His Babygirl

by Jane Henry

  Alice blinked, her eyes trying to focus on his face through the murky light and the fog of desire that enveloped her mind. Somehow this conversation felt more emotionally charged than their past conversations about rules and behavior, like he was trying to convey an important message. She struggled to put her brain back together enough to focus.

  What would she do if he didn’t give her what she needed?

  The first thought that came to her was, Then I’ll do it myself, but she immediately rejected it. At some point over the last week, the idea of handling things on her own, whether it was kitchen faucets or orgasms, no longer gave her the same sense of satisfaction that it once had.

  “I wait for you?” She blurted the words out, but haltingly.

  “Are you asking me, or telling me?” he demanded, amused.

  “I wait for you,” she said, more firmly now. “I wait for Daddy to take care of me.” The words felt true and right, but one dim corner of her brain, maybe the last remnants of the self-sufficient but incredibly lonely woman she no longer wanted to be, rose up in feeble protest. My God, what have you just said?

  “That’s right,” he agreed. “Because Daddy will always take care of you. Things might not happen when and how you expect them, Allie-girl, or even the way you think you want them, but you can wait for me and know that I’ll take care of you. You get me?”

  She swallowed. “Yeah, Daddy.”

  “Good girl,” he told her. And then his fingers moved back between her legs, while he rolled his muscled torso over hers. His lips gently parted hers and he licked into her mouth, his tongue thrusting in a rhythm that mimicked the way his fingers pumped into her below.

  “You’re ready for me,” he growled, and though she was already well aware of that fact, the threads of surprise and excitement in his tone made her smile. She placed her hand on his cheek and watched his expression—jaw hard, eyes burning—as he levered himself over her and entered her slowly.

  She was so swollen, her flesh so achingly sensitive after the long night, that the firm pressure made her gasp. It was pleasure and pain in just the right combination, and a burn that sated her in the best possible way. He understood, the way he seemed to know everything, just the way she needed him to move, and he rocked over her in slow, nudging thrusts, his pelvis rolling against her clit with just the right amount of friction.

  It seemed to go on forever, the pleasure building in waves, and the soft, guttural sounds of arousal, his and hers, filling the room. It was beautiful. It was perfect. And she felt something within her shift on a fundamental level.

  The sky got lighter and lighter, until she could clearly see his beautiful, golden brown eyes fixed on her face.

  “Come for me, Allie,” he told her, his voice sounding almost drunk and as lost to sensation as she was, but his control still firmly in place. And she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed onto him tightly with all the strength she could muster, and gave herself over to her daddy.

  Three hours later, Alice was looking back on that transcendental lovemaking and wondering if she’d lost her mind. Everything had been so wonderful, and then it had all gone so wrong.

  After a record seventh orgasm, she’d fallen into a blissful sleep, not through choice so much as sheer exhaustion. But that nap had seemingly lasted all of five minutes before Slay had nudged her shoulder absentmindedly and muttered a gruff, “You said you wanted to be home when Charlie woke up.” Slay had been sitting up in bed at the time, his eyes and attention focused on his phone, his thumbs flying over the keys as he sent a text message, and in that one, moment, all the certainty and rightness she’d felt during the night had completely fled, and every doubt and worry had come back with a vengeance. She’d gotten up and dressed herself in the clothes she’d worn yesterday, then let Slay lead her out into the cold morning and help her into his truck for the short but silent ride home.

  You’re tired, that’s all, she told herself firmly. Thoroughly, gloriously exhausted, and being overly sensitive. Of course every day wouldn’t be like last night! But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that she was hoping the closeness they’d shared would extend a little further, that he would let her in and share some of the secrets he obviously carried. When would he trust her?

  Slay smoothly backed his enormous truck into a parking space a block away from Alice’s rental house, killed the engine, and reached over to unbuckle her belt.

  “There you go, baby,” he said distractedly.

