by Shire, Devon
Babysitter Bondage
Devon Shire
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First Edition
©2012
Holy crap.I blinked furiously, not because of the morning glare but from shock and a deep, foreboding sense of awe. I could imagine the road opening up and swallowing my compact car right there. I kept closing and reopening my eyes, thinking this had to be some kind of joke. Seriously, he couldn’t have a place like this.
There was just no way.
Except it couldn’t be a joke since Mia didn’t know I was here. Furrowing my brow, I rechecked my phone. The directions were all correct. Squinting at the street sign at the next intersection, I spotted the address. This was the correct street: Maple View Road.
Damn, I started to shake my head. Against my will, I had to admit that this was pretty impressive. His house seemed to sit pretty much in the middle of nowhere. There weren’t any sidewalks, but when the property line started, there was a clean, bright, neatly trimmed yard. I imagined an army of hired hands mowing, cutting, and manicuring the different bushes, trees, and grass. A gorgeous cobbled path led from the paved driveway up to the house. Swallowing, I couldn’t actually think of it as a house, not any more.
Mansion would have been a better word. Palace could have worked too.
There were at least three floors. The front entrance had two doors, both of some golden wood. There were six gables and two sets of bay windows. From my spot, parked on the street, I couldn’t tell how far back it went.
The rest of the neighborhood might have been all trees and forest paths, but this place was nice. I could hardly believe it sat just forty miles from my family’s suburban house down in the city.
Should I keep going?
Generally speaking, I never back down. Seriously, I harassed Professor Michaels into letting me into her class even though I was ninth on the wait list. I convinced our university’s chancellor to give an interview for our student paper even as he tried to push through a new round of tuition hikes. All of my friends called me tenacious or stubborn. When we bickered, words like bitchy and snotty came up pretty frequently too.
But a few insults were just the price of success.
Nervously, I tapped my steering wheel, not sure if I should proceed. This would have gone easier if I could have showed up at some flea ridden drug den in the worst part of town. That would have proven my point very nicely. Finding this, well, it gave me pause.
But Mia was still too young. My annoyingly profligate sister was eighteen. She graduated from high school just a few days before. While I finished college around the same time, she simply declared she wasn’t going to go. My parents called this a phase, while I thought she was absolutely insane. Seriously, who skips out on college? It might have been better if she had some backup plan, but no, she just wanted to sit around the house or go party with her boyfriend.
Her boyfriend.
The idea of him makes my nostrils flare, but not out jealousy. Mia is eighteen; Trevor is twenty-seven. He is almost ten years older than her. The thought makes my skin go red. He is way, way too old for her, no matter how mature she claims to be.
So that was why I pulled up in front of his house. I was there to tell him off and to tell him to stay away from my little sister. As I drove out of my subdivision and onto the freeway, it had been so easy. I pictured myself shouting every profanity, cursing him five ways from Sunday to make sure he learned his lesson.
Those fantasy rages made me smirk now, if only because he obviously wasn’t the tattooed burnout I first imagined. No, he was possibly even a nice guy, but my sister really needed some structure. She couldn’t go through the last of her teen years thinking everything would simply be handed to her.
Opening the door, I stepped out into the early summer sunlight. The warmth already prickled through my dress shirt and black yoga pants. I pulled my hair back into a fierce ponytail and turned to my car, checking out my reflection in the mirror.
I didn’t look half bad, very professional. Possibly even intimidating.
As I headed onto his property and up the cobbled path, I bit down thinking of Mia. Since my parents just left for a three month cruise, they wanted me home now that I had graduated. Even they could recognize Mia shouldn’t be left alone, which essentially made me a glorified babysitter.
Biting down, I thought of some of my friends. Alexandra had saved up for a trip backpacking through Latin America. Stephanie and Megan decided to do internships in New York. And me? I was stuck in a suburb babysitting my eighteen-year-old sister.
Bitter regret burned at the back of my throat, but Mia was still my sister, so I had an obligation to take care of her. She might not have liked it in. In fact, she would have been pretty pissed off if she knew I guessed her password and hacked into her laptop to get his address.
I got to the front door and rang the bell.
Okay, so a fiery attack probably wouldn’t work. Even if this place belonged to his parents (which had to; there was no way a guy in his twenties could afford a place like this), he had to break up with Mia. It just wasn’t fair to her. She wouldn’t be able to handle a truly adult relationship.
Seconds passed. I pressed the doorbell again.
