Nicholas looked at her as he slowly set his phone back on the table. “Yes?”
“You made your terms very clear,” she said quietly. “I can't just leave. It's cruel to tell me I can when you and I both know that I can't.”
He picked up another piece of tempura. It was starting to get a little cold, the breading congealing with grease. He'd already picked his way through all the shrimp, octopus, and squash. Only the broccoli were left. “I'm willing to talk terms.”
“You still haven't given me anything in writing. I have yet to see a single invoice and you never did come up with a contract.” Jay had begun consolidating her leftover rolls in a box, but she looked up at him with burning eyes. “You haven't been keeping track at all, have you?”
“Generally speaking, the person performing the services keeps track of the invoices.”
Jay flinched. “Services,” she repeated.
“Have you been keeping track, Jay? If there's a discrepancy, I'll pay it. I trust you.”
She stared at him, with that hunted, agonized expression he knew far too well. “No,” she said at last, bitterly. “I haven't been keeping track. I . . . didn't want to. It made me feel cheap.”
“Well,” said Nicholas. “That is unfortunate, because I haven't been keeping track, either.”
The Styrofoam creaked as she closed the lid. “Why not?”
“Because I'm usually thinking about something else. But you could still come to me, little bird.” He pushed his uneaten food aside. “You know what I'll give you if you do.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”
They finished eating and he cleared the table, separating out the cardboard from the compost. Before she left, he rested his hand on her shoulder, and she looked at him before heading up to her room, where he heard the door close. Slowly, he walked up to his.
What was he doing? He wondered, for the thousandth time in the last couple weeks.
People had said that twenty-two was too young to take on a company, but it seemed like maybe twenty-seven was the perfect age to fuck up his own life.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
He had strange dreams that night. The kind where you felt like you were falling until you woke up with a jolting gasp in your own bed. Nicholas shot up, with his heart beating out a desperate tattoo in his head, and inhaled again, this time for a very different reason.
A hot, electric sensation buzzed up his arms when he felt something soft and heavy pressed against him. A woman's body clothed only in a very thin layer of heated silk and lace.
With steady hands, he touched her—warm and solid and real.
“Blue jay,” he breathed. “You came to Daddy.”
“Yes,” she said, in a very small voice. “I'm here.”
She was jostled a little as he reached for the lamp. It was one of those folding ones with the flexible neck. After a pause, he turned the shade around to the wall, letting only a few beams escape to suffuse their bodies in the semidarkness.
Jay was wearing the ice-blue dress with the paneled skirts. His eyes fell to the sheer bodice, with its motif of lace roses, before going to her face. It was the most expensive thing he had ever bought for anyone other than himself and she looked beautiful in it.
Before she could speak or have second thoughts, he captured her mouth in a slow kiss, letting his legs fall open so that she fell gently into the cradle of his hips like a pale and trembling leaf. He smoothed his hand down her back as she began to respond and her fingers dug into his ribs as the tension began to leave her body like water trickling from a melting block of ice.
She began moving against him, which became a kind of torture because he could feel her bare hip pressing against his stomach through one of the slits in the skirt. He grabbed her backside, squeezing, before dipping his fingers between her legs. She wasn't wearing underwear.
With a low oath, he rolled her onto her back and wrapped her fingers around his cock before flicking open the small buttons on the front of her nightgown. The bite he'd left low on her throat taunted him and he could feel the thrum of her pulse as he kissed her there, before nuzzling her hair away until he had uncovered her ear, which he nipped at until she let out a sharp breath and turned, giving him access to the soft hollow of her throat.
“Like that?” he whispered, and to his pleasure, he heard her choke out “Yes.”
Nicholas leaned down and felt her hands slide away from his hips as he bent his head to her exposed skin. She followed the contours of his body the way someone might trace a road atlas with a fingertip. When he swirled his tongue over her nipples, he felt her fingers stumble over his ribs like a small explosion and her grip on him tightened.
Her hands kept getting forced higher as he moved lower—his back, his shoulders, his neck. By the time he had her dress open, and his face buried between her legs, her fingers were twisted in the dark locks of his hair. She yanked sharply, arching under him as he used his tongue on every part of her except for where she wanted. Her thighs were squeezing his face, and he pulled away, keeping them spread when she tried to close them with a whimpered, “Please.”
“Tell me why you came to me.”
“The de—”
“Instantly wrong.”
She stared at the ceiling. “Because I wanted sex.”
“No.” Nicholas slid his boxers off his hips and prowled up the length of her body, still half-kneeling between her spread legs. She tried to close them again and he pushed them wider with his knees as he smiled down at her. “You can get sex from anyone, Jay. You came here because you wanted to be fucked. By me.”
“Whatever you w—”
“Don't.” Nicholas slid the condom on, tapping her beneath her chin to get her to look at his face. “It's a yes or no, Jay.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered, letting out a sigh as he entered her.
His cock jerked. He closed his eyes briefly, listening to her harsh breaths. “What a good girl you are.” He shifted some of his weight to his forearms. “My girl.”
