His Custody

by Tamsen Parker

  But it was Ada, bearing a small bag from a department store, who bundled her into the bathroom where Keyne could relax while the older woman worked her magic. A couple of hours later when she opened her eyes, it was to a stranger in the mirror. A punk rock princess blinked back at her: hair teased sky high, dark-lined eyes giving way to a startlingly pink mouth that matched the streak in her hair and the color on her nails.

  How much Jas loved her made her ache. If you want to be rock and roll, you can be rock and roll. I’ll make you the best badass there ever was. He hadn’t tried to shove her into the dress he’d already gotten for her, probably some gorgeous green or blue confection. Maybe yellow, he liked her in yellow. He’d changed his plans, made a one-eighty for her. So she’d feel pretty. And special. She did, oh, god, she did. She wasn’t even wearing the dress yet and she felt like a kinky Cinderella.

  She had Ada help her with the gauntlets, lacing them up her wrists, but Jasper would want to dress her himself, she was sure of it. So she told Ada she’d finish getting dressed herself, and she could go home. Ada petted her shoulder on the way out and Keyne sat squirming, stewing, waiting.

  When he showed up, she was leaning back in the chair, trying to meditate, trying not to think about how the blood in her pelvis and her breasts was pulsing more heavily than anywhere else, how she wanted to be strung up naked and used, make him feel as good as he’d made her. That’s when she heard his footfalls. She tried to subdue the corner of her mouth, but no matter how much she tried to tame it for him, it always gave her away. It tugged up in response to his nearness and when his hand clamped around her throat, he pressed the offending corner with his thumb.

  “If we didn’t have to go so soon, I’d have you on your knees with your mouth around my cock.”

  The muscles in her abdomen forced out a tiny bit of air through her nose and her eyes tried to shut even though they were already closed. Then the hand was gone from her throat and he was circling her wrists with his long fingers.

  “Open your eyes, Keyne.”

  She blinked and there he was, squatting beside her in a tux and his face so hard, his brows pushed ever so slightly together. Why so serious?

  His thumbs scraped over the inside of her leather-clad wrists and his jaw tightened. “You haven’t let me take these off since you got here. I’m not going to make you tell me why because that’s your own business, but I have to ask: it’s not because you’ve been cutting yourself, is it?”

  Oh, Jasper. “No, Master. I promise. I wouldn’t, I swear.”

  He squeezed her wrists, harder than would’ve felt good if she’d been someone else, and nodded. “Time to get you dressed.”

  He helped her up from the chair and stripped away her towel, guiding her naked into the dressing room.

  “You’re getting stuffed for this, you know that, right?”

  “Yes, Master,” she breathed as he bent her over the stool, although she hadn’t. Hoped, maybe, but hadn’t known. She grabbed the bottom rung that forced her up onto tip-toes and closed her eyes when he instructed in a bored tone, “Spread your legs.”

  She did, making her flexed calves work harder. He didn’t comment as he stroked the small of her back that she’d kept bare for him, but she had, faithfully. Nor did he comment on how wet she was, though he must’ve been able to see it. Instead, he pushed something against the entrance to her pussy. She’d bet silicone and ridged in some way and though it wasn’t particularly large, she breathed deeply and focused on being open for him as he inserted the dildo. There was more coming.

  A final push and the snick of the cap of a bottle of lube confirmed, and soon he was pressing a finger into her ass. “Had anything up your ass lately, Tinker Bell?”

  She shook her head though he wouldn’t be able to see it. “No, Master.”

  He didn’t ask her why not or if she’d had anything in her pussy. She’d gotten kissed and groped at frat parties but nothing had ever gotten serious. And if he thought she was going to let any idiot shove something up her—

  “Relax. I just want to know how much you can take.”

  He stroked her, in and out for a minute, spreading the lube over her inner walls and then added more lube and a second finger, spending more time than necessary passing his fingertips over the dildo buried inside her through the thin membrane, probably wishing it were his cock, or because it was Jasper, knowing later on, it would be.

