by Jane Henry
“You girls good?” he asked.
Celia nodded. “I’ve got this, Maverick. Go,” she said.
He looked at her, one silent look of thanks, before he reached out and gave Marianna a quick hug. “Celia will take care of you,” he said. “You be good for her, and I’ll bring you a surprise home. Yeah?”
Marianna nodded. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh.
And he was gone. Celia felt a little twisting in her stomach.
Why couldn’t he give her a hug goodbye? She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.
It’s not all about you. He needs to focus on his mom and sister right now. And he doesn’t think of you that way anyway.
They ate a quick dinner, and Marianna kept asking about Maverick and her mom. Celia checked her phone, but hadn’t gotten anything, so she brought Marianna into the living room and put on a movie. Focusing specifically on keeping her charge content and happy, Celia felt that it was best thing she could do for Maverick. It didn’t matter that they weren’t a couple. He was her friend, and she cared about him. She needed to do what was best for him.
Wasn’t that what it was all about, being a submissive, anyway? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get the chance to find out. But she did know she needed to be a good friend, and she would do her very best to be just that. A friend.
“What do you like to watch?” she asked.
“It’s Friday?” Marianna responded. Celia nodded. “We watch Disney movies every Friday,” Marianna said, as her lower lip went out.
We? Did that mean Maverick? Celia stifled a giggle.
“You all do?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Marianna said, oblivious to Celia’s amusement. “Mom’s favorite is Beauty and the Beast. Maverick’s favorite is The Little Mermaid. My favorite is Cinderella but we just watched that last week.’”
The Little Mermaid?
“Oh, I love all of those!” Celia said, as she put it on. She felt a twinge of guilt, as her heart began to pound. “Let’s watch The Little Mermaid.”
She kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch, tucking her legs up under her. At the back of the couch lay a crocheted afghan, the light browns and greens woven into squares, hearkening back to the early days when Maverick’s mom crocheted. Celia tugged it down, and placed the blanket over Marianna’s lap. Marianna didn’t respond, her eyes trained on the television.
Celia’s heart went out to her. She knew that Marianna thrived on routine and structure, and it was hard for her not having her mom and Maverick nearby.
Celia kept checking her phone. Finally, she grew impatient, and shot a quick text to Maverick.
How are things?
Ten minutes later, a response beeped on her phone.
They think she had a stroke. Celia felt her stomach clench, even though she was fully anticipating something like that. They’re running some tests now. How are you two?
Fine. We’re watching The Little Mermaid.
Good. Thanks, Celia. She goes to bed early, and likes a story before bed. I have the books on the bedside table we like to read.
Tears stung her eyes as she replied. Okay. Got it.
Why did she have to fall more in love with him? She hadn’t thought it possible. And somehow, sitting here on the couch, watching the movies he watched with his sister, the edge of the blanket his mom made, sitting right here where he lived made her longing for him intensify. She wanted this. All of this. The familiar. The routine. The home.
Maverick.
Not having grown up with a family, Celia had bounced from foster home to foster home as a child. Meeting Rodney and Maverick had marked the first time she’d established friendships that lasted. They meant everything to her. She wanted what he took so much for granted – the stability, comfort, and warmth of a loving home. So many people wanted to go off on their own, establish their independence. She’d had that her whole life.
As the movie ended, Marianna reached out for her hand. “Will you read from the Blue Fairy Book tonight?” she asked. “That’s the one Maverick reads.”
Celia nodded, and swallowed against the lump in her throat.
A short time later she sat in the chair in Marianna’s room, an overstuffed chair in the corner, hidden in the darkest of recesses.
“If Maverick’s home, he sits there,” she told Celia. And that was all that Celia needed. She knew that Marianna would feel better with her presence as she drifted off to sleep. And Celia loved knowing she was sitting where Maverick often sat. She’d read Rumpelstiltskin, and hugged Marianna goodnight. Although Celia could hear Marianna’s light snores and see the rise and fall of her chest just minutes after she’d pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, she sat in the chair far longer. She could almost feel him in this chair. It was just like him – large and comfortable, but sturdy. She wanted to take it home with her. She’d curl up in it with a book, and pull one of Dottie’s blankets over her lap, and take her naps here.
Would he read to her, like he read to Marianna?
Celia wanted to shake herself. Ever since she’d stepped into his house, it felt as if she were imbibing the magic of Maverick, and she felt as if she couldn’t stop herself if she tried. It was like the time he spanked her in Rodney’s basement. She was powerless to stop herself, completely unable to turn away or say no. Closing her eyes, she waited for him to return. It was warm and cozy in the chair, and as she laid her head on her arms, her mind began to wander.
Shane. She sighed. He was a good man, really he was. He’d been decent to her, and she felt a fool for not having fallen for him. He was a construction worker, divorced, several years older than she was. No problem in the looks department, that was for sure. And phew, but the man could deliver a spanking and some nice, hot sex. But there was something missing, and she never could put her finger on it. Though she longed for the real thing, why couldn’t she accept it when it was offered?
