by Kallysten
"Mom? Do you have a boyfriend?"
Grace nearly choked on a piece of pasta. She coughed into her napkin, and her voice almost squeaked when she answered.
"A boyfriend? Why ... No, honey, I don't have a boyfriend."
For some reason, that seemed to disappoint Laura. “It's OK if you have a boyfriend, you know. I'll be real good if you bring him home."
Across the table, Caroline disguised a chuckle into a cough. Grace gave her an annoyed look but didn't ask if she had set Laura up to this.
"I'm sure you'd be a perfect angel. But I really don't have a boyfriend."
For a little while, she thought her answer had satisfied Laura. She was wrong.
"Don't you like kissing boys anymore?"
Grace looked at her daughter, then at her mother. Caroline's smile was at once commiserating and amused. She stood and carried her empty plate back to the kitchen, leaving Grace to answer on her own.
"No, honey, I still like boys. But I don't kiss a boy unless he's very special."
The memory of what Ray's lips had felt like against hers fluttered through her mind, light and warm as a summer breeze. She chased it away with a sip of water and focused on Laura. She was pushing what was left of her pasta around her plate, pensive.
"Isn't Daddy special?” she asked after a few moments, quiet but hopeful.
Clear green eyes waited for an answer, and as much as Grace would have liked to dodge the question, she didn't feel like she could, not again, not without hurting her daughter, and hurting her was the last thing she wanted.
"Your father is a very special person,” she said, picking her words carefully. “He's just not my kind of special anymore. Remember how we talked about how people sometimes don't love each other as much?"
Laura nodded. “Yeah. And you said Daddy still loves me, but he hasn't come to see me in a long time. Did he forget about me?"
Movement just at the periphery of her vision caught her eye, and she turned to see Caroline standing by the kitchen's entrance. Her face was impassive. Looking back at Laura, Grace tried to reassure her even though she didn't believe a word of what she was saying.
"Of course he didn't, honey. You know how busy he always is. I'm sure he misses you very much."
Her expression was breaking Grace's heart.
"You could write him a letter. Tell him about your school and your new friends."
The suggestion had Laura perk up immediately. “Can I write it now?"
"Go ahead, honey."
She managed to keep up the smile until Laura had run off to her room. By the time Caroline sat down across from her again, she had taken her head in her hand and closed her eyes.
"He didn't deserve you when he was your husband,” Caroline said. “And he deserves you even less now."
"I'm not doing it for him."
"I know.” Caroline reached over the table to run her hand over Grace's hair. “And I also know she'll blame you when he doesn't answer her letter."
Grace lowered her hands and crossed her arms on the table, pushing the plate away. She tried to smile, but she thought she might have grimaced instead.
"She'd blame me for keeping her away from him if I didn't let her write or call."
"Call?” Caroline sounded surprise. “You didn't tell me—"
Before she even let them out, the words were sour on Grace's tongue. “There was nothing to tell. She called, and a woman answered. Mike wasn't there."
From her expression, she knew what Caroline thought, and what she would say if given the chance. She was in no mood to listen to it, not again. Piling up the plates and cutlery, she stood and brought them to the kitchen. When her mother followed with the glasses, she changed the subject and said, “I've got something to do tomorrow afternoon. You think I could bring Laura over to your place after lunch?"
Caroline gave her a piercing look, the same kind of look she had once used when trying to ferret out where her teenage daughter was going and with whom. “Work or pleasure?"
The smile, this time, was much easier. “A bit of both?"
Caroline tilted her head to one side and grinned back. “Is he special?"
She could feel herself blushing as she answered. “Very special.” She was almost fifteen again and preparing for her first real date. She might as well start admitting to herself that Ray might be more than a play partner.
Chapter 10
Grace's thumbs tapped on the wheel as she watched Laura through the windshield. After the rain of the previous day, the sun was now shining brightly with barely a cloud in the sky. Laura's hair gleamed like spun gold and bounced as she skipped, the envelope clutched tight in her hand. The previous night, she had placed her letter in it herself and written the address in her best penmanship before asking for a stamp. Grace would have liked to know what she had written. She wasn't worried—she didn't want to admit being worried—but if her daughter changed her mind and decided she would rather live with her father, she hoped she'd be the first to know.
The envelope fell into the mailbox. Grace's stomach flipped unpleasantly. When Laura turned around, she was beaming. Grace gripped the wheel tighter and returned her smile as she came back to the car.
"How long until Daddy receives it?” she asked before she had even climbed on the backseat again.
Grace started the car. “A few days, honey. By Thursday or Friday, maybe. And if he replies you won't get his letter for another week at least."
She hated that, even now, she was buying Mike a little more time to reply. She hated even more knowing he would probably need it.
All the way to her mother's townhouse, Grace tried to find a way to ask, without sounding too intrusive, what Laura had written about in her letter. In the end, she didn't say anything. If Laura wanted her to know, she would share; if she didn't, prying would be of no use.
At last, she parked in front of her mother's house. She honked the horn and turned back to look at Laura. “Tell Grandma I'll pick you up before dinner."
