by Measha Stone
“I made enough for two, you hungry?” he asked, giving her a quick glance.
“Uh…sure. Thanks.” She walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water she’d bought the day before.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to the kitchen table.
She draped her sweater over the back of the chair and sat down as he placed the plate of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast in front of her.
“I have strawberries if you’d like,” he said, pointing to the fridge.
“No thanks. This is perfect.” She pulled her phone out and put it on the table, swiping it to life. The festival was already starting.
“Have a good night last night?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.
She paused. “Yeah.” She fought off the heat rising up her neck. A brief image struck her.
Ryder.
He’d woken her up.
No—he’d tried to wake her up.
The heat spread, and a heavy burning sensation dragged her heart down several inches as the memory came back to her. She’d fallen asleep on the couch.
He’d carried her.
She dropped her fork, the clanging echoing in her ears.
She’d called him Daddy.
Her gaze flashed to his face, then back to her plate.
“Samantha?” His casual, warm tone made her cheeks hotter, made her stomach twist harder.
“I—oh. I fell asleep on the couch.” She touched her fingertips to her lips.
He nodded, the same laid-back air still around him. “Yeah.”
“You—you carried me to bed?”
“I did.” He laughed. “You sleep pretty hard.”
She swallowed back the scream crawling from her chest. She’d been in her nightgown. Her hair, the pop, the popcorn—the coloring book. Sinking down in her chair, she couldn’t move her gaze from the pile of scrambled eggs on her plate.
“Samantha.” He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “I carried you to bed, put the blanket on you, and left. Nothing happened.”
She shook her head.
Something had happened.
He’d seen her.
He’d heard her.
He knew.
“I shouldn’t have said that…what I said—when you—” She chanced a quick glance, but went right back to her breakfast. “I shouldn’t have said that. It slipped.”
“It’s okay.” He patted her hand and dove into his own breakfast.
“It’s weird, and I’m sorry.”
His brow furrowed. “Weird?”
“I don’t even know you. Other than you have an incredible apartment, which you keep very clean, and you’re a carpenter, and you volunteer at George’s club,” she rambled, but it took the stress off thinking about what he’d seen. How repulsed he had to be by her now.
“Samantha, it didn’t bother me.” He took another bite and chewed slow. “In fact, it’s been a while since I had someone call me that,” he said after swallowing.
Her gaze crashed to his. “What?”
“I said it’s been—”
“I heard you. I mean, you’re a…or were?”
“A Daddy?” He grinned, showing off his dimple again. “Yeah. To the right girl, yes. Not every girl I dated or play with was okay with that, though.”
“Oh.” She nodded like she fully understood, but her mind was still trying to absorb his reaction. “I sort of had you pegged for a—well, a hard nose Dom.”
“I am.” He put his fork down. “I mean, with the right girl, yeah, I’m all about the Daddy Dom thing, but if she gets out of line, hell yeah, I’m hard ass with her. And I kinda play hard, so she’d have to be into some pain.”
She watched him pick up his plate and take it to the sink. Pain.
“Like impact stuff?”
“Yeah. Among other stuff. Sensation play can be amazing.” He moved to the stove to gather the frying pan and spatula. “You need to eat, Samantha. I’m not sure popcorn really constitutes dinner, and since I didn’t see any dishes or anything else, I’ll assume that’s all you had last night.”
She lowered her gaze. She’d had some gummy bears too, but she doubted he would think that counted either.
Slowly, she made her way through the eggs and took several small bites of the toast.
“What do you have planned today?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel and leaning back against the counter.
That was it? He dropped a bombshell he was a Daddy Dom, told her what sort of kinky play he enjoyed, and then just normal conversation? If she could untie her tongue, it would make conversing a lot easier.
“Uh, Printers Row.” She found her voice again. “It’s down by the library.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it before. It’s supposed to be nice day, the humidity broke.” He crossed his arms over his chest, watching her push the last few bites of her food around the plate.
“What about you? What do you have planned?
He shrugged. “Nothing really. Just relaxing today. The job I’m starting this week is going to have some long days.”
She picked up her plate and took it the garbage can, scraping off the rest of her eggs and half eaten toast. He took it from her when she tried to get to the sink.
“You, maybe…uh…want to join me?”
“At the book fest?” he asked with raised brows.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.” His gaze roamed over her. “I’ll finish this. You go get some sunscreen on. You’re already red from yesterday. Just ’cause it’s not as hot, the sun is still out there.”
She raised her chin.
“I’ll be fine. I have my sweater.”
“That knit thing?” He gestured with his chin. “Sunscreen, Samantha.”
He didn’t do it on purpose. He seemed almost as surprised as she was after he said it. But he’d put on that authority filter, like she shouldn’t argue. She wanted to.
Oh, how she wanted to.
“Go on.” He pointed to the door.
