by Amber Bardan
As though I don’t have enough of those.
The screen door closes smoothly. I open it, shut it, and open again. It’s perfect. I run a finger over a gap in the frame, where the latch plate has been shifted a fraction. An engine flares, and lights flicker as the last of the cops pull out of our driveway.
Clay.
My heart gives a little flutter. He fixed it. I glance down the hall, where voices rumble, then I shut the front door and go to the kitchen. The boys all gather on one side of the table, squished in on either side of Clay, competing to point at a tablet computer screen. Except for Jake, who’s busy finishing a cookie next to Mom. I take the first full breath since he went missing, walk past, and scruff his hair.
I still can’t believe he tried to take himself to the store.
Clay looks up, and his gaze passes over me. There’s nothing obvious that changes, but I catch the movement of his throat and have to bite on my smile. He likes my dress.
“Katie, I need you for a second.” Mom stands up.
Clay looks back at the screen, where the commentator talks baseball, and he whispers to the boys.
Mom slides a hand down her jean leg, and I know that movement as one that comes right before someone gets a talking to.
“Sure.” I follow her to the alcove.
The purse of her lips pinch wrinkles around her mouth.
I swallow and stare at my shoes. She’s going to tell me off about the door. And so she should—I deserve to be berated.
“Katie, what are you thinking?” she whispers.
I hug my arms. I wasn’t thinking.
“Dating your boss. Your celebrity boss. That’s a very bad idea.”
I glance up. “What?”
Her cheeks have changed color. “He’s your boss. He’s famous. Exactly how do you think this will pan out for you?”
I blink. Why are we talking about Clay? “He came to help me, that’s all.”
“So you’re not sleeping with him?” Her fair brows make slashes.
I shake my head. “Since when do you care who I sleep with?”
Mom hasn’t exactly been a prude about sex. She took me to get protection when I was sixteen. Not that I ever brought a guy home. Maybe that’s what this is about?
She’s weird about attachments.
“I’ve never needed to because you’ve always been responsible.” She looks away, and her expression is so crushed my heart drops two feet.
“Mom.” I step closer. “What’s going on?”
“Honey.” She looks up and takes my shoulders. “Men like that”—she inclines her head toward the kitchen—“they don’t end up with girls like us.”
I picture Clay sitting at our chipped laminate kitchen table we got at a garage sale, surrounded by my six illegitimate siblings, and suddenly, all I can think about is how he doesn’t kiss me.
“You don’t know that.” I get the words out over a closing throat.
“I do know.” She squeezes me harder. “I know how men like him chew through girls who are too trusting.”
My mouth burns as if I’m ill. There’re things I want to ask. Like is that what happened between her and whoever provided the other half of my DNA? Was he important? Did he dispose of her when he was done?
Is that why there’s an age gap between me and my siblings—did she hold out hope for a while?
But I take a breath. That’s not what this is about, and I know she won’t speak about him. “Mom, he’s not taking advantage of me if that’s what you think.”
“Katie, I know you.” She gives me a shake. “I know you’d never call a man to help with a family situation if you hadn’t come to depend on him.”
My eyes sting. I don’t depend on him—but I want to. I want his comfort, and I want his wonderful support. Always.
“Don’t be stupid, honey.” Her grip loosens. “That’s not you.”
“You’re right.” I sniff hard. “I should probably just get knocked up, so I can move on.”
Her hands snap to her chest. Color drains from her face.
Oh, fuck. I want to bite my tongue off.
I reach for her. “Mom.”
She shakes her head and goes back into the kitchen. I cover my mouth, not sure if I need to vomit or cry more.
Why’d I do that?
I turn and lean my forehead on the doorframe. I’m the one who should be ashamed of myself, not her. I’m the one playing kinky games with my famous boss with all his “boundaries.” I knock my head against the wood. She’s right, too. A man like Clay doesn’t end up with a scrappy little no one like me.
“Katie.”
My whole system jolts. I open my eyes and turn to him.
His frown is at maximum. “What do you need?”
A wave of something washes through me, knocking out my doubts and fears. He touches my face, and his fingers are a heavy, warm anchor that slows my heart.
He said that—what do you need—as though the answer is his job and purpose in life.
I step into him and bury my face in his chest. “Take me home with you.”
Chapter 8
The gentle bounce wakes me. I blink in the soft light of a lamp. Clay sets me down on a bed. I rub my eyes. I must’ve fallen asleep in the car…
And he must’ve carried me in.
I smile and roll onto my back. “Hello.”
He sits down by my hip. The bed dips. “Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired—” My jaw opens with a yawn.
He chuckles. My nipples pucker at the rumble. He reaches for the blankets and drags them over me.
Wait. Is he really putting me to bed? On my own?
“It’s too early.”
His brow scrunches. “And you’re so tired, that you fell asleep in the car.”
I swallow. Are we playing? We must be. “But I can’t rest in my dress. It’s tight.”
His brow goes from wrinkled to raised. He throws back the blankets. “Roll over.”
I bite my grin and roll onto my stomach. He brushes my hair over one shoulder and reaches for the zipper at my back.