  He withdrew his fingers and replaced it with a slim plug, easy to take, and then he helped her to stand before strapping on a harness to keep the toys inside her for the evening, covering the whole operation with a pair of satin underwear. He tipped up her head to look him in the eye.

  “You’ll tell me if this gets uncomfortable. You’re out of practice and it wouldn’t be surprising if you couldn’t take it for as long as you did before. I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyebrow twitched up. “Well, like that.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  It did feel strange after being empty for so long, but not bad. He steered her by her elbow to where the dress was hanging and took it off the hanger, urging her to step into it. The leather whispered over her skin as he drew it up her legs, over her hips and waist, settling the boned bodice along her ribcage before he took the collar and buckled it around her neck. Though it wasn’t a true collar, this was as close as they’d ever get to playing in public. She was flooded by a new hotness, secret exhibitionism.

  She’d do it for him, but circumstances being as they were, they’d never be able to. But this? Thank god for pop stars who thought bondage was cool, fashionable. And better, or really, more, there was a tug at the top of the bodice that continued down her ribs to the small of her back. A corset. He was trying to kill her. Kill her dead of lust or maybe dehydration because she was going to be drenched through this whole party. She’d be lucky if her arousal weren’t slicking the insides of her thighs by the time this was over.

  He grunted something about not being able to lace it properly, and it tipped up the corner of her mouth again. Her poor, lovely Jasper, not being able to make her appropriately breathless and contained. When he was satisfied, he turned her around to face him and got down on his knees, extracting a box from under the island. It wasn’t a standard-sized shoe box, but more like a boot box. And when he opened it . . . It would be a miracle if she didn’t come before she could walk out of the house.

  He took out one of the shoes, and she offered him her foot. He took it in his hands and raised it high to take her pinky toe in his mouth and sink his teeth into the pad. As he did, her internal muscles contracted around the toys he’d put in her. Holy Mary, mother of—

  “Don’t come, bad girl. You’ll be on your best behavior for this or else.”

  He eased her foot into the base of the shoe and then started fastening the straps, one by freaking one. Heeled, knee-high gladiator sandals. With every buckle cinched around her skin, she got more and more breathless until she had to grip the side of the island before she fainted.

  “Keyne, sweetheart, are you all right?”

  Barely restrained spastic nodding. “Yes, Master, I, I—”

  “Couldn’t be more turned on unless your tits were clamped and you were strung up to the ceiling with a bit gag in your mouth while I took the crop to you?” That smug bastard. He knew exactly what this was doing to her, and he was loving it.

  Her knuckles whitened on the side of the island. “Jasper . . .”

  “Oh, you are excited, aren’t you? Hold on tight, I need your other foot.” On this foot, he tongued and sucked every toe, biting hard on the pads and running his tongue along her arch. The notion of people quivering with desire had always seemed ridiculous, but there was no other word for it. “You have the most delicious feet. I could eat you alive and I’d start right here.”

  “Devour me, please.”

  He chuffed a laugh that made her pussy tight
en. He wasn’t immune to this, was probably as desperate as she was, but the illusion of indifference, god, he was so fucking good. So instead of nipping more at her eager, aching flesh, he guided her foot into the shoe and strapped her ankle in, then inch by inch of her shin, all the way up to her knee. When he was done, he put her foot down and stood to peel her hands off the lip of the island where they were clenched.

  Forcing the small of her back against the ledge, he took her hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing and nipping her fingertips. He pushed his hips into hers, giving her a tease of how hard and hot he was for her, his thick heavy cock digging into her belly.

  “You remember how to play this game, yes?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  She did, but he’d remind her and she’d relish the instruction.

  “You may not hold my hand, you may not kiss me. If you need me you will find me but you will spend most of the evening with other people. You’re not a girl anymore, I made sure of it, but until you’ve finished school, we have got to be—”

  “Beyond reproach. I understand, Master.”