She pinched her lips together, deciding not to fight with him over sunscreen. He wasn’t wrong, and she didn’t want to ruin the morning. If he got too uppity, she’d put him back down, but he could have this little round.
As she made her way to the bathroom to get the sunscreen, warmth spread through her belly.
It had been so long since anyone had invoked that feeling inside her, maybe she’d let him get away with it so she could enjoy it.
For the moment anyway.
Because it would never be anything more than that.
A moment.
Chapter 7
Ryder followed Samantha through the crowd toward the Mystery Writers of America tent. They had been at the literary festival for an hour already, and she’d bought five books. He’d only gotten a little snark from her when he’d insisted on carrying them for her.
Seeing her blush so prettily over breakfast when she realized what he’d seen the night before had thrown a gallon of kerosene on the fire already starting to ignite. He’d been honest. It had been a long time since a woman had called him Daddy—and he’d been waiting a long time for it to happen again. With Samantha, it had come naturally. But she’d been asleep. She hadn’t known it was him.
Just knowing she liked the same thing, enjoyed the same kink, made ignoring her beauty and mind even harder as they walked through the fest. She visited every tent, no matter what genre of work was being presented. She asked the author’s questions and listened to everything they had to say with open interest.
“Another one?” Ryder laughed when she came back to him carrying another novel.
“It’s set here in Chicago.” She flipped open the hardcover to show the author’s signature. “He wanted to sign it for me.”
“Keep it safe then,” Ryder said, taking the book from her and adding it to the pile. “It’s getting pretty hot now. Let’s find some water.”
“I’m fine.” She shrugged and pointed to the next tent. “Graphic novels. I
love graphic novels.” Her eyes flashed brightly.
“Okay, but first, water.” He looked down the street for a vendor and frowned. There didn’t seem to be any food tents. “I think there’s a gas station on the corner.”
“I’m going to the tent,” she said and walked off.
“Samantha,” he called firmly. She paused, keeping her back to him. Her hands fisted, her back straightened, but she didn’t heed the warning in his tone. Instead, she took purposeful steps away until she reached the tent she aimed for.
His jaw clenched. She wasn’t his to command or chastise. If she wanted to walk away from him, she had that right. He had no claim over her.
With an internal growl, he followed her to the tent and waited for her to finish conversing with the artist and author of the novels. The longer he watched her smile and laugh, the harder it became to remind himself she was completely off limits.
She walked away with two more books.
“I’ll carry these, your hands are full.” She laughed as he readjusted his grip on the stack of books in his arms.
“Water. Now. Your face is getting red. Did you bring the sunblock?” He piled the books into the crook of his left arm and pressed his right hand to her back, nudging her in the direction of the sidewalk—away from the tents.
“No. I put on enough. I’ll be fine,” she said, stuffing the two books into her bag. “I am a little thirsty.”
He pressed his lips together but didn’t comment.
“And hungry. Let me take you to lunch.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him toward a restaurant with outside seating. “It’s so pretty out, I want to sit outside.”
“Samantha, wait.” He tugged her back. “This place is packed. There’s a deli on the corner. Let’s do that.”
She scrunched up her lips.
“It has a patio,” he said.
Sold.
“Okay.” She nodded with a wide grin and skipped ahead of him.
Skipped.
He watched the Little come out of her with a warm heart.
The streets were blocked off for the festival, so he didn’t chastise her about not looking for traffic before heading through the crowds. But he would mention not leaving him behind while they were together.
When he caught up to her, she waved at him. “We can get a seat out there. There’s even shade so you don’t have to worry so much about the sun.”
He nodded toward the waitress who grabbed two menus and led them to the patio seats. Ryder piled the books on an empty chair at the table and sat across from Samantha. She was already scouring the menu.
“I want a BLT and a pop…root beer…yes, they have it.” She put the menu down and smiled.
“Sounds good. I think I’ll have the same.” He didn’t care what he ate, so long as her smile stayed so sweet.
The waitress popped over and took their orders, leaving them in silence.
“There’s a lecture this afternoon I wanted to go to, so if you want to head home, I can meet you there later.” Samantha swiped through the screen on her phone.
“Is that the festival schedule?” he asked, pointing to her cell.
“No.” She shook her head but didn’t look up.
“Then I’d appreciate it if you put it away.”
Her finger stilled over the screen, and her gaze dragged up to meet his. “I was just checking emails.”
He leaned forward, his forearms pressed against the edge of the table. “You can do that later.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he readied himself for a snarky retort.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was rude.” She grabbed her bag from the back of her chair and tossed her phone inside.
“What’s the lecture about?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“It’s on storytelling. There are three authors presenting,” she said, then launched into the background of the authors. Ryder listened as she went through all three and their books, ticking off which she liked the most. Passion burned in her expression as she continued talking, not even pausing when their lunch was brought to the table.