“Do you like my dress?”
The zipper winds down.
“It’s very pretty.” The fabric parts, and his fingers skim my spine.
A moan builds in my throat, but I keep it in. I chose this dress, short and white with a slightly pleated skirt, knowing he’d love it.
It’s the perfect mix of sweet and slutty.
Like me.
He pulls the dress down, working it out from under my chest, and to my waist.
I lift my hips to help him take the dress all the way off. “I wanted to look pretty for you.”
He tosses the dress to the end of the bed and sets his big hand on my backside. “You always look pretty to me.”
My ass clenches, and a quiver shoots through my middle. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He strokes my backside. Arousal floods my pussy. Does he like my little white thong as much as the dress?
His breath makes a noise, but he pulls the blankets over my waist. “You need to rest.”
What? I flip over. He can’t be serious.
“Katie.” His gaze flicks to my bare tits. “You’ve had a big, hard day. It’s not the right time to play.”
Does he really mean that?
My pulse scurries, and my mind flicks through a hundred possibilities—doesn’t he want me?
Is he upset I called him for help?
My chest gets tight. Did my life, my house, my family, my drama, put him off?
He slides off the bed. I grab on to the edge of his t-shirt.
“Katie,” he says in a warning growl.
My breath catches, and my pussy aches at the sound. “I just need to tell you a secret.”
“A secret?” He frowns. “Okay.”
I curl my finger at him. He shakes his head and leans down. I take the sides of his face and whisper my dirty secret right into his ear.
The muscles in his jaw clench under
my fingers. My own muscles uncurl. He does still want me.
He takes a breath and leans back. “Is that so?”
I bite my lip and nod.
“Well, then you’d better show me.” He draws back the blankets.
A shiver of anticipation curls through me.
I open my legs. “See?”
His gaze moves between my thighs. He pulls my thong to the side.
I clench all over. My skin, my muscles, my cunt are all desperate to be touched.
“You’re right, Katie. Your pussy is very wet.” His thumb slides over my seam. “If I look after you, do you promise you’ll rest afterward?”
I grin, my hips already shifting against his touch. “I promise.”
He tugs my thong down my thighs then removes it over my feet. “You’re turning into a very spoiled girl.”
I let my thighs fall open.
I am—with him. With him I get to be spoiled. With him I get to be everything I’m not.
He draws my knees apart and looks at me with such attentiveness I lose all train of thought. “This is such a pretty little pussy.”
He parts my labia and examines me. No one has ever looked at me like this. Like I’m intricate and gorgeous and theirs.
“Katie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to eat this lovely pussy all up, and I want you to be good, and let me have it without a fuss.”
A fuss? As in protest. That won’t happen. “Yes, Daddy.”
He glances up at me. “Good. Because if you try to push me away, you’re going to be in such big trouble.”
He’s just talking crazy now. “I’d never push you away.”
He smirks and grabs my thigh, holding it out. “You’d better not.”
I lean up onto my elbows to watch. It’s too amazing a sight to look away from. He sinks between my legs and rubs my pussy up close. All my blood seems to rush to my clit.
Arousal streams through me, but all my attention hangs on his face. His thumb swirls around and around. I moan and slide my hand into his hair, gently tugging.
He glances up. “Are you being impatient, Katie?”
His gaze shoots straight through me.
Oh, god, what if I am?
If I weren’t so desperate to be eaten like he promised, I’d see if I could get myself punished.
“I’m sorry.” I stop tugging on his hair and just pat it, but it takes all my self-control not to grab it again. “Please, Daddy.”
“That’s better,” he says and lowers his face to me.
He closes his mouth over my clit and sucks softly.
Sensation bursts through me. My hips come up off the bed. I squeeze his hair. He releases my clit and licks my pussy. Pushes my thighs wider and runs his tongue from my entrance to above my clit.
Pleasure washes over me. I fall back, sinking into the feelings.
“Your sweet pussy is better than frosting, baby,” he says, and then his mouth is on me again, devouring.
That’s how he eats me—as though I’m a swirl of buttercream he’s consuming, lick by lick.
I moan, hips shuddering and climax building. He presses his tongue to my clit and rubs right there. I gasp, and tension splinters.
I come. Bliss breaks over me. My pussy contracts.
Moans tug out of me.
He growls and opens his whole mouth over my cunt, lapping up my orgasm. I shiver and grip his hair in my fists.
The tension unwinds. I melt against the sheets.
“Good girl,” he says and continues to lick me leisurely.
Warmth floods me, and I sigh.
I twitch when his tongue touches my sensitive clit. He licks me there again.
My teeth snap. “No.”
I nudge his face away.
“You’d better not be pushing me.” He looks up. “You’d better not be making a fuss?”
My mouth falls open. Oh, crap. The way he says that makes me realize he hasn’t even begun. He planned this all along.
“It hurts there now.” I bite my lip.
He frowns deeper. “It doesn’t hurt.” He presses his thumb against my clit.
Bright, sharp sensation spears me.
“It’s uncomfortable,” he says. “There’s a difference.”
I try to draw my hips away, but his touch pursues me. I don’t dare grab his hand.