I tapped my foot against the porch and let my frustration build. The ferocity coalesced, and I imagined myself ripping this guy’s head off.
The door opened.
All of those aggressive fantasies broke apart. Just as I had done when I first laid eyes on the house, I started blinking again. I couldn’t believe it. Trevor stood there with one arm braced against the doorway. He leaned there like a prince, like the lord of th
e universe. His cocky half-grin should have engendered the urge to smack him.
Instead, a pulse of desire ran down my spine. This man was gorgeous. He was beautiful. I had to blink, thinking maybe this wasn’t really Trevor. I had seen a couple of his pictures when I rifled through Mia’s computer, but they didn’t do him justice. Not even close.
His dark, tousled hair glistened in the morning light. His eyes pressed into her like he could read her every thought and desire. Dressed in worn jeans and a black dress shirt, he looked like some multimillionaire.
“Good morning. It’s Claire, right?”
I froze. Between his first glance and opening words, I had come up with a brilliant declaration of my intent. I could have started shouting and shoved him back into the house. With one arm against his chest, I could have knocked him into a wall. It didn’t matter he had a good eighty pounds on me, not when I had the element of surprise.
He just stole my element of surprise, especially because he knew my name.
I opened my mouth to start off with something scathing, but I didn’t get the chance. He motioned for me to come inside, “Would you like something to drink? Some juice maybe?” Without waiting for a reply, Trevor turned back around and strode back into his house like there was no question I’d follow.
I bristled at his supposition. The arrogant bastard was right, and I entered his house. Closing the door behind me, I took one searching look and marveled at this place. Expensive looking art covered the walls. Taking a couple steps, my shoes clicked against the hard wood floors until I moved onto one of the rugs. They looked equally pricey.
Pausing at the paintings, I took a moment to examine the images. There were waterfalls, deserts, and mountains. Each one looked spectacular. I noticed the artist signatures as well.
Damn it. I didn’t want to be impressed. I didn’t want to think this guy could have anything good going for him.
The back of my neck started to grow warm as I thought of Trevor heading off to some kitchen or dining room and leaving me behind. I was ashamed of feeling embarrassed, especially because I was there to show this guy who was in charge.
Turning down to the hall, I bowed my head and chased after him.
About fifty feet on, the hall turned to the left. I followed the sound of Trevor’s footfalls until we both came to a small, intimate dining room. Right away, I got the impression this house had multiple dining rooms.
Trevor was at the fridge with a carafe of orange juice. He took it back to the counter and poured two glasses. “So what brings you here?” he asked as he filled the two glasses.
“We need to talk.” This time I managed to cross my arms over my chest threateningly. “It’s about Mia.”
“Yes, I thought you would be coming around sooner or later.”
“Then you know why I’m here.”
Trevor came back with the glasses and held one out to me. Regretting it instantly, I took the cup. He sat down at the small dining table. For a moment, I tried to stay on my feet, only he motioned to the other table with a wave of his hand. Again, he put off an almost royal vibe, like he expected the world to follow his lead.
I did.
I sat down in the proffered chair and took a polite sip. “If you know why I’m here, you know what you’re doing is wrong.”
Trevor stared back at me, considering me. He was older by three years, but I was right, damn it. He couldn’t intimidate me, especially when he was in the wrong. Trying to harden my expression, I glared back.
When he didn’t wilt under the heat of my glowering stare, I gave in and took a sip of the orange juice. It wasn’t bad. Lots of pulp. The juice left a slightly weird after taste, but I didn’t consider what it meant.
Big mistake.
Trevor withstood the venom in my voice. He didn’t quake or shudder at my angry sister routine. “Not even a little,” he said easily. Leaning forward, Trevor placed his forearms on the tabletop. “Please tell me, what is your position?”
“My position?” I nearly choked on those final two words. “Seriously, you have the balls to ask?” Momentum building, I shook my head, hoping he felt like an idiot for asking, but his face didn’t change. “Fine. This is my position. You’re too old for my sister. She is young, and she doesn’t need you in her life. What you’re doing is sick. She can’t handle this, and I really have to wonder why you are going out with a teenager. What’s wrong with you?”
“Several things,” he explained easily. “I probably watch too much TV. I don’t work out enough. I don’t eat as many vegetables as I should.” He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching up boyishly. “But when it comes to Mia, I assure you, my intentions are honorable and wholesome. You see, she is a brilliant, beautiful young woman. She has so much potential, and she seems to like me too.”
“She’s eighteen,” I reiterated. It sounded so obvious.