She took a long breath. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling.” She picked up her sandwich and took a large bite.
He wiped the crumbs from his mouth with his napkin. “If they can get you this excited, I have to see them for myself. I’ll go to the lecture with you, then we can head home.” He took a sip of his rooter. “Unless there’s another program you want to see?”
She blinked.
“You’ll go with me?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I’m more of an adventures sort of reader, long epics, that sort of thing, but this sounds pretty interesting.”
She took another bite and chewed while staring at him.
“You read?”
He laughed. “That’s so surprising?”
A heated blush blossomed on her cheeks. “No. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…I’ve never met a guy who reads—other than Facebook posts anyway.”
“You’ve been hanging out with the wrong people.” He popped a fry into his mouth.
“You’re not wrong.” She nodded and dove back into her sandwich. He watched her quietly for a moment, the undertone to her statement lingering in his mind.
“So, what made you come up to Chicago? I mean, there are libraries in Indiana, so why here?” He leaned back in his chair, feeling the sun hit his face.
Her gaze flickered up to him, but quickly detoured to the people walking past them along the sidewalk.
“Samantha?” he prompted when she remained silent.
She shrugged and stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth.
“Hmmm.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned over the table. “If you weren’t just a friend and a guest in my home, I’d find better ways to make you answer me than repeating myself.”
Her eyes widened, her gaze locking on him.
“L-Like what?” she asked in a hushed tone after she swallowed down her fries.
He grinned. “Nothing you’d enjoy, I assure you.”
She pulled back with a frown. “Well, then I suppose it’s good I’m a guest. And just a friend.”
Did he hear the snark and the disappointment correctly?
“I guess so,” he challenged. “So, really, what made you make the move?”
“I wanted to.” She busied herself with drinking down the last of her root beer. “It’s almost three and we want good seats, we should get going.” She waved down the waitress for the check.
He knew a brush-off when he saw it. Whatever secret reason she had for coming to Chicago was locked up tight. He’d let her have her privacy. After all, he was just the spare room she was using.
When the check came, he made a grab for it, but she slapped her hand over it.
“I said I was taking you to lunch.” She met him glare for glare. He could argue, but the issue was obviously important to her.
“Yes, you did.” He pulled his hand back. “But I’m leaving the tip.” He wiggled his wallet out of his back pocket.
She checked over the bill. “Okay.” She shot him a quick smile before sliding her credit card into the bill fold and holding it up for the waitress as she walked by.
“Thanks. I’ll get this right back to you,” the waitress said and breezed back into the restaurant.
“Where’s the lecture?” he asked.
“The library down the block.”
“You have an interview there tomorrow, right?” he asked.
“Yep.” She popped her “p” and looked back into the street. Small talk wasn’t her thing. Which worked great, because he hated it too.
“So, you don’t play with the girls at George’s club?” she asked, swinging her attention back to him.
Ryder blinked a few times, taking in the drastic change in topic.
“I do sometimes, when I’m there for fun and not volunteering,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. It had been a while, a few months maybe, since he’d had any real fun at the club.
“Are you interviewing me?” He laughed.
She grimaced. “Sorry. Sometimes I get nosey.”
“No. Not at all.” He slid his hand across the table and laid it on top of hers. “I haven’t had a steady girlfriend in a long time, a few years. I’ve had some play partners at the club, but there aren’t a lot of women I’ve come across who are into…well, the sort of relationship I want.”
Her fingers wiggled beneath his hand, but she didn’t pull it free.
“You mean, like full-time…” Her voice faded away as the waitress approached with her credit card.
“Thanks, guys. Have a great day.” The waitress placed the bill fold back on the table and left.
“What about you?” He turned the tables.
“Me?”
“Yeah, boyfriends?”
“Oh, no.” She laughed and leaned back, taking her hand from beneath his. “I had a boyfriend about a year ago. He was…well, not into—well, anything.”
Ryder nodded, not sure he understood fully, but not wanting to get into an in-depth discussion about her little side in such a public setting.
“He wasn’t the right guy.” She shrugged and opened the bill fold. She scribbled her name on the bottom of the receipt and flipped it closed again.
She got up from the table, swinging her bag over her shoulder, and he followed suit. After tossing a few bills down on the table for the tip, he followed her through the maze of tables and back to the street.
They walked quietly for half a block before he slipped his hand into hers, lacing their fingers. He waited for her to stiffen or pull back, but her fingers curled around his and she shifted closer.
“Oh, there’s a kid’s tent. You want to stop? I think I saw some coloring books and puzzles.” He pointed to the tent coming up on their left.
She paused in her step briefly.
“No. That’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“I don’t need that stuff. I was…last night…I don’t do that very often. I was just so tired and worn out, I needed some chill time. I’m not like that all the time.” She rambled off her words so fast, they crashed into each other at the end.
“It’s not something to be embarrassed about,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.