“It stings.”
“It doesn’t sting.” His thumb dips down then up, smearing me with my own arousal before stroking right up the center of my clit. “How does it feel?”
“Sharp,” I gasp, and my fists clench. “Raw.”
“That’s right. It feels raw.”
He moves his thumb around, not touching my clit this time, and every swirl cranks a new tension through me. “And it’s going to get rawer.”
He moves and drives two fingers inside me then clamps his mouth over my clit. It’s a rocket of pleasure and discomfort and something else—something deep. I shout and close my thighs around his head.
His fingers curl inside me. He swirls his tongue around my clit. I can’t breathe. For some reason, my heart thrashes, and there’s a rushing sensation, as though there’s a truck speeding right toward me, and I can’t move aside.
My whole body gets tight.
The pressure builds inside me, through my pelvis, over my skin, in muscles, and along nerves. I erupt. Bliss swells and explodes.
I convulse. He holds me down mercilessly, eating me with a growl. I scream and thrash and see lights.
My sweaty flesh shakes.
“Oh, baby.” He raises his face and stares at me. “You gushed for me.”
I look down, panting and gasping. Holy shit. The sheets are spattered. I did that.
I’ve never done anything like that before.
I fall back onto the bed. My chests gets heavier. Nothing has ever been like this before, and I already know nothing will be the same again.
I close my eyes. The pain in my chest throbs, and I feel so close to all of my thoughts, all of my feelings—as though they’re all sitting beside me on a train, talking over each other.
And I can’t block them out.
“Let’s get you washed up.” His deep voice rattles.
I open my eyes. He leans over me, watching me so tenderly, before he scoops me up.
I can’t take my eyes off him as he carries me to the bathroom. It’s as if he’s sitting on that train, and parts of him shouts, too.
I hear him.
My heart throbs. I hear all the secret parts of him.
He tucks me in. The scent of linen and the silky texture of fresh cotton almost make me groan.
“Goodnight, baby.” He brushes hair out of my face.
Fatigue pulls at me. It might be early, but he’s right—even I know I’m exhausted.
I catch his hand. “Clay?”
His breath catches, and I can’t tell if he likes it more or less when I break from our play.
“Yes?”
“Will you lay with me for a while?” I hold on to his fingers.
He watches me for way too long then nods. “Okay.”
I lift up the blankets and wiggle back. He climbs in, still in his clothes. His heat is something magical, better than the bath he gave me.
I take a deep breath that’s laced with him. Rich and deep and dependable. “Thank you for coming today.” I stare at the V of his collarbone. I’m still not sure why I asked.
Still not sure why I needed him.
“I’m disappointed in you, Katie.”
“You are?” I glance up. My skin prickles. My heart jumps up a foot.
“You should have called me.” He squeezes the top of my arm. “Not waited for me to worry about you.”
He worries about me…
I stare at him in the soft lamplight. He’s so damn sexy with his grumpy-daddy scowl, his bright eyes, and his short, messed-up-from-me hair. Goddamn, but I like him.
A lot.
“I didn’t know if it was overst
epping.” I swallow.
“You always tell me.” He scowls properly then grabs my chin. “I want to take care of you, Katie. Always.”
Shivers roll through me. Really? I can’t take my gaze off his mouth. His strong, hard mouth I’ve yet to kiss.
“Have you ever done this before, Clay?”
His frown sets to maximum. “I know there are things we talked about.” His mouth softens. “But I’m taking things slowly for your own good.”
I blink. I asked one question, but he seems to be answering another.
“I want to be careful with you, but if there’s something you want that’s not happening, then I can make it happen.” He rubs my arm.
My mouth gets wet. I’m thinking of those other things. Of his belt on my ass, restraints on my wrists, his cock in my ass.
A million fantasies I’ve dreamed about and only ever trusted one man with. I reach out and touch his cheek. This one, incredible man who seems insecure about satisfying me.
I could laugh if my heart weren’t pounding. “Don’t you know the sex isn’t even my favorite bit?”
“It’s not?” His eyes flash.
“No.” I do laugh. “No, it’s really not.”
His mouth evens, but his brow scrunches. “Then what is it you like?”
“I like…” I touch his rough cheek. “It’s hard to explain.”
He watches me. “Try.”
“It’s like…” My hand falls back to my chest. “At home, I’ve always been the only girl, and everything I had needed to go down to the boys, so it was white sneakers, jeans, plain t-shirt.” A sigh fills me. “So I’d ask for colored laces or cute underwear, and Mom would roll her eyes.” I breathe out and meet his gaze again. My heart pounds with images. Him putting on my socks. Toying with my laces. The adorable fucking shoes he gave me. “But with you, the things I like don’t feel silly. I can be myself or whatever feels good, and it’s okay.”
“You’re not silly, Katie.” His hand moves up my arm to the back of my neck. “You’re sweet and genuine and lovely.”
His thumb presses right at the back of my scalp and makes me gasp.
“But far too busy,” he adds.
I smile, my cheeks tingling. He thinks I’m lovely. “What about you?”
“What about me?” His eyes take on their usual squint.