Jay said nothing, but the small sounds of exertion coming from her throat were enough.
“Do you know why I call you my little bird?”
“Jay,” she gasped.
“No. It's because you were so elusive . . .” He fell into the sharp, staggering pace he'd set, wrenching another sweet cry from her tortured throat. “Everywhere I looked—there you were. And I wanted you . . . my sweet songbird. I love how soft you feel under my hands.”
A delicate shudder tore through her as his mouth fleetingly grazed hers.
“And now here you are.” He quickened the movements of his hips, forcing her to work to keep up. She wasn't as athletic as he was and seeing her falter beneath him, panting, as she struggled to match him sent a hot bolt of arousal spearing through his belly. “My poor exhausted little bird. Mine at last.” He wondered if only he registered the bitterness in his words.
The squeeze of her thighs wrapping around him pushed him over, and he came the way he did when he was alone—that floating, heady sense of gratification, chased by a pleasure so intense that it was nearly painful. Like a shot of cheap hard liquor, followed by a sickeningly sweet chaser. He stayed inside her, and he could feel the muscles of her body contracting around him in a delicious wave of thrumming vibrations and snug heat.
I love her, he thought, looking down at her sweet face. I really do.
“Why Daddy?” she asked, with the slightest edge of antagonism.
“Hmm?”
“I'm older than you. It's . . . weird. Is it about dominance? Do what Daddy tells you.” the pitch of her voice deepened as if in mockery of someone—himself, he assumed—but that dark and biting tone still made him stir a little inside her. “I don't get it.”
“I don't know why I like it, but I do.” Nicholas slid out of her, rolling to one side, and gently flicked her nose. “You don't need to get it to turn me on. All you have to do is crawl up into my lap and say it to me. I like the way you say it�
��sweet and guilty, all at once. It's so hot.”
He reached down for the sheets and tugged them over their nakedness.
Leaning into her, Nicholas ran his hand down the length of her, through the blankets, following that slight dip between her ribs all the way down to her pubic mound. “Do you hate it?” He did another slow pass. “Calling me Daddy and being my little bird?”
“It's embarrassing.” She clung to the sheet. “It feels wrong.”
“The kind of wrong that's a little exciting?”
“I wasn't excited,” she said defiantly.
“Mmm. But you seem to enjoy it when I make you say it. I can tell.” To his delight, her cheeks were turning pink. “Don't think I didn't notice how wet you were when I tied you up.”
“What does that have to do with me calling you . . . that?”
“Because you don't want to give me what I want,” Nicholas said. “You're a little bit bratty, blue jay. I think you enjoy punishment. Because I think you're a little bit of a bad girl.”
“No,” said Jay.
“Maybe I'll tie you up and finger you for a while,” he said idly, watching her face change from pink to red. “And punish you if you make a sound. I'd have to do your legs, though. Otherwise, you'd squirm in that way that you do when you're trying to get yourself off. That will be fun for me. You have nice legs.” He squeezed her hip. “And a nice ass.
“That's another idea. I could get you a short little dress to wear for me that shows off your ass. Short and low-cut, with nothing underneath. You'd hate that,” he added, with a dark laugh, “especially if I took you out in it and made you bend over to pick something up off the floor.”
“Nick,” she gasped. “No.”
“That's the one. That look—what is it? Shame and arousal?” he tugged at a strand of her hair. “I want to see that look on your face when you're wearing your new dress.”
Jay rolled over to face him, pulling the strand out of his fingers. “Where do you get these ideas? Are they things you've done before?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous? If you want a number, Jay, I'll give you one.”
Jay let out a hiss of air between her teeth. “I really don't want to hear about your exploits. I was just curious.”
“It's not a large number.” He slung an arm around her unwilling form, until they were nearly nose to nose. “Most people disappoint me. And since you're so keen on knowing, I think up a lot of what I do to you in the mornings when I'm horny and jerking off.”
“Maybe other people weren't the problem,” she said irately.
Nicholas laughed throatily. “That's what I like about you, blue jay. You never let me get away with anything. When you hold onto me like this, like you think I'll protect you from myself and all the bad things I want to do to you, it makes me want to lose my mind.”
He kissed her nose as she sighed.
“I love it when you're bad.”
“I'm not bad,” she said sleepily, which made him pull her close.
“Only for me.” Nicholas smoothed back her hair. And I only want to be good for you.
Jay fell asleep in his arms but was gone when he woke up. He wondered if he had upset her again. The thought pained him. This time, he had gone out of his way to be tender.
Nicholas slid out of bed, pulling on his boxers and some pajamas. She wasn't in her room, which was concerning, until he noticed the flicker of blue light from over the half-wall. Peering down, he could see her huddled in one of those shapeless sweaters, legs thrown over the arm of the sofa, remote in hand. Just like when she was a kid.
He went downstairs, glancing curiously at the TV. She was in the middle of a documentary about something called tardigrades. Something softened inside him and he glanced down at her sleepless face for a moment before gently taking the remote from her and sinking on the couch.