  It struck her suddenly how expected and routine this had become—the unbuckling of her belt, the sweet “baby” in his gruff voice—even after such a short time. Too short a time. It was tempting to think she knew him, but he’d never fully let her in. Had she leapt into this too fast?

  At the thought, tension tightened her muscles and anxiety gripped her belly, but she forced herself to smile her thanks anyway. Not that Slay seemed to notice her tension. He opened his door and came around to open hers, but he’d taken his phone from his pocket again and only briefly looked up when she stepped down.

  He took her chilly hand firmly in his warm one, and slid the phone back in his pocket as they strolled down the sidewalk. He didn’t say a word, and for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say either. Thank you for the incredible night last night! seemed inadequate. What the hell is happening? seemed reactionary. And admitting her doubts and fears the way she knew she probably should seemed impossible when he was so silent and distracted.

  The street was mostly quiet at this hour on a blustery December Saturday, and down the street, the neighbor’s Christmas decorations blinked cheerily in the early morning light. Alice realized with an uncomfortable rush of guilt that she’d been so consumed with other things in her life—okay, fine, mostly Slay—that Christmas was just over a week away and she still had a ton of shopping to do. She debated asking Slay if he wanted to come Christmas shopping, since she knew he almost always had Saturdays off from Inked and he wouldn’t have to be at The Club until much later. But then she heard the phone buzzing in his pocket once more, and Slay dropped her hand to retrieve it.

  She sighed and struggled to keep annoyance from taking root in her brain. Maybe Nora could stay for a few more hours, and Alice could head downtown, knock out her whole list at once. Looked like she’d be on her own once again.

  When they were halfway up the path to her door, Slay halted her with a firm hand on her wrist. He glanced down at his phone screen once more—she felt the unreasonable urge to take the phone and throw it against the sidewalk, just to see it crack—and then slid it back into his pocket.

  “We need to go over some things, Allie,” Slay told her.

  “Okay,” she said, proud of how calm and controlled she sounded.

  “First, remind me who makes the rules,” he demanded, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand in a way that both soothed and focused her.

  Rules are exactly what you need right now, she reminded herself. If for no other reason than that rules were one of the ways a dom showed he cared.

  “You do,” she said.

  His eyes flared at her admission, lit with some emotion that was both possessive and proud. “That’s right, I do, because I’m your daddy, and you trust me to do what’s best for you and Charlie.”

  She gave a short nod.

  “Even when you’d rather not,” he pressed. “Even when it’s not fun.”

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “O-okay.” Mostly. Usually.

  “You’re going to stay home today,” he told her. “Rest, make cookies, do whatever you want, but stay inside the house with Charlie all day.”

  His brown eyes locked on hers in a way that said his decision was not negotiable—a look Alice was very familiar with. Lord knew she’d seen it often enough in the past few days, every time he’d made an unreasonable demand or failed to tell her the truth.

  She drew in a long breath and tried to calm down.

  When she’d decided to trust Slay last night, she
’d thought she’d finally broken through the helpless anger she’d felt at his high-handedness, gotten herself to a submissive, accepting place. Now she realized she’d only pushed it aside temporarily. It had been simmering inside her all along, and now it was threatening to rise up and choke her.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Slay,” she told him. “I have shopping to do for Charlie, so I—”

  Slay’s eyes had heated the moment she’d said the word “can’t.” “Do it online,” he told her flatly.

  “Can you tell me why I should?” Her voice was a demand, but beneath it was a plea. Tell me why, Daddy.

  He seemed to hesitate, but then his expression firmed. “Because your daddy says so, little girl,” he said. “And because you know what will happen if you disobey.”

  She gritted her teeth and huffed out a breath. Another one of his tests? She was getting heartily sick of those.

  “Second,” Slay continued, but he was interrupted when Alice’s front door flew open and a pajama-clad Charlie came barreling down the stairs.

  “Momma!” Charlie cried, his face flushed and his eyes lit up. “Hey, Slay!” he said, with a smile for the man at her side. “Momma, guess what? Grandma and Grandpa came over, and they’re going to take us to see the Christmas decorations at the Enchanted Village this morning!”

