by Amber Bardan
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of all the reactions I had, and my face gets hot. Was I too much?
Over the top?
My lungs burn. Casual is my signature style. The last time I got off before today was six months ago when I rubbed one out myself, while riding Chef Neil in the back of his station wagon. Then refused to give him my number. He wasn’t happy, but I don’t have time to mess around with a guy who’s needy. I’m not soppy or gushy or clingy or even romantic when it comes to boys and sex. This is all so unlike me, it’s frightening.
Not that anything that happened today was with a boy.
“Katie.” He says my name sentence-long again, but this time, it’s not half as bossy as usual.
I adjust my grip on the fork and look at him.
“If you like eggs and bacon and sausage, and you are hungry, which I know you are, then eat.” He leans a little closer and looks at me so hard I tingle from the attention. “And let me worry about how much effort you deserve from me.”
The muscles in my chest deflate. God, the things he says. We’re not playing right now, but it’s so close to it that I’m compelled.
I cut up the sausage, the bacon, the eggs, and stab a piece of each with my fork and shove it into my mouth. I chew and eat and eat.
His breakfast is great.
He watches me and drinks his coffee. “I didn’t know you take classes.”
I swallow. “Yes, I take patisserie.”
“And you do mornings here and night nanny.” He rubs his chin. “And don’t you also babysit at home?”
I nod and scoop up some egg. Wow. His memory is excellent. I think I mentioned that one time when I first started with him, and we talked work hours. “But I only do that when Mom’s shifts line up with class and picking up the twins; otherwise, Jake stays with the lady next door while the older kids are at school.”
He leans back. “How many siblings do you have?”
I chew slowly. What is even going on now? He can suddenly speak in full sentences. He can suddenly ask questions that aren’t directly related to something he wants done. “Six.”
His eyes widen fractionally. Yeah, we get that reaction.
“Your parents must be busy?”
“Mom.” I sigh and focus on the plate. Yep, we get that a lot, too. I poke a piece of sausage. “Mom’s busy.”
“But your dad’s not busy?”
I stare at the fork and eat the sausage to stifle the groan. How does conversation always wind up here? “Wouldn’t know. Never met the obviously genetically blessed dude.”
Silence expands.
I glance up. His expression has gone too thoughtful. Squinty times a million.
Oh, no…
“No, nope.” I drop the fork on the plate. The clatter rings through the room. “I don’t have secret daddy issues.”
His squint remains just the same.
My mind flashes to the moments after the bath, and I shift in the seat and hold up my hands. “Okay, maybe there’re some feelings, but it’s not how I see you thinking it.”
Now his frown gets real. “How, exactly, am I thinking?”
“I’m not going around banging older dudes, hunting for a daddy, if that’s what you assume.” I shove the plate away and shake my head. Of course, he thinks that. I practically begged for this. “Well, I have banged older dudes before, not as old as you, though—”
His scowl deepens. Fuck. I lick my lips. Poor guy is only thirty-six, and from the looks of him, I just made him feel sixty-three.
Stop talking, Katie.
“Not that you’re that old, but what I’m trying to say is, that’s not what today was about.” I wipe my mouth on the napkin then fold it in half. “If anything, I think it’s just easier for me to try something I think most girls would find very sexy.”
His expression flattens. “And you found what we did today very sexy?”
“Well, yes.” I drop the napkin. Oh, god. “Didn’t you?”
He’s back to looking overly thoughtful, and I want to press my finger to the crease between his brows and rub it out.
“Yes, Katie, I found what we did very sexy.”
I exhale. Thank fuck. “Good, then we don’t need to over-think something that was just some fun.”
Fun. I nearly snort. Don’t think Clay knows the meaning of the word. Half of what he pays me for is to play with his dog, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t know how to do it himself.
“But, Katie.” He stares at me again. “It isn’t something that was.”
I shake my head. What?
“It’s something that is.”
His direct gaze makes me hot, as if I’m in the bath again.
“I want to fuck you, Katie.”
Sweet baby Jesus.
I press a hand to my chest, where it feels like an artery has clogged in four places. Not that his statement comes as a surprise. If anything, I’m shocked he didn’t already do it while I was naked in his bathroom. “Okay.”
“I want to fuck you while you call me Daddy.”
I’m stuck on the way he says that word—with a rumble that stretches out between us and makes my body respond.
My pussy throbs again.
The way he says it has about eighteen different layers. He’s not trying to be my non-existent father; he wants to be my daddy. The man who’s going to take care of me.
Protect me.
Punish me.
Make me scream.
My hand closes on my chest. Oh, boy. “I’m good with that.”
Isn’t that already obvious? What else do I need to do to prove it?
The way his jaw works at my answer, I’m not all that sure if he’s thrilled or infuriated.
“Good. Then whilst we’re discussing this we need to set some boundaries,” he says.
My nose wriggles, and I pick at a bit of toast that’s not hot enough to enjoy anymore. Boundaries. Such as, don’t-fall-in-love-with-me-silly-little-girl? Of course, he wants boundaries. He’s rich and famous and gorgeous, and who the hell am I? “All right.”