“But maturity isn’t a matter of age. Maturity is what counts, and your sister is very wise and patient, and she knows how to deal with people.”
I couldn’t believe this. Trevor was so full of crap. Again, the urge to smack him twitched through my palm. It took everything I had to control myself.
“We must be talking about two different girls named Mia. Mia, my sister Mia, is a brat. She acts like a toddler half the time. She doesn’t take responsibility for anything.” He watched me, and it started to get awkward because he didn’t flinch. To divert myself, if only for a second, I took another sip of orange juice. Again, I noticed the slightly off aftertaste.
“You’re mistaken.”
“How long—” I started to ask, but the world seemed to wobble around me. The counters seemed to blur or shake. I grabbed at the table as my mouth went dry. “How long have you known her?” My vision and sense of balance clarified.
Trevor obviously noticed, “Are you feeling okay?” The bastard actually sounded concerned, like he cared about my well being.
My stomach dropped out. To center myself, I decided to take another pull of orange juice. It was cold and helped me focus. I took another long pull of air through pursed lips. “I’m fine,” I growled back at her. The universe gave me a slap across the face because the room started to spin faster.
The cup slipped out of my fingers, hit the table, and spilled down onto my pants. The cold liquid soaked into the fabric. It stained my blouse as well, leaving a big, dark smear.
“You’re obviously not doing well,” he told me. Trevor got up and circled the table to put an arm around my shoulder. “Here, let me help you.”
Trevor helped me to my feet. I tried to nudge him away except he put another arm around my waist to keep me going. He walked me out of the kitchen. I kept trying to tell him I was fine, only he didn’t listen and I couldn’t argue.
We got to another room. My sight blurred again. I made out the soft, pastel colors, but that was it. I didn’t notice the shape of the bed or the dressers. Nothing really made sense here. “This is a guest room,” he said and lowered me down onto the bed. I stared up at the ceiling. The lines melded together as I scrunched my eyes closed.
Opening them again, I realized things were a bit easier to process.
“Oh, silly girl. It looks like you got your pants all wet. We’re going to need to get you out of them.”
“What?” I couldn’t comprehend what he just said.
Rather than explain it again, Trevor unbuttoned my pants with one quick motion. Rolling the waistband into his fingers, he yanked my pants down and pulled them off my feet.
I sat up and glanced down at my now bare legs. Part of me couldn’t believe it. He just took off my pants! I tried to roll off the bed, but Trevor grabbed my wrists and pinned me back onto the bed.
“Naughty girl. Do you think I’m going to let you leave with wet pants? People might think you wet yourself. They might think you were some naughty little baby.” He cooed down a
t me, speaking to me like I was really an infant or toddler.
Frustration bit at the back of my throat. The desire to smack him intensified, only my body refused to act on my orders. My muscles felt fuzzy and cottony. It was like the impulses got lost from the trip between my brain and limbs. At least I got my mouth to work.
“No,” I shook my head, “No. I’m not a baby.”
“I think you are,” he said with a deep nod of his head. It looked exaggerated, the same kind of gesture you might use with a small child. “I think you came in here ready to act all big and tough when you’re just a small girl at heart. Isn’t that right?”
“No!” I hissed through my incisors, fighting to maintain my sense of self. My muscles didn’t want to work right, and his words seemed utterly confused. I was there on my back, unable to really move. In some ways, I actually felt like a child as my legs kicked uselessly against the air.
“Silly girl,” he chuckled, and he made it sound like I was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. My skin flushed at his patronizing attitude. “Oh well, we’ll make things right. Okay?”
“Make things right,” I mumbled back, trying to understand what he meant.
Trevor nodded again with the same exaggerated motion. Then he let my wrists go only to grab something soft and fabric. He pulled it up and wrapped it around my right wrist. I heard the Velcro rub together and lock together.
Straining my head, I rolled over to see what he had done. I found my wrist encased in a fabric sheath. It was about the size of a thick bracelet, maybe two inches wide. The inner material looked shiny and black, but the outer lining glimmered a bright pink with two white hearts. It seemed like something an errant three-year-old might have to wear. The fabric connected back to a cord that stretched across the bed and down beneath the mattress.
I pulled. I couldn’t break the cord. Trevor had me trapped.
If I were in a normal state of mine, I might have simply torn away the Velcro. Only right then, I could barely think straight. And even if my thoughts weren’t so jumbled, I didn’t know if I could make my fingers work properly. Flopping from side to side felt like the limit of my dexterity.
