Riker had surmised as much, but he couldn't talk to her about it at the time. She wouldn't have heard him. "I understand, honey, but you should know that there's no need for you to feel that way. I can see why you would, but you don't have to. It's me. I love you – even your stupidest decisions."
He got whacked a good one for that, but went on, anyway. "Didn't I say you shouldn't do a home perm? Hmm? Or that you shouldn't go on that roller coaster at Six Flags after you'd just eaten ice cream, funnel cakes and pretzels?"
"I hate it when you're right," she grumbled.
He grinned broadly. "I'm always right, little girl."
Inwardly, she preened at that nickname and the fact that he used it freely, even now, when she was far from it, but only with her.
Kyah snorted. "There's no ego in your family – you got it all."
"I can't help it," he replied, with no humility at all.
Suddenly serious, and fidgeting with the button on his shirt, her eyes darted to his then down again. "Well, I'm very sorry for the way I treated you. You sure were spot on about him, anyway."
Riker's big hand covered hers, squeezing gently and kissing the top of her head loudly. "You are always forgiven, sweetie. And, for what it's worth, I wish I wasn't right this time, darlin'. You know I hate to see you hurting in any way."
Big wet drops began to appear on his shirt as she began to weep again, and he held her close to his chest throughout the storm, rubbing her back lazily and just letting her cry it out.
When she'd quieted, he whispered against her hair, "How long has it been since you've had anything to eat?" Riker knew that – although her first impulse was usually to eat most anything at any time – unlike most women in his experience, when Kyah was in full mourning, her appetite completely deserted her and she was apt not to eat for days at a time, if someone wasn't watching over her and seeing to it that she did.
When the man who had become her stepfather late in life – a wonderful guy she had come to love – had died suddenly, he'd made himself as available to her as he could without intruding on her grief. He still kicked himself mentally that she had actually collapsed one day at work because she hadn't eaten, in something ridiculous, like five days.
If she'd truly been his, she would have taken her meals – and he would have made sure she ate every single one of them – standing up for the next five days for not having looked after herself as she should.
But he didn't have that right, although he had put his foot down as far as he could and made sure she resumed eating, promising the attending doctor that he'd see to it himself.
She hadn't looked very worried.
Ky pulled away a bit, as far as he would allow her, which wasn't far, but she didn't say anything, obviously avoiding his question.
But Riker wouldn't sit still for that kind of thing – her simply avoiding his question – and she knew it, although he'd never really done anything about it. His censure was usually more than enough. She hated it when he was unhappy with her in any way, and disappointing him was absolutely not an option. He wasn't like any of the men she'd dated. In fact, the majority of them were the polar opposite of him. She wondered whether that was subconscious. She always looked for a guy who she clicked with, who was also interested in being her Dom.
Although she'd had a couple of serious relationships, none of those guys were really comfortable with that role. Oh, they had no problems taking charge in the bedroom, which was great, but they didn't seem to want to expand that into other areas of their relationship, which was really what she wanted. She wanted the lifestyle, not just role-play.
Aidan had come the closest of all of them to what she wanted ideally, which was why she'd said yes when he popped the question – for the fifth time.
Kyah knew that Riker would never have proposed to her so many times. He would ask her once – with all the usual trappings, of course. He'd probably even get down on one knee – but if she turned him down, and he decided she was worth another shot – which she thought he probably would – he'd remove the choice, somehow, or make it very hard, very uncomfortable, for her to say no to him.
That very provocative thought had her squirming on his lap until he stilled her forcibly, saying her name in that way that always made her stomach clench.
"Kyah."
Contorting her lips and refusing to look at him, her answer came in the form of a reluctant, naughty girl whisper, without her trying to make it sound that way, "I dunno. Sometime day before yesterday or so?"
His unsuppressed growl had her eyes flying to his. "You, my bratty little friend, should be spanked for that."
She rose to the bait immediately, chin going into the air automatically, as if to countermand his edict. "Aidan never spanked me for not eating. He wanted me to be skinny."
"Aidan was an idiot, who apparently has no concept of low blood sugar and the deleterious effects that skipping meals has to one's diet."
She had to smile at his snark and vehemence, but it was his hand on her bottom that made her gasp and look up at him.
"He was entirely too easy on you."
Ky bit her lip, her eyes still plastered to his, as if she couldn't quite tear them away, but she couldn't let that remark go without saying something. "Well, that's your opinion. And you are neither my boyfriend nor my Dom."
He didn't seem at all phased by her tone; in fact, he patted her bottom emphatically as he spoke. "And you should count yourself very lucky that I am not – yet – either of those to you, Kyah Elizabeth Dennison, because you know that you will get away with a lot less when I'm lucky enough to take you in hand."
She played his words over in her mind as he scooted out from under her, placing her gently on the couch as he headed back to the kitchen without another word.