Laura leaned in to kiss her cheek before bouncing out of the car. On the front porch, Caroline was waiting for her. They both waved at Grace as she drove away. A rush of guilt swept over her without warning. There were a hundred things she could have done with her daughter this afternoon. Instead she was going to meet a man she barely knew. Not only that, she was going to meet a vampire.
She returned home, quickly changed to clothes more appropriate to the situation, and left again. Halfway to Ray's place, however, she had to park on the side of the road, turn off the engine and breathe in deep and slow. Methodically, she pushed the guilt and apprehension away, and repeated to herself that she was a good mother, and a good Special Enforcer. Wanting to play with Ray again did not change either of these things—and she did want it, she realized. It wasn't about the investigation or the help he could give her anymore. It was about him, and what she wanted to do to him. With him.
After a few minutes, when she turned the key and started the car again, her hand wasn't shaking anymore, and her mind was clear. She was a grown woman, she knew what she was doing, and she had every right to do it. By the time she stood in front of his door, all she felt was confidence, spiced up with a generous dash of desire.
No more than two seconds after she had knocked, the door opened, and Ray appeared behind it. He wore nothing more than tight fitting black jeans and a wide smile.
He stepped to the side, inviting her in with a gesture and a small bow. “Good afternoon, Mistress."
"Hello, Ray."
She let herself answer his smile as she walked in. After his boldness at the agency, she had thought she would need to spend some time reestablishing her dominance over him. He seemed to have learned his lesson from their last encounter at the club, however. She was glad he had.
He had lit pillar candles around the living room. She took that as an invitation to stay there. She noticed that Ray's eyes lingered on the bag she placed next to her on the sofa, but he didn't ask what she had brought, and she didn'
t volunteer anything. She hoped she wouldn't have to take out the toys; it would only mean Ray had really messed up, and she didn't want their play time to be about punishment.
"Would you like something to drink, Mistress?"
"Maybe later. Come next to me."
He approached and slipped to his knees in front of her. As always, his hands crossed at the small of his back and he kept his eyes lowered. It would have been perfect at the club, but in this private setting, she was open to relaxing things a little—as long as he behaved.
"Keep your eyes on me unless I say otherwise."
His hazel eyes immediately looked up at her. They seemed deeper than usual, and she noticed the black eyeliner accentuating them. The odd thought popped in her mind—how did he apply eyeliner without being able to look in a mirror? He had to be extremely confident in his skills. Or maybe he'd had someone's help?
She realized, when his face started showing his confusion, that she had been staring at him for too long. He had to wonder what was going on. While keeping a submissive guessing could be fun, it was not the game she wanted to play today.
"I've been wondering ... Why didn't you give us the drawing when we first came?"
His head tilted to one side for an instant before he caught himself and straightened again.
"I didn't have it then, Mistress."
She nodded. She had figured as much. “You drew it for us. Why?"
"I was bored."
"No, I meant, why did you decide to help us find your Sire? You seemed very protective of him at the club."
He passed his tongue over his lips before answering. Grace found herself squeezing her legs tighter together at the sight. She knew what would happen later. She could almost have believed he knew as well.
"I don't think,” he said, each word slow and deliberate, “that the drawing will put him in any danger from you."
Grace's smile held no joy. “Should I feel insulted?"
His eyes widened in alarm. “Mistress, I didn't mean—"
"Shush. Whatever you mean, you're at least partly right. If he didn't hurt MacAlair, then he truly is safe from us."
He didn't respond to that, and even dropped his eyes for a short moment despite her orders. She didn't call him on it. He seemed troubled, and the slip had clearly been involuntary. Was he worried that his Sire was in fact guilty and would end up as dust? Or maybe he was beginning to think giving her and Hugo that drawing had been a bad idea. Whatever it was, she decided it was time to change the subject. She had come to play, not work.
"Did you go to Carte Blanche last night?"
His surprise at the question was plain in his expression. “Mistress, you told me not to."
"What about the nights before?"
His small movement could have been an aborted shrug. “I thought you would be there."
She kept quiet about how much she had thought about it. Two nights of playing had left her hungry for more. She hadn't been able to justify it to herself, however, not when work did not require her to go back.
"Is that why you came to the agency? Because I didn't show up at the club?"
"I ... Yes, Mistress."
She had known, of course. All she had needed was to take a look at his face when he had walked in. He'd been targeted by two crossbows, and yet smiling brightly when he had seen her.
"What did you hope would happen, by coming to see me?"
His lips took a mischievous turn. “I hoped you'd come, Mistress."
She was about to point out he couldn't have known she would give him a rendezvous when she realize he meant something quite different. The lust simmering at the back of her mind jumped forward at once and spread through her body. It was said vampires could smell desire. If it was true, it explained why his eyes suddenly seemed so hungry. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't done playing—as a matter of fact, she hadn't even started.
* * * *
Ever since Ray had left the Special Enforcer agency the previous day, he'd been anticipating Grace's visit. He'd cleaned up the apartment, bought refreshments and snacks a human might be interested in, changed his mind two or three times about what to wear—or not wear—and waited. She had taken her time, coming to him, to the point that he had started wondering whether she would. He was slowly learning that he ought not to doubt her; the idea was a novel one for him.