  “Good.”

  He reached beyond her and handed her a small clutch. Scored black leather over neon printed silk and a brash gold chain she could loop over her wrist. She took it, surprised by the weight. Since they’d been together, she’d always taken a clutch for show, but they’d been empty. Jasper had everything she’d need. If she needed her phone, cash, lip gloss, she’d had to ask.

  She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a glance. “We took too many chances before. You’re an adult, you should carry your own things.” Seeing her eyes water and her chin wrinkle, he amended, “For now.”

  “For now” she could live with. She’d have to. She tried to take comfort that this was what he wanted, but it was hard when she suspected he was shoving down his own desires for safety’s sake as well as for hers. Goddamn other people. She almost wished they’d had to flee the country. Then she could be holed up with Jasper in luxurious seclusion where no one would bother them and they could play their games in peace. But that would’ve meant Jasper would’ve been seen as a sick freak taking advantage of her and she didn’t want his reputation tarnished. Not beyond repair anyway.

  “Yes, Master.”

  He planted a cool, dry kiss on her forehead and rubbed a thumb over her scar and tattoo. “You want to cover up?”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t going to hide it anymore. If they wanted to gawk at her damaged skin and her ink, let them. They’d be making the gossip columns as it was, her looking like she did.

  “Then let’s go.”

  ***

  When they arrived at the party, the press practically swarmed the car. The familiar impulse to beat the shit out of every single motherfucking last one of them rose up in his chest. He wanted to shove their cameras down their throats and use the velvet ropes as garrotes. Get away from her. She’s mine, and you’re not going to lay a fucking finger on her.

  He leaned over to whisper in her perfect little ear, the one with the freckle inside. He loved that fucking freckle. It took everything he had not to run his nose down her bared neck, but not here, even if the windows were tinted pitch black. He wasn’t a risk taker, not with her. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the world discovered their secret now, but he wouldn’t bring more attention down on her head. There was more than enough of that as it was. “Beyond reproach.”

  She nodded, her artificially dark and heavy lashes fanning over her pale cheeks. It was a reminder as much for himself as for her. Maybe more. No one was standing over his shoulder, dictating the rules. He had no loyalty but to her. But that would be enough. Would always be enough. He squeezed her fingers one last time between his before he cracked the door and let the attendant open it the rest of the way. He hustled around the back to offer Keyne a hand and when she stepped out of the car, practiced and graceful, knees together like a fucking lady, the flashbulbs went off.

  So many of them. He knew she’d attract attention. They had more since the accident because who didn’t like a good tragedy? And tonight, what did he expect? He’d dressed her as punk rock princess Barbie for god’s sake. But now they were all shouting at her and her hand tightened convulsively on his before she let go.

  He put a hand at the small of her back, fingers itching over the corset strings, wanting to untie them, or tighten them, anything but leave them where they were. Instead he guided her through the crowd. Everyone was shouting at them, asking who she was wearing, what she’d done to her hair, was she still at school. She didn’t answer any of them though they’d gone over the responses to anything she might be asked on the ride over.

  Keyne waited until they were at the staging area, posed for pictures like she’d done this a thousand times before, some with him, some without him, a challenging smile on her face that made him want to push her to the ground and grind her face in the carpet until her lipstick was smudged and she cried out. But that cocky, I-dare-you grin wasn’t for him. She was as sweet and pliant as ever when they were alone. She was a little too good at this game sometimes.

  Carefully, in a way that told him she was oh-so very aware of where they were and what was at stake, she kept her left arm angled toward the backdrop, but when a reporter from Vanity Fair called to her, she turned and one of the vultures caught a glimpse of her tattoo. Then it was all over. The questions shifted and he struggled not to ball his hands into fists. But he shouldn’t have worried. She was so fucking cool. Brilliant.

  “Oh, this old thing?” She smiled and looked over her shoulder like a pin-up. The minx had done it on purpose. Because of course she had.