"Yet."
He'd said she wasn't his yet, but he'd spoken as if it was imminent.
A shudder that was far from delicate ran through her at the thought of actually being his.
Chapter Two
When he reappeared, it was with a small plate of things meant to tempt her appetite, and a large plate of what would be dinner for him. They liked a lot of the same things, but her tastes in Chinese food ran to the sweeter, and his ran more towards hot, so he had ordered Szechuan chicken for himself, although they shared the enormous container of fried rice he'd order.
He hadn't loaded her plate, giving her little more than a couple of teaspoons of everything, cutting her egg roll in half and then cutting it up on her plate to drizzle duck sauce all over it, just the way she liked it.
When he put her food down on the coffee table, he said, in a manner that let her know he would tolerate no disobedience, "I want to see every bit of that…" Then he stopped himself mid-sentence and reclaimed his seat in the corner of the couch. Lifting her up from where she'd sprawled herself as he inserted himself beneath her, then cuddling her back close up against him again, he added, "On second thought, I'm not going to give you that choice."
Once he'd found where they'd left off on Extras for them to binge watch, he began to spoon-feed her.
"You don't have to do this, you know," she said, after swallowing a mouthful of crispy, sweet chicken mixed with the savory rice – just the way she would have done it herself.
"Do what?"
She frowned at him. "Feed me like a baby. I-I'm…" She sighed. "I'm miserable about the break-up, but it's not like I didn't know it was coming, unfortunately. You weren't my only true blue friend who spoke up, at the risk of my wrath, to let me know what he was doing. Ellen told me, too – later than you did. I knew it before anyone said anything to me; I just didn't want to deal with it."
"I know, baby girl." He proffered another spoonful, and she opened her mouth without a thought – obediently, even, if absently, he was glad to notice. He would take what he could get, at this point, in regards to her compliance. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."
She heard the "again" that he didn't say loud and clear.
/> "And, for what it's worth, I like feeding you." As if to prove his point, he reached out and pulled her closer, letting her cuddle even more securely – and in a more child-like fashion – against him as he fed her.
And she let him. Kyah didn't issue so much as one peep about what he was doing, and she ate everything he presented to her.
"Full up, or do you want some dessert?" That kind of decision he would always allow her to make.
She wrinkled her nose in a way he'd always found charming. "Can I have some in a bit? I kind of want to see how this settles."
"Good choice," he praised, gathering her to him. "Are you watching this?" he asked, alert to her fidgeting.
"Not really. This is one of those shows that I really want to like, but can't really stand much of, despite how much I love Ricky Gervais."
"No problem. Shall we try Broad City or Inside Amy Schumer? Or would you rather rewatch Downton or Big Love?"
God bless him, he was so good to her. Riker was a doer. He wasn't much for television. He was the reason she had spent most of her childhood outdoors. When it rained, he conceded that they could watch TV, but as soon as it let up, he pulled her outside to play pirates or freeze tag or something, anything that got them moving. Eventually, he would develop into quite a runner, running track in high school and college, while Ky assiduously avoided athletic activities as much as possible.
Kyah still managed to become a dedicated TV addict, despite his efforts, and she'd even managed to infect him a bit – he loved some of what she watched – usually not the period pieces, but then she'd give him that because of his gender. But he adored Game of Thrones and the two new series that were about the beginnings of the computer industry, since that was what he'd made his money in, and he was a bit of a sports buff.
She didn't mind watching football with him – although she found baseball deathly boring. He was very patient at explaining the rules every season, because if she wasn't actively watching it, they fell completely out of her head.
She – they, really – even hosted a Super Bowl party every year for their friends, which was at his place now, because his was so much bigger than hers was. But she did all the planning – he gave her a pretty unlimited budget – and the cooking, because she liked that kind of thing, and their friends seemed to really enjoy it.
Kyah had kind of been waiting for a girlfriend of his to come along and want to do all of that kind of thing for him, but he'd never really been that serious about anyone, she guessed. Or they were all just happy to let her do it.
Unlike most of the other men she had dated, he was – as he was right now – happy to do anything that made her happy.
Even watching Sherlock.
Again.
For the millionth time.
Lying – safe as houses – in his arms on the couch, his feet hanging over the edge as they always did when he stretched out on it – Ky could almost forget her unhappiness in the face of the amount of it he never failed to bring her.
He was kind of on his side, facing the TV, but kind of flat, too, for her comfort, and she was draped over his side, her head on his chest. Although, he adjusted her a bit more, and she ended up lying pretty fully on top of him, between legs that he'd drawn up a bit to form a cradle of sorts for her.