Shane wasn’t playing. He was fully prepared to be her Dom, and she’d thought she’d been fully prepared to be his submissive. Hell, just the night before he’d given her a good spanking for talking back to him, and it had all felt right. He was fair but firm, and she knew that’s what she wanted. And later, he’d taken her to bed, and tied her with soft restraints to his four-poster bed. Hot. But... he was right.
You’re not mine and you never will be.
But she couldn’t belong to the one she longed for.
She started when she heard a key in the lock. It was far darker than it had been when she’d first sat in the chair. Shivering, she rubbed her arms briskly and rose from the chair. Damn. She had nodded off without realizing it. Her heart began to pound when she heard footsteps in the hall. Sure, it was supposed to be Maverick, but what if...
And then he was there, his massive frame filling the doorway, his face in shadows.
His voice, low and whispering, made her shiver.
“You okay, babe?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I was just sitting with Marianna until she fell asleep. Guess I dozed off myself.” Tiptoeing across the room, she met him in the hallway, and began to walk to the kitchen for her bag.
“Why didn’t you stay?” she asked, as she found her bag in the kitchen and picked it up. He followed her, as she walked to the living room to retrieve her shrug. “I could’ve handled Marianna in the morning.”
“Course you could’ve,” he said. She lifted her shrug and pulled it on. “Why you wearin’ that?”
She blinked. “I’m going home,” she said.
“The hell you are. It’s three friggin’ o’clock in the morning.”
Oh no, he wasn’t. He was so not pulling this shit on her now.
“So?”
“So? What kind of a jerk do you think I am? You think I’m gonna let you go driving by yourself at this time of night?”
Don’t even fucking ask me what kind of a jerk I think you are. You don’t want to know the answer.
She sat down on the couch. He was ri
ght. She was exhausted, and in no condition to drive.
“Can you call your boyfriend?”
She lifted incredulous eyes to him. “Shane?”
“Yeah. Shane. The bald guy you brought to the demo.”
“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend anymore,” she said as her eyes dropped to her hands. “He broke up with me. Second, I wouldn’t call him at this time of day. He gets up at like four-thirty because he’s a construction worker.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Then you’re staying in my place in the basement.”
Oh, God, Maverick. No. No, don’t do that to me. It had been hard enough sitting in the chair he sat in, staying in his home. She would never get over staying in his place. The smell of him would permeate her senses. The thought of him would enchant her mind.
She could not, would not stay with him.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m going home.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not!”
“Well what are you going to do about that? Spank me into obedience?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“You don’t have the right!” she said. She didn’t even know when she’d risen to her feet, but her finger was pointed at him. Tears threatened to spill. “I am not your submissive. And yeah, I let you spank me for the demo, but that meant nothing to me,” she lied. Her voice shook. He looked as if she’d slapped him across the face. Pain flitted across his eyes.
“Fair enough,” he growled. “I won’t spank you. But I’ll carry you downstairs and put you to bed if I have to.”
She glared at him. He glared back. Finally, she sighed. He would. Maverick always meant what he said. And it was three. She’d get up in a few hours and go home anyway.
“Fine,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said, shaking his head. He opened the door in the kitchen that led to the basement.
“Thanks for staying with Marianna,” he said.
“No problem. So what’s up with your mom?”
“She’s stabilized for now, and we’ll know more in the morning.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m sorry, Maverick.”
They’d made it to the bottom of the stairs. He shrugged. “Thanks. It’ll be okay. They said I did the right thing getting her in right away, and I know it’ll work out. Right now, I just want to get some shut-eye. I’m exhausted. Marianna treat you okay?” he asked.
Something about his calm authority, the way he looked out for everyone, and even his concern for her, made a lump rise in her throat and her heart beat just a bit faster than usual.
“Yeah,” she said, as she put her bag down on the sofa. “She was fine. We watched The Little Mermaid.” She smirked up at him. “She said it was your favorite.”
He gave her that lopsided grin she loved. “Of course it’s my favorite,” he said. “You know I’ve always had a thing for mermaids.”
He said nothing about the red-haired lead. A girl could hope.
He pointed to a chest in the corner of the room. “Over there’s towels and extra blankets if you need ‘em.”
She nodded, as he pulled open a drawer and removed a tee shirt and shorts. He tossed them to her.
She raised an eyebrow. “The tee shirt will hit the tops of my toes, Maverick,” she said. “But thanks.”
“Put ‘em on,” he growled. “I don’t need the vision of you in my bed wearing nothing but my tee shirt.”
Celia saluted. “Yes, sir,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He shook his head.
“Night, Cel. And thanks again.”
He trotted up the stairs. She stripped out of her clothes, and pulled his tee shirt on. Then she took his shorts and whipped them across the room.
He didn’t need the vision, but if she was gonna sleep in his bed, she was so going to sleep in just a tee shirt.
She snorted. Mermaids her ass.
