.
As soon as she opened the door, he brushed past her and began to look around. When he turned back, he was obviously livid.
“You had a fucking break-in and didn’t call me?” he asked. She jumped. He’d never raised his voice before. “Why not?”
“How did you find out?” she asked, exasperated and eager to change the subject.
“My friend Trey works on the force,” he said. “He saw the fucking report.” Lance turned away and ran his hand through his dark hair before turning back. “Jesus, princess, if someone had been in here waiting…” He stepped forward and pulled her to him in protective hug that made Tiffany feel better until he spoke again. When he did, his tone was quiet, stern.
“Pack a bag. You’re coming to my house tonight, but only after I let Trey know the problems you’ve had with your ex. But that’s only after we talk about why you didn’t cooperate with the cops when we both know Nick had something to do with this, and why you didn’t call me. And I have a feeling this talk is going to end with a very sore ass. Understand?”
The words gave her a shudder, and she left the room to pack her bag.
* * *
While she was out of the room, Lance called Trey. Using the information he’d gotten from Tiffany when he arranged to get her car back, Lance tipped his pal off to where Tiffany’s ex lived and worked. Trey told him he’d make some phone calls and see what he could find out.
When Tiffany came out of the bedroom, she looked sufficiently chastened, and Lance knew she regretted not calling him. But he also knew that there was something at the heart of her reluctance, something he was going to have to correct if they were to move forward.
“Sit down, princess,” he said, and she complied, staring at her hands where they lay folded in her lap. He was quiet for a moment as he watched her fidget.
“Are you serious about being my little girl?” he finally asked.
The eyes she raised to him were full of hurt. “How can you even ask that, Lance?”
“Easily,” he replied. “A little girl trusts her daddy. She comes to him when she’s vulnerable or scared or worried. She doesn’t try to handle dangerous situations on her own. And she sure as hell doesn’t try to hide things from him.”
He could see that she was regretting her decision by the tears in her eyes.
“So you want to tell me why you didn’t come to me?”
“Katrina,” she said.
“What?”
Tiffany stood and walked a few steps away before turning back, her arms crossed in front of her.
“You told me when we first got together that you were okay with breaking up because she needed more than you could give…”
“Tiffany…” he began.
“No… let me finish, Lance!” She put her fingers to her temples as she continued. “I don’t want you to get tired of me the way you got tired of her always needing you. You said today that you were glad there wasn’t an ex to deal with, and I come home and what do I find? My house trashed. And the first thing I thought wasn’t about protecting myself, but protecting what I have with you. And yeah, I know that’s probably not healthy…”
He walked over to her. “It’s not, Tiffany,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “It means that you still think that you’re the lucky one, and that this relationship is so unstable that a little tip in the balance is going to have me taking off. But understand. I cannot be with you if you continue to think like that. I can’t be with you if you’re always going to be so scared of losing me. Because it means that you’re never going to believe me when I tell you that I’m not going anywhere. I can’t be with you if you think I’m lying when I say I love you.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. “God, Lance. I never thought of it that way.”
He took her in his arms. “I know,” he said. “But you need to start thinking of it exactly that way. The only thing that can drive me away now is your continued lack of faith. I need you to stop thinking I’m the prize, baby. You’re the prize. You’re the little girl I always wanted. The only thing that can come between us is you. So stop sabotaging our relationship. You got me, princess. Understand?”
She nodded and hugged him. “I’m sorry, daddy. Forgive me?”
“Absolutely.”
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted the moment. Lance listened as his friend told him that man had been arrested after running from cops who tried to pull him for a moving violation. The man had acted nervous when he’d finally been pulled, and the arresting officer reported that the driver—described as paranoid and belligerent—had a Texas license and said he was in Seattle on business.
“Sound like anyone your girl knows? Trey asked.
Lance glanced at Tiffany. “Sounds exactly like someone she knows,” he said. “I think it’s time we had a talk with this asshole.”
Chapter Eleven: A Little’s Strength
Tiffany almost didn’t recognize him. The handsome boy next door who’d walked out on her that day in Texas was now scruffy, unkempt, and sporting both a slight paunch and the start of a receding hairline.