But, in that position, she noticed a part of him that didn't belong in any cradle. It was quite impressive already, but it was getting even more so
She wondered if she should say something. Or move…or apologize to him, somehow…
But his hand was rubbing lazily up and down her back, and she'd seen the A Study in Pink episode so many times, she could recite the dialog along with the actors. If she let herself, she knew she would forget all about the part of him that was pressing insistently up into her stomach, and she'd fall asleep, knowing – consciously and subconsciously – that she'd probably never been, and never would be, in a safer position in her life.
And she was right on both counts.
Riker felt her stiffen at his own natural stiffening. After all, he wanted her. It was taking everything in him not to roll her beneath him and take her as his own – finally.
But he wouldn't allow himself to do that. She was his oldest, best friend. He cared about her. He loved her, on many different levels. She thought about him like a brother – she'd told him as much, multiple times – not just that first, horribly awkward time when they were both home from college and they'd met up first thing and he hadn't been able to control himself as well as he should have.
He'd bent down to her height and lifted her up, twirling her around as he often did – lost in his happiness at seeing her again. Damn, he'd missed her. He could still feel the extent of the ache, even all these years later. When he'd set her down, as she'd giggled helplessly, he'd given her a far from platonic kiss, which he'd been elated that she'd returned.
But when he'd set her down on the ground, intending to continue the kiss, she had backed away from him. Letting her go then was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life – up to that point.
She had looked up at him, stricken. "W-we can't. You're like my brother, Ri. It just – wouldn't be right."
She had left him then, and he felt cold cocked. All he could do was watch her walk away, trying to deal with her flat out rejection, as well as worrying that he'd ruined what they had so badly that he'd never see her again.
It hadn't happened that way, thankfully. She'd called him a couple days later, and they'd gotten together. It was a little awkward at first, but they were so close that those feelings faded quickly – at least for her, it appeared – and she seemed to forget all about it.
He never did.
He never would.
She casually reinforced their sibling-like relationship every time she introduced him to a new friend – or, God forbid – a new boyfriend. "This is my sib from another crib."
There were no words for how much he hated that expression. It put him firmly in his place, at least as far as she was concerned, he knew.
Since then, he had counted himself lucky to have any part in her life at all. How many best friends from before grade school were still close?
But he ached for her. Not just his heart, but every iota of him, especially the one that was making itself known right now as she slept, oblivious, atop it.
As much as he wanted her, though, he didn't want to ruin what they already had. Although he'd made his mind up before he'd come here – as he was planning what he was going to bring to her to help ease her pain –that he fully intended that Aidan would be the last man he was ever going to allow to hurt her.
In a bad way, anyway.
They'd grown up knowing they were sexually compatible before they knew what those words really meant. He had always been her leader, and, although she had never acted particularly subordinate to him, and she had always spoken her mind to him, she followed him, and they had – consciously and unconsciously – acknowledged that, as the natural order of things within their relationship. As they got older – especially once they hit puberty – he had been more than willing to experiment but not to push her into anything, and she had demurred. He – of course – had respected that.
He knew she was very careful about with whom she trusted that very intimate side of herself, although she had called him once when she'd found herself in a very bad situation. He had come running, finding her on the street, alone, crying, holding the two pieces of dress that the jerk she'd been with had ripped apart together, as she walked.
Riker had picked her up bodily and brought her to his car, putting her into it carefully, then holding her hand until he could get to a busier place, under a street lamp in a crowded mall parking lot, and haul her onto his lap to hug the stuffing out of her.
"Are you all right?" he'd asked hoarsely, barely able to get it out through the angry, terrified for her, constriction in his throat.
She'd nodded against his neck but hadn't said anything more, and she was crying and shak
ing so hard within his arms that he couldn't bring himself to interrogate her. But, as he'd insisted on carrying her into her own home as if she was an invalid – over her protestations – he'd put her down on her own two feet in her living room and asked again.
"Y-yes," she'd answered, not looking at him.
He'd made a decision right then and there that he was going to stay with her that night, whether she wanted him to or not.
"Do you want to take a shower?"
Ky had shaken her head.
"All right then, let's get you tucked up in bed."
If he hadn't already known she'd had a shock, he would have known by her behavior. She was docile as a lamb, her head down, still shaking, practically letting him undress her – at least to her underwear, when she took over, and he did the gentlemanly thing and turned his back.
When she was in her pink flowered nightie, he'd turned back and helped her into bed, pulling the covers up over her, but he was loathe to leave. He couldn't bear to leave her alone with that helplessly horrified look still in her eye.
So he'd climbed onto the bed next to her, pulled her into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and turned on something to distract her.
When she finally fell asleep, he'd eased himself – however reluctantly – out from under her, tucked her up again, and found his bed on her couch. He didn't find sleep – he was much too buzzed and hadn't really expected to, anyway – but instead, he'd left her door open so he could listen for her, and he turned on ESPN with closed captions, so he could hear her if she stirred.
Only You Page 2