Nicholas finished the documentary while scrolling through his phone, glancing over at her sleeping form every so often. She remained asleep through the next one, which was about small primates, and the one after that, which was about melting glaciers in the arctic. He had just started the fourth when he felt the seat shift. Groaning, Jay pushed herself up—and froze.
“How long have you been sitting there?”
“A while,” he allowed.
She glanced at the TV. “You were watching this?”
“I've been drifting in and out. Answering work emails. Ordering your dress.”
“My dress?” She blushed when he held out his phone. “I can't wear that.”
“If you liked it, it wouldn't be a very good punishment, would it?” He looked at the picture, admiring the backless cut. “You're going to look great in this.”
She swung upright, straightening out her clothes with an air of dignity that amused him. He wound his arm along the back of the couch and was gratified when she didn't immediately press herself against the opposite end of the couch. They finished the documentary together and when it was over, he turned the TV off and leaned back, letting his arm fall.
“Are you hungry? We can go out.”
“Out out?”
“Yes. Get dressed.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced down at his phone. “Ten.”
“Okay. Um. I'll go feed the cat and change.”
Nicholas watched her go before getting up to his own room. Inside, he felt strangely empty as he did up the buttons of his shirt and slung on a leather jacket. He folded his sunglasses over where the fabric buckled at his open throat and ran a comb through his hair.
He knew what he needed to do.
Jay was waiting in a pink and navy plaid dress that swung down to her knees. “I'm taking you to Accia,” he informed her, shoving a hand into his jacket pocket.
She laughed nervously. “Wow, what a throwback. The last time I was there, I got kicked out.”
“You?” he said dubiously. “For what?”
“I was with Quentin. He called some snooty old woman a cunt and she complained.” Her face fell for some reason, a pensive look crossing her face.
“I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say that word,” he said dryly. “I'm surprised you didn't fucking stammer over it.”
“I swear,” she said, with the cool primness of an angry schoolmarm. “I just don't usually see the need to. I wonder if they'll even let me in,” she added, in a slightly less frosty tone.
“Of course they will.” She headed for the door, but he took her by the shoulders and turned her to the side. “Let's go out through the garden. It'll be more festive.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, as they walked past the sofa and coffee table before heading out through the door that led to the pool. The lilies of the valley swished softly in the morning greeze, while the grape leaves climbing over the trellis rasped and fluttered. He could smell his mother's jasmine and rose bushes flourishing, although at night the jasmine would be stronger.
“I forgot how pretty it was out here,” Jay said.
Nicholas locked the door. “My mother designed it.”
“Really?”
“She was an architect. Or wanted to be. It would have required a lot of travel. My father wanted her to stay at home. So she compromised by working on the house. It became her passion project. A lot of the features—the half-wall, the raised planters, the double staircase—were hers.”
“And the flowers?”
“Also hers.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died when I was young.” He unlocked the car. “Brain hemorrhage. It was fast.”
“Do you remember her at all?” she asked curiously, as he opened the door for her.
“Not well, no. Just little flashes. Touching my hair. Feeding me soup when I was sick. I remember what she smelled like. When I was eight or so, I caught a whiff of it in some mall. Chanel No. 5 was her perfume. For a moment, I thought she had come back and even though I knew it wasn't true, the reality was a little like losing her all ag
ain.”
“Oh,” said Jay softly. “That's so sad.”
“It spooked me badly enough that I started to cry. It's the only time I can remember crying. My dad yanked me out of there by the arm pretty quickly and told me to be a man.”
Jay's face darkened. “I'm glad he's dead,” she said viciously. “He was an awful man.”
“What about your dad? You never talk about him. Is he dead?”
“I don't know who he is.”
“Your mother never told you?”
“All she said was that he was tall and dark, and that he had green eyes. I guess he was a musician or something and they hooked up when she was young. She said he used to sing to her. She said he sang to me, too, but I'm not sure that's true. Any of it. It could all be a lie just because she liked the sound of it,” she said bitterly. “I figured the reason she never told me his name was because he was married or dead.”
Nicholas made a noncommittal sound as he drove, though he figured this was probably true.
“Why did your dad even marry your mom?” she asked suddenly. “From what you said about her, she doesn't seem like she was his type.”
“His type was female and alive,” Nicholas said, “and preferably beautiful, although I don't think even that mattered as long as he felt like he was in control. His marriage to my mother was arranged by their parents and I think he probably resented that. He told me once that he had a thing for some townie with a light skirt who gave good head and my mother wouldn't put up with other women. She and her father really put the pressure on until he broke things off. So not a great start. He often said that my mother wouldn't have had the hemorrhage if she hadn't worked so hard.”
“That's a sick and messed up thing to say to a kid,” said Jay.
“Yeah,” Nicholas said slowly. “It is. Both of our parents were pretty messed up.”
Jay folded her arms. “My mother was a lot of things, but she wasn't a rapist.”
“No. But I watched her spent our entire childhood fucking with your head and I don't think she ever lifted a finger to help you. I wonder if that's why you ended up the way you are.”
“How's that?” she demanded coldly.
Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance Page 45