All his doubts, however, disappeared while they were talking and she asked why he had gone to the agency.
"I hoped you'd come, Mistress."
Her scent shifted at once. Until that moment, she had seemed more interested in getting answers from him than anything else. Now, though, there was only one thing on her mind. It didn't bother Ray one bit. He'd been hoping she'd want him for more than a round of spanking or ten. Not that he had anything against spanking when she was the one doing it.
"Cocky,” she said, sounding a little amused.
Ray was tempted to make the obvious pun, but he knew better than to follow that impulse. He didn't plan to give her any reason to find fault with him.
"I'm curious now. How did you imagine I'd come? I want details."
After the four nights he had spent waiting for her to return, Ray had imagined enough scenarios to keep his hand and cock good friends for a few weeks at least. He tried to decide which one he wanted to share with her, but when he thought he had the one, when he grinned as he looked at her, she raised a hand palm out toward him.
"No, don't tell me. Show me."
His cock tried to jump in the confines of his jeans, and he regretted having opted to wear clothes at all. He raised his hand, slowly reaching for her knee-high boot, only inches from him. He'd wanted to touch her, even with the most innocent touch, since she had walked in, and now—
"I didn't say you could touch."
The warning tone in her voice stopped Ray better than a slap would have. He gave her a confused look. If he couldn't talk or touch her, how was he supposed to show her? She returned the look levelly, as though confident he would figure it out. That reassured him. If she thought he could figure out what she wanted, that meant there was a right answer to the riddle. He had been caught all too often in games where every possible move was as much of a mistake as not moving at all.
The answer came in a flash, and he felt a little foolish that he hadn't understood faster.
"May I please go get my drawing pad?"
She stood abruptly. Ray thought he had done something wrong until she reassured him with a few words.
"You may. I'll come with you. Lead the way."
He just had the time to wonder if he ought to crawl on all fours when she solved his dilemma.
"You can walk there. But you'll do so naked."
She didn't need to repeat herself. Ray quickly stood and fumbled with the buttons of his jeans. He closed his eyes in relief for a second when his cock was finally free. Mistress Red clucking her tongue had him snapping back to attention.
"I'm losing patience, Ray."
He could have believed her more easily if there hadn't been so much color in her cheeks and in the triangle of skin exposed by the collar of her tight shirt, or if her nipples hadn't been clearly visible, straining against the thin fabric.
"I'm sorry, Mistress Red. This way, please."
He wondered, as she followed him to the bedroom, whether her eyes remained on the back of his head or strained lower. He added a little swagger to his hips, and received an answer when she swatted at his ass. She didn't say anything, though, and Ray had a feeling she hadn't minded too much.
The light was already on in the bedroom. He heard her steps stop on the threshold, and tried to see the room though her eyes. The clothes that had been thrown on the floor when she had first been there were now out of sight and satin sheets dressed up the bed. He had left a flogger, a whip and a blindfold in plain view on the dresser, just in case. He doubted she would need them, though, not if the bag she had brought contained what he imagined it did.
He walked to the
desk, and pulled the chair away and a little to the side. He picked up the notepad and a pencil before sliding back to his knees next to the chair. Without waiting for her, he flipped through the pad to a blank page. He placed the pencil on the paper and let his mind guide him, drawing feverishly.
"Don't rush,” Mistress Red admonished as she came closer.
He glanced up at her. She sat down on the chair next to him, legs crossed and an arm leaning on the desk. He could feel her eyes on her as he resumed drawing. He slowed down a little, more because he didn't want her to think he was ignoring her than because he had truly been rushing.
The vague shapes on the paper grew more refined until her body was complete—or rather what he imagined her naked body looked like. Full curves, flawless skin and head thrown back in pleasure, she sat astride her lover. A few more pencil strokes added his hands on her hips and just enough details to show the drawing was from his perspective.
Her accelerating heartbeat and the growing lust in her scent told him what she thought of the drawing even before he looked up. Her bright eyes and shiny lips were almost too hard to resist. He wanted so much to kiss her again...
Focusing on the notepad again, he moved the pencil to a blank corner and resumed drawing. They were just faces, this time, hers much more detailed than his own, touching lips, closed eyes, and just the shadow of his hand where it cradled her cheek.
"Pretty. And a nice way to start."
The slight catch in her voice sent a jolt of pleasure through Ray. Her fingers, threading through his hair in that now familiar gesture, only added to the feeling. She tugged a little more, and he obediently rose onto his knees even as she leaned down toward him. Her lips were as warm, as soft as he had remembered them in the past few nights when he had summoned the memory of the lovely kiss she had offered him. He touched his tongue to the seam of her lips, slow and gentle, a little surprised when she allowed him access. Emboldened, he reached out to touch her face. She leaned into the touch, tilting her head just so before deepening the kiss. Their tongues slid against each other, almost tender. It wasn't anything like the kisses Ray was used to sharing, and he felt a true pang of loss when she pulled away.