“Are you on contraceptives?”
The toast sticks in my throat. I cough. Talk about getting right down to it.
“Yeah, isn’t everyone?” I take a gulp of coffee to wash it down. “But I still want protection.”
His voice drops an octave. “Is that negotiable?”
I wipe my mouth. There’s no denying I’ve fucked a fair few people. I’ve had the odd guy try to whine me into not using anything. I’ve never had one ask me point blank, upfront, beforehand, for a way around it.
His gaze moves over me, to the knot on the shirt he tied, and holy shit, I can practically see what he’s thinking—he’s picturing coming inside me.
I drain the entire remaining coffee in the cup. Is it negotiable? Sure, if we want to book some appointments, but at this point, it’s putting the cart before the horse. I rarely date someone more than a few times. My life isn’t very relationship friendly.
He needs to chill.
“Yes.” I smile at him as wide as I can. “After our wedding, you can come in me all the time.”
His gaze crashes back to my face, and his mouth opens, but he shuts it again.
I bite my cheek to stop from laughing. Poor guy has forgotten how to be teased.
“I’m joking, Clay,” I say then school my expression to dead serious. “I’ll still make you wrap it when we’re married.”
He blinks twice, the cogs in his head so not seeming to keep up, that now I can’t help giggling.
He frowns. So damn serious all the time.
“Still joking.” I wave a hand as if I’m done. “How am I going to make seven little Clays if you don’t give me your baby juice?”
He wipes over his mouth with his hand.
I laugh so hard my abs hurt, and I tug at the waistband of my too-tight shorts.
He shakes his head, but there’s the slightest twitch to his mouth. The slightest smile. “You’re being silly, Katie.”
>
I shrug. “Well, sometimes I am silly.”
“I haven’t seen you like this before.” His attention turns softer on me.
My tongue darts across my lips. “That’s because you were always too cranky and brooding to talk to me.”
His expression slips.
Slips so swiftly and into such sadness, my stomach drops.
What did I say?
He glances away from me, to the table, and this big, strong man, this athlete, doesn’t look so larger-than-life anymore.
“You’re talking to me now.” I reach for the hand he has on the table and set my fingers over his. “I like talking with you.”
And I do. In the few moments we have been, I’ve already seen Clay doesn’t waste time saying the polite thing; he says the real thing. The true thing. He makes me feel like I could talk.
I could talk, and not only would he listen, but I could believe every word of his response because that response would not be fettered.
He looks at me again, and there’s something there, something silent. Something that makes me ache so badly I have to break the moment.
“Okay, so, condoms, but you can come on me.” I pull back.
His attention shifts, and his brow arches. “Wherever I want?”
Oh, boy. There’re areas I could prohibit, but I have a flash of him coming on my chest and can’t bring myself to set those kinds of limits. “Sure.”
He smiles.
I laugh again. So he can smile. His teeth flash, and my chest constricts. That smile is knock-a-girl-on-her-ass gorgeous.
And I remember it.
My laughter dies. I remember that smile from pictures of before I knew him. Back in the days before Clay Colson had any sad nickname. They’re still there, on the internet for anyone who searches for them to see.
I’ve looked at them several times, and every time I do, it makes me feel evil. Spying on his old self like that.
“I have one of those boundary things.”
His smile dissipates, falling back to his usual straight face as though it were never there. “Okay.”
“We can’t do this while I’m on the clock. It has to be on my own time.”
He takes a deep breath. “When are you free?”
“I have Friday nights off if you want to see me then.” I link my fingers together and stare at my nails. “Or I can do tomorrow morning for a few hours after I’m finished with Dixie.”
Friday night like a date. My shoulders curl. This is not dating. He may not want to see me then. On a dating night of the week. He wants boundaries, after all. My tongue darts between my lips. Shit, even with all the stuff we did today, the one thing we didn’t do was kiss.
“May I see you both?”
I glance up and tuck my hair behind my ear. Really? My belly flutters. “Yes, you may.”
His mouth curves again, a hint of a smile.
I scoot the chair back and stand. “Well, I’d better get going.”
“We haven’t finished talking.”
I almost groan. Knew it. I knew he’d be weird and make us talk about the sex more. I look at the clock. “I have like, fifteen more minutes.”
“Then let’s not waste words. Sit down, Katie.”
So damn bossy
I drop back down into the chair.
“I want to take care of you.”
I shiver. He used his daddy voice on me.
“That is easiest to do if I know what you want, and I know what you don’t want.”
I rest my chin in my hand but can’t really look at him. This feels almost like being in the bath again.
And there’s so much more of that I want.
So I spend the next fifteen minutes telling him all the dirty things I’d let him, only him, do to me.
Chapter 5
Clay
Her time was up fifteen minutes ago. What the hell is she doing?
I glance out the window. Katie bends over, chatting away to Dixie as though she’s a person. I swallow. The morning has passed in excruciating moments. A second-by-second battle to honor our deal—not while she’s on the clock. Where all I could think about was how she sat at my table and told me things. Remembering her sitting there, pink cheeked, and talking through her fingers. Things she’d let me do to her. They’ve haunted me like poltergeists, those things.