Chapter Five
Celia sat at the high bar at CTB, nursing her drink with all she had. It had been the most frustrating week she’d ever had. Every night, she’d gone to Maverick’s, with the intent of helping out. They needed her help. Dottie was barely on her feet again, and Marianna was a handful. Maverick took as much time off as he could, and worked from home often, but sometimes he still needed to leave, and Celia came as often as she could. She cooked, and cleaned, and took Marianna to get her hair cut. Finally, Maverick had said it was enough, though, for both of them. He needed to do the demos at the club, and she needed some free time, too. He’d taken Dottie’s neighbor up on her offer to help, and Celia caught a bit of a break. Still, she was there often. But she never could get used to the way her stomach would clench when she heard Maverick pull in the driveway, or the way his clothes felt beneath her fingers when she folded them, fresh out of the dryer. He raved about everything she cooked, and ate massive quantities.
She’d find herself staring at him when he wasn’t watching.
She never caught him staring at her.
Their conversations grew limited, and although he was appreciative of how much she was helping, he was always distant and never flirty.
“Can I get you another one, sweetheart?”
Her date du jour, Lucas, a man she’d met at CTB a few days prior, sat in the high stool next to her. She looked down at her glass, still half full. What was he trying to do, get her plastered? Maverick wouldn’t allow her to have more than two, and certainly wouldn’t push another drink before she’d finished the one she was drinking. He’d encourage her to slow down.
She really had to stop comparing them all to Maverick.
“I’m good, thanks,” she said. He was a nice enough guy, and attractive. Wavy blonde hair he kept sort of longish, with light brown eyes and scruff on his chin, though no real beard. He was pleasant. Conversation was entertaining. But, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Normally, she liked to play her cards straight and get to know a guy a bit before she jumped into bed with him. Two weeks of playing house with Maverick had her desperate, though.
Lucas placed a large hand on her leg. “You’d drink another if I told you to,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if it was a question or command. He was a dominant, of course – she couldn’t date vanilla anymore if she tried – and he liked to make his moves.
“You driving home?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Then yeah. I guess,” she said.
Without warning, his hand lifted and he slapped the inner part of her thigh. She started. It wasn’t a hard swat, but enough to get her attention.
“I guess?” he said. “That’s how you answer a Dom?”
“No, sir,” she said, and she wondered why she felt suddenly uneasy. Was she losing her taste for the lifestyle?
“Good,” he said with a grin. He put his arm around her and waved the bartender down, ordering another drink. She frowned, and as she looked away, her heart stopped as she heard a familiar laugh.
Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes grazed the booth behind them. Maverick sat, with a gorgeous, petite Latino woman sitting across from him. Celia spun back to the bar, eyes fixed straight ahead. Had he seen her? Well, no, he was looking in the opposite direction, facing away from her. But she’d know that laugh, that profile, hell, she’d know the shape and shadow of his fingers, anywhere.
Celia lifted her glass and finished what was in it, plunking it back down on the counter. Lucas handed her the next glass, filled with liquid fire, with a pleased expression on his face.
“Good girl,” he crooned. “You’re ready for another.” She gratefully lifted it and took a long swig. This seemed stronger, somehow. But as another laugh came from the booth behind them, she welcomed the heady release as she took a long sip.
She couldn’t take it, and needed something, anything, to pull her out of her misery. It surprised her when she looked down and realized half her drink was gone.
“Did you know they installed new cuffs in the training room?�
� Lucas asked her, his voice just above a whisper, tickling her ear. She felt her body rise to meet his, as one of his hands traveled to the top of her thigh.
“No,” she murmured, taking another sip. The room swam. Her chest heated, and she felt the warmth in her cheeks and limbs. “I didn’t know that training room had cuffs.”
His breath warmed her neck and ear as he leaned in even closer. “They do. I know, because I built them with my own hands.”
Phew, that was sexy.
The laughter behind them surged again, but this time she was able to bat it away, push it behind her, as she welcomed the seductive bubble of Lucas and her drink, that protected her from her awareness of all things Maverick.
“You do know I’m Dungeon Master here on occasion, don’t you?” he whispered again.
Dungeon Master. Shit, that sounded hot and sexy. CTB was always careful in their selection of Dungeon Masters. They typically hired dominants who were heavily experienced in the BDSM lifestyle to monitor the club and enforce safety rules for all scenes. His dark, seductive voice continued. “I like to ensure the safety of all participants,” he said. “Though, I’ve been known to take an errant submissive in hand.”
Celia took another sip of her drink, the heat of the liquid coursing through her. She longed to be released of what plagued her, free to feel loved by someone else, and the thought of being taken over Lucas’s knee made her shiver.
“Do you?” she whispered. Turning to him, she noticed her head felt funny, light and fuzzy, but she was warm, and the heavy sadness that engulfed her seemed to be lifting. She leaned closer to Lucas. “Do you spank them?” she whispered.
“Gladly,” he whispered back. “Do you need a spanking, Celia?”
The vision of Maverick, paddle in hand, beckoning her to him, flashed in front of her. No. No, she couldn’t. Not now! Her heart pounded at the thought of a spanking. God, she needed one. It had been weeks and weeks, and her need grew by the day. She swallowed.
“I do,” she whispered. “I’ve been very naughty.”
Lucas grinned wickedly. “Then why don’t you come with me, and we’ll try out the new cuffs?” he said. “What’s your pleasure, sweetheart? Leather? Wood? Sting or thud?”