  Choruses of “What does it say?” rang out. The tiny scripted letters would be hard to read, but he had no doubt the photographers were zooming in as they shouted.

  Only he would hear the strain in her clear voice, the amount of effort she was employing to keep her voice steady when she said, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

  He couldn’t stand it anymore. It felt like there were tiny shards of glass flowing through his veins, and if this was painful for him, it must have been excruciating for her. He strode over, put a hand at her back and guided her away amidst shouts of more and more questions. “Is it permanent?” “How long have you had that?” “What does it mean?”

  He stroked her back with his thumb, wanting to feel her skin, wanting to offer her comfort, but all he could give her were words. He leaned down, not too close, and murmured, “You’re brilliant, Tinker Bell.”

  There was so much more he wanted to say. You’re perfect. I adore you. I’m going to love you so hard I’ll wreck you for anyone else. You’re my second star to the right, straight on till morning. You’re my fucking Neverland. But that single, inadequate sentence would have to do.

  ***

  When they’d driven far enough away from the party no press would be nearby anymore, he picked up her legs and swung them into his lap while she leaned up against the door, a strand of hair breaking free and falling over her forehead. He considered taking her shoes off because her feet must be sore, but he wanted the leather to dig into his shoulders while he buried his face between her legs and the heels to dig into his back and his ass as he fucked her. He couldn’t wait to fuck her.

  He’d been fucking her by proxy all evening, but instead of satisfaction, it had brought jealousy. He, Jasper Andersson, was jealous of a couple of sex toys. There was a small amount of comfort from knowing he wasn’t the only one. Every guy there tonight had wanted to be the one climbing into this car with her.

  Using a single finger, he traced the skin between the straps he’d buckled himself, and she moaned softly. His poor, tortured pixie. He tapped the inside of her calf and her legs fell open without a second thought. She was so wet he could smell her and it made his mind hum, the goddamn bagpipes not far from full-on bleating their insistent and
unmistakable sound.

  Easing his hand up her calf, he stroked a finger behind the back of her knee in a tender maneuver that made her breath catch, and then skated up her inner thigh, the tips of his fingers ending at the crease where the gusset of her panties rested. He pushed against the dildo and she rocked her hips forward to take it in, doing the same when he pressed the base of the plug that had been resting snug in her ass all night. Pressing against the zipper of his trousers, his cock was getting hard against her leg.

  He’d had all these grand plans for tonight, but between how hard he was aching for her and how tired she looked, this wasn’t going to last long. Just as well. He had two more days to torture/worship her before sending her back to that godforsaken campus.

  Internally, he agreed with her. He was stupid for insisting on this, an outright lunatic. The idea of anyone else touching her, pleasing her, made him blind with rage. But he knew, knew, it had to be done. If they could make it through four years of this and she still wanted to be with him, he’d put a ring on her finger, a collar around her neck, ink on her perfect skin, and he’d shout it from the fucking rooftops, knowing he’d given her a chance to get out. But if he never left the door of her gilded cage open, how was she supposed to know flying away was an option?

  His fingers hadn’t stopped teasing her and by the time they pulled up to the gate, the tips of them were damp and her breath had gone shallow and uneven. He hauled her into his lap and eased the both of them out of the car, her platinum blond head resting on his shoulder so he could see the sassy pink streak. Despite having punished her for it, he didn’t mind her hair like this at all, though he’d miss binding her rusty curls. She’d said she was sorry, but who knew if she’d grow it out. It wasn’t up to him. Not for the next three plus years at any rate. Epically stupid.

  Edwin had gotten out of the car to hold the door to the house for him, smiling at Keyne curled sweetly in his arms, feigning sleep. Her nail scratched his chest through his dress shirt and sent the next pump of blood from his heart straight to his dick. Hopefully it hadn’t been on its way to anywhere important. He carried her straight back to his room and sat her on the edge of his bed, the pretty layers of eyelet leather spreading out over the duvet, framing her bound legs.