When she walked over to stand in front of his cell with Lance by her side, she could see Nick’s eyes moving over her, and then moving to Nick.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nick asked. Beside her, she could feel Lance tense, and knew he was eager to step in. But before they had entered the cell block, she’d asked him to let her handle this to the extent she could. Tiffany knew that everything Lance had said to her earlier was right. She needed to get past her fear, her doubts, her insecurities. And the man looking at her from the other side of the bars had been the one to put them there. Standing up to him once and for all would help her move forward.
“Hello to you, too, Nick,” she said. “And thank you so much for trashing my apartment.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he said.
“Right, which is why they found your prints all over my stuff.” She shook her head. “You know, when I heard you were here, I was scared at first. I thought, I’m going to see him and think back to all the good times we had and maybe feel sorry for him.” She cocked her head. “But you know, it occurred to me as I walked in that we never really had any good times.”
“That’s probably because I was only using you to get closer to your friend,” he said.
She could feel Lance tense again. She reached over to squeeze his hand. Wait, the gesture said.
“Yeah, the cops tracked Ruth Anne down today, too,” Tiffany said calmly. “At first she tried to cover for you, but when they told her they knew TexCan had sent you to Seattle on business, she admitted that that’s where you were. I guess she can’t afford to have both of you in trouble, especially with her being laid off.”
Nick grabbed the bars. “How the hell did you know about that?”
“Oh, she told the cops when they talked to her,” Tiffany said. “She also said you were under a lot of stress. I guess living in a small apartment can do that to you. From what I understand you’re still there. Didn’t get the house, I guess. Bummer.”
“Yeah, like your life is so fucking great!” Nick spat. “You still drawing pictures, you fat fucking cunt?”
Now she had to squeeze Lance’s hand harder. “Yes,” she said. “Still drawing pictures, paying my own bills. And for the first time in years, I’m happy, Nick—happy to be away from you, but more important, happy with myself. And happy that the two people who used to mean so much to me—you and Ruth Anne—both have partners they deserve.”
“At least I’ve got a partner,” Nick said.
This time Tiffany didn’t squeeze Lance’s hand, and he stepped forward.
“So does she,” he said. “I’m Lance, Tiffany’s boyfriend.”
Nick laughed. “Really? Like I’m buying that. She put you up to this?”
“Not at all,” he said. “And she wouldn’t have to. Tiffany’s a beautiful woman. But it would take a man to recognize that.” He laughed. “I guess that’s where we’re different. From what I’m seeing, you’re not much of a man.”
“Oh, yeah? What the fuck do you know?” Nick was growing red in the face now.
“I know that you’re lucky there are bars protecting you,” Lance said. “Because you’re the kind of person who’s only tough when he thinks it’s safe. You’re tough over the phon
e. You’re tough when you’ve got your pregnant girlfriend doing your talking for you. And you’re tough when you’re breaking into someone’s house instead of having the balls to face them. But we’ll see how tough you are by the time the court system is through with you. We checked it out, and apparently TexCan doesn’t look too favorably on employees who commit crimes while they’re on company business trips.”
“He’s right,” Tiffany said. “What was it you told me when you left, Nick? You deserved better? Let me know how that works out for you.” She turned away, hand in hand with Lance. “On second thought, don’t bother. I really don’t care.”
She ignored his hurled insults as they walked away. The next time she’d face Nick would be at his sentencing and conviction for the crime of breaking and entering and damage to personal property.
Back at Lance’s house, he took her in his arms and told her how proud he was of her.
“My little girl found her strength today,” he said.
“You’re my strength, daddy,” she replied.
“I’m part of it, princess. But you’re stronger than you realize. And I like that, just so long as you realize that I’m stronger. Speaking of that…”
He did not have to say another word. Tiffany not only knew she had to be punished; she wanted to be punished. She’d let her insecurities come between her and Lance. That could not happen again. Walking over to the sofa, she reached under her skirt and pulled down her panties. Then she leaned over the arm of the sofa and reached back to raise her skirt.
But she didn’t feel quite so brave when she looked back and saw the paddle. Where had that come from? She didn’t have much time to ponder the question. There was no preamble to this spanking; after all, there was nothing to say. They both knew she’d warranted correction, and daddy didn’t hold back as he spanked Tiffany. The room was soon filled with sounds of her cries and the crack of polished maple against her flesh.