  Alice stared at him. “Grandma and Grandpa are… here?” she repeated, looking up at the house as cold horror washed over her.

  Charlie nodded. “They brought us donuts!”

  Alice’s mouth formed a little O, and she looked from Slay to Charlie blankly. Of all the scenarios she could imagine in which her ultra-conservative parents were introduced to Slay, them watching her do the walk of shame into her house after spending the night with her lover—spending a night away from Charlie for literally the first time in his life—was quite possibly the worst.

  Shit.

  She ran a hand over her tunic sweater, hoping to smooth out some of the wrinkles, but to no avail. She glanced at Slay, to see completely inappropriate amusement dancing in his eyes. So, no help from that quarter, either.

  With a sigh, she let Charlie grab her hand and tow her up the front steps.

  He let go of her hand once they reached the kitchen, and ran ahead to climb up on a stool at the island, snagging himself a donut from the plain white box in front of him. Alice trudged slowly behind, a prisoner heading to the gallows, and not even the promise of donuts could lighten her mood.

  She immediately noticed that her parents had made themselves at home in her kitchen. Her father was sitting on a stool next to Charlie, with one of her red-and-white-patterned coffee mugs steaming in front of him, while her mother stood with her hip resting against the sink. Both of them watched her come in, and she felt exactly like she had seven years ago in their kitchen, when she’d had to confess that she’d sinned and gotten herself in trouble.

  “Uh, hey,” she greeted them, feeling Slay stop behind her. He was standing far too close for polite company—she could feel the heat of all six-foot-whatever-inches of him pressing against her back. She tried to ignore him, hoping her parents would also. No such luck.

  “Wow, donuts!” she said lamely when neither of her parents returned her greeting.

  “From Anna’s,” her mother said mechanically, her eyes on Slay. “I know they’re your favorite.”

  Alice knew exactly what her parents were seeing when they looked at her man—the bulk, the muscle, the shaved head, the piercings, the tattoos that peeked out from the crewneck and pushed-up forearms of his sweatshirt. Knowing her parents, they’d made an instantaneous decision about Slay, putting him in the category of Criminal and Unsavory Type. They wouldn’t see the affection and kindness in his eyes, the way he took care of her, the way he held down multiple jobs, the way he protected everyone he met, all the sweet ways he had connected with Charlie over the past few months—riding kiddie rides at the school fair, debating favorite desserts when Charlie visited her at Cara, having deep conversations about X-men. And she didn’t know how to make them see that. She’d never been able to make them see beyond their prejudices in the past.

  So she sighed and focused on donuts.

  “They are my favorite,” Alice nodded. She cleared her throat. “Let me grab some plates.”

  Slay grabbed the back of her sweater at the waist and held her in place. “Baby,” he said softly, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  She saw her father’s face harden at the word baby, and felt her own face heat to the approximate temperature of a nuclear reactor.

  “Oh. Yeah,” she said. “Right. Uh, Mom and Dad, this is, um, A-alexander Slater. Slay, this is my Mom and Dad, Tom and Denise Cavanaugh.”

  “Call me Alex.” Slay stepped forward and held out his hand in friendly greeting to her father, who visibly hesitated before taking it.

  Shit shit shit.

  “Well,” her mother sniffed. “I guess we see now why she hasn’t been returning Gary’s calls, don’t we, Tom?”

  Her father, who was locked in a silent staring contest with Slay, didn’t reply.

  “Mom,” Alice began in her placating voice, but her mother overrode her.

  “Gary said he’s texted you dozens of times, called you twice that much. He said you never even bothered to reply!” she accused, one hand on her hip.

  “I was hoping he’d get the hint,” Alice mumbled.

  This drew Slay’s attention to her. “Levitz? He’s called you dozens of times?” he demanded.

  Alice shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I obviously haven’t called him back,” Alice said, gesturing toward her mother, who had just hassled her over that very fact.