Except, for the first time in a goddamn year, she appears to be in no rush. No hurry whatsoever.
Has she changed her mind?
I go to the door and step outside. “Katie.”
She looks up from Dixie and grins. I almost stagger. Look at that smile. Those perfect, short, even teeth. So adorable she couldn’t possibly be for me.
She beckons me over with the curl of her finger. “Dixie, let’s show Daddy what we can do.”
Daddy. My hands clench, but I approach.
She turns to Dixie then grabs her own throat with her hand, tilts her head, sticks out her tongue, and makes a gurgling sound. The boxer falls to the ground, rolls onto her back, her legs straight up in the air.
I blink and stare at my petrified dog. “What have you done to her?”
“She’s playing dead.” Katie shoots me this tsking side-eye, as if I should know better. “See?”
She pats her thigh, and Dixie bounces up and sits, thick tail thumping on the grass. Katie does the ridiculous, tongue-out, choking thing, and Dixie tips over.
She laughs and claps her hands. “Good girl.”
Dixie leaps ups and crashes into Katie’s legs. She bends and pets the dog.
“You taught her that?” I glance back and forth between girl and dog. “How long did it take?”
“About three weeks. She’s really good at it now.” Katie beams.
I squint. What else has she managed without me knowing?
She touches my arm. “Try it.”
I glance at her delicate fingers on my arm. Try that? I’d look absurd doing that. I look back to Katie. Sure, it’s cute when she does it, but I’d look like a giant fool.
I frown. “No.”
“Please, won’t you try?” Her fingers move to my upper arm. “It’s fun, Daddy.”
My muscles clench. The cheeky tease. Daddy-ing me like that.
She looks up at me with cornflower-blue eyes and dusty lashes, and how the fuck am I supposed to say no?
“Dixie.” I grip my throat and make the stupid sound.
The dog turns to me, panting excitedly.
And does nothing.
“Dixie.” I repeat louder, and do it again.
Her tail thumps the lawn, and her head tips to the side. Even she thinks I’m ridiculous.
“You’re supposed to stick your tongue out.”
I glance at Katie. Fine. I stick out my tongue and try again.
Dixie trots back to Katie, who scruffs her neck. Why the hell isn’t my dog doing her trick for me?
“Hmm,” she says. “I guess she just responds better to my authority.”
My teeth snap. What now?
She hooks her thumb into the pocket of her almost-invisible shorts. “Dog’s respond to the most alpha in a group, you know.”
My gaze takes her in from the toes of her scuffed sneakers to the top of her blonde little head. This itty-bity, dainty, little thing thinks she’s the most alpha here?
More than me?
I roll my head on my neck. Just give me a goddamn minute, and I’ll show her some goddamn authority. First, though, I’m nailing this trick.
“Dixie,” I growl, jam out my tongue, grab my throat, tilt my head, and make the gurgling sound.
Dixie bounds to me and throws herself against my shins.
“Told you, authority.” Katie clucks her tongue. “You spoil her too much. She needs a firmer hand.”
What. The. Fuck.
“See?” She does it again.
I watch, gaze flying from Dixie to Katie and back again. A flash of movement catches my eye.
No way.
Katie clutches her throa
t with her right hand, but with her left hand, tucked right by her hip, she twirls a single finger.
I step forward. “You little cheat…”
Katie stumbles back and bursts into laughter.
I point a finger at her. “That was never the signal.”
She fooled me. Fooled me the whole time.
She laughs harder and points at me in return. “Gotcha!”
The brat.
“Got me?” I shake my finger at her. “No, honey—I’ll get you.”
Her eyes go wide. I lunge forward. She squeals and bolts across the lawn. My arms swipe at nothing. Dixie shoots after her. I growl and go after them. My strides eat up the space between us in a few moments.
She glances behind her and squeals again. Dixie tangles in my legs. I hit the ground hard and look up.
Katie sprints to the corner of the yard with the cherry tree.
I see what she’s going to do before she does it. “Don’t go on that, Katie.”
She scrambles onto the ancient trampoline I never bothered to have scrapped when I moved into this place.
“It’s not safe,” I shout and get to my feet.
It’s too late; she’s already on it. The squeak of rusted springs rings out.
I glance at my grass-stained jeans. It’s a good thing I already called that I’d be in late today. She bounces higher as I approach.
“Get down.”
Her hair flies up above her head. “But I’m playing.”
The way she says that almost has my zipper busting. Playing. I know full goddamn well how she likes to play—that’s what she calls what we do. Playing. Except now she’s gone rogue, making up her own rules.
Toying with me and trying to get a rise.
I reach the edge of the trampoline. Well, something has risen, all right. “If I have to come up there and get you, there will be big trouble.”
She bounces again, and it’s undeniable, yet again, that the girl is not wearing a bra. “Come up and play with me.”
“No. I’m too big, I’ll break it.” My voice goes as rusted as those squeaking springs. I look at those perky, bouncing tits, and I can already see them, twisted toward me, covered in my cum.
Then tension winds tight in my balls. I want that again. Want to cover her in me and claim what’s mine.