  “Not the point,” Slay said, an angry spark in his eye. “What did I tell you, Allie? If he so much as text messages you, I wanna know. What part of that was unclear?”

  Alice swallowed and felt her face flame impossibly hotter. Yeah, okay, she vaguely remembered that he’d said that, but God! Her parents were right here. Could he tone it down a little? Her dad’s jaw was twitching, and her mom’s eyes had narrowed.

  “Right, okay,” she agreed, giving him a pointed look and hoping he would drop it. “Sorry about that.”

  Slay took a deep breath and tried to compose himself, though she knew she’d be hearing about this… and feeling it… later.

  “Slay, are you coming with us?” Charlie asked. Alice shifted her eyes to her baby, and found his face obscured by powdered sugar and blueberry filling, his earnest blue eyes watching Slay.

  “No, bud, not today,” Slay told him, and his little face fell. “I have a lot of stuff to do. And, actually, I think your mom has stuff to do today also, and needs to stay home.” Slay turned to pierce her with a hard look. “Isn’t that right, Allie?”

  Alice blinked back at him. He was going to make them miss the Enchanted Village? He was going to enforce his stay-at-home edict, even when it meant disappointing her parents and Charlie? What was his problem? Was he just trying to prove a point?

  She couldn’t understand him at all right now, and it scared her. How did everything that seemed as easy as breathing a few hours ago seem so impossible right now?

  He wanted her to yield, she knew it. And she knew that maybe, maybe, that was her duty as his sub. But… he was supposed to consider her needs, too. To factor in what was best for her, and for Charlie. How could he insist on her staying home when her parents were already here, when Charlie was so excited?

  “Is that true, Alice?” her father demanded. “What do you have to do today?”

  “I, uh—” she stammered, staring at Slay and hoping for a reprieve. None came. “I have online shopping to do,” she said bitterly.

  Slay nodded once, approving, but Alice didn’t feel the sense of peace and calm she usually felt when she submitted, when she pleased him. She felt… wronged. And really, really pissed off.

  Her eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to ask to have a word with him in private, when he looked around, see
ming to notice something for the first time.

  “Where’s Nora?” Slay asked.

  “Oh, she left,” Charlie told him. “When Grandma and Grandpa got here, they told her she could go home. She said she had some things to do anyway, and she’d talk to Momma later.”

  Sudden tension came over Slay’s frame.

  “Shi—uh, shoot,” he said, with an apologetic look at Charlie. “I need to make a phone call. Be back,” he told Alice.

  Alice nodded woodenly.

  The second he’d stepped out the front door, Alice’s mother turned to Charlie. “Charlie, honey, why don’t you take your donut in the other room and watch some cartoons?”

  “Really?” he said, looking back and forth from his mother to his grandmother.

  Alice nodded. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to get out of this conversation, so she might as well get Charlie away from it. “But eat over the plate!” she called, as Charlie ran off.

  Before her mother could say a word, Alice crossed to the coffee pot and filled herself a mug. She would need fortification for this. She took the first grateful sip.

  “Alice. Mary. Cavanaugh,” her mother hissed, her eye on the front door, in case Slay should reappear like magic. “Explain yourself.”

  Her father simply looked at her, cold disapproval in his eyes.

  She squirmed… and felt the ache in her bruised posterior protest the movement. The bruises that her man had put there, because she’d wanted him to. Because he cared about her and she… loved him.

  Shit.

  She really did. She loved him, God help her, even though he made her mad as hell. And so, no, she wasn’t going to have this conversation, the one where her parents made her feel bad about not being the perfect daughter who followed their rules. Not today. Not any day.

  She shrugged and returned her mother’s gaze directly. “It’s pretty self-explanatory, Mom. I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman. Slay is my… boyfriend. We’re together.”

  Her mother inhaled sharply through her nose and pursed her lips.

  “I don’t like the way he talks to you,” her father spat.