by Cara Dee
Taking in his revelation about his and Tess's marriage—hell, even when he tells me about Ryan and a girl named Angel—is nothing compared to the news about Mom and Dad. Two people I love and admire for their acceptance of diversity and openness. To learn they weren't there when they should have been… It's gonna take time to process.
Anger flares up again. Anger toward Greg, because he kept this from me. Childhoods end, and I stopped being the kid he wanted to protect at some point. Instead, he continued down his own path and drove a bigger wedge between us every time we saw each other. I didn’t fucking know.
"I can't help but feel cheated," I admit. "I get that it must've hurt like a son of a bitch to hear me defend the way our folks live. I get the resentment. But you knew I didn’t have the whole picture, Greg."
"I know." He nods and looks down, fidgeting with his clasped hands. Fidgeting—my lawyer brother. "I've carried a lot of hatred in me, and, justified or not, it hasn't done me any good. I understand it's a big possibility you hear me out and then walk out."
Like I'd fucking do that. I've always loved Greg. I just haven't liked him.
Now… "Christ." I release a heavy breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. It's like learning you've been kicking someone you didn’t know was already lying down. I haven't hesitated even once to give him grief during family dinners. He starts his conservative bullshit about gay people remaining discreet and polyamory being wrong—I've jumped right in to throw a punch. Actually, I still would. But he hasn't been fighting what he says he's been fighting. He doesn’t find any of that wrong; he's just terrified that anything considered remotely different will pose a threat to Abby and children in general.
He isn't much different from Mom and Dad there, with these new developments in mind. He'd rather shield and change the victim than attack the problem. And I tell him as much, to which he sighs and admits I'm not the only one who's pointed that out lately.
"Ryan," he goes on. "He's been knocking some sense into me about finding happy mediums. He was infuriated because my beliefs didn’t make any difference in the grand scheme of things. Or, as he phrased it, I'm not doing my part in making the world a better place for my daughter."
Maybe Ryan's a good man, then. 'Cause I won't have Greg spouting shit about people who don't fit into the cookie-cutter mold of normal. My Brayden is proof of how many scars that leaves behind.
"One thing I won't apologize for," he adds in a firm tone, "nor have I changed my mind about it, is how much we put on our children and expect of society right off the bat. Of course I want everyone to be able to live without judgment from others, but let's be realistic. We're not an accepting society as a whole. Mom and Dad didn’t even prepare us."
It's easier to concede on that point. I can't imagine sending off my son or daughter to school without introducing them to the fact that our family situation is considered unusual. However, it was a completely different story when Greg, our siblings, and I started school almost thirty years ago. Society as a whole, as he put it, has become more accepting since then. But no matter what, there'll be no apologetic behavior for being uncommon. Over my dead body.
"Preaching to the choir on that one, Greg. Just quit trying to jam a square peg into a round hole." I drag my tired gaze away from him as the sun disappears behind clouds, and I lean forward again, thinking. Mind fucking spinning. "How open have you been to Ted and Seth?" I'm asking since they're closer. They see each other every day at work.
"Not at all. I'm sure they'll be shocked when I tell them."
And how's that gonna work? Now I know why Greg's been fighting us and our way of life, but he's not alone. Our younger brothers share the view Greg no longer supports.
"That's their right." He shrugs in response. "You have to realize they were so young when our parents moved in with the others that it's all Ted and Seth knew. They were completely blindsided in school when classmates called them weird." He pauses. "I won't try to convert anyone or object to their personal beliefs, but they won't make any fuss in the office. What I do off the clock is none of their damn business."
"What about finding a fucking solution?" I frown. "I can't sit back and accept what is without trying to get our folks to understand. Times change. Maybe they'll get it now."
He inclines his head. "I'm not ruling it out, but right now, it's not my priority. There are still consequences to one's behavior, and my childhood won't be altered because they suddenly understand better. I want to focus on working on the relationships I personally damaged."
Speaking of consequences, eh? I suppose that’s fair.
"Does that mean I can dole out punishment as consequences for your shitty behavior?" I figure it can't hurt to ease up on the heavy.
He lifts a brow, not missing a beat. "Does that mean we can work things out?"
That chance was always there. He's my brother.
"I guess I can put you on probation." I use Nicholas's word. "You'll be on probation at Switch too, if you choose to return with your new partners."
"Good grief," he mutters. "That will never be my choice, but Ryan does like to make me suffer."
I turn away for a beat and smile to myself.
Who the fuck would've suspected this? My patriarchal big brother, a kinky, polyamorous masochist.
"So how long have you been sneaking out to get your kinky rocks off?"
He coughs and shoots me a glare. "You were always the crass one, little brother."
Yeah, yeah, heard that before.
He sighs. "It's actually new. I sought out punishment for how I felt—for how I acted toward people."
That ends my fun, and I scowl. "Are you fucking serious? Do you know how dangerous that is?"
"Spare me the Master lecture, Mark. I've already had that conversation with two Sadists. I'm good."
Ah, karma can be stunning. Two Sadists. Priceless.
I don't think he's complaining, though. He looks happier.
It must be serious, too. Ryan did mention branding his boy.
Jesus. Branding his boy. This is Greg we're talking about—yeah, definitely looking forward to processing all this.
"I would like to apologize to Evangeline," he mentions. "Abby was devastated when we let Evangeline go. It was stupid of me. If she's interested in coming back, let her know she's more than welcome."
"I appreciate that." With things looking up, it's easier to focus on the future. "We're having a baby." That one being the biggest part of my future right now.
Greg looks at me in surprise. "Oh…wow. Damn, you work fast, too. Congratulations, little brother."
"Thanks," I chuckle. "Work fast, too?"
"Yes, Ryan and Angel. They're expecting their first, as well. They didn’t try very long."
Interesting. Up until Rio spotted Greg in the Castro, I considered us night and day. Now…? Mother of Christ, we have a lot in common all of a sudden.
I'm ready to work it out, though. Greg and I were very close at one point. It'd be nice to have my older brother back in my life. We've been out of touch for too long.
Touching Ink
Chapter 1
Cade Kingsley
"Morning, Daddy."
I smile into the pillow, feeling his curious fingers wandering along my spine. "Good morning, baby boy." Knowing he has work soon and then his weekly Skype call with his parents, I pull him into my arms to get a good dose to hold me until I see him tonight. "Mmm, fuck work today. I wanna stay right here."
He laughs softly. "You make me wanna be little aaall the time. No adulting—blegh."
That makes me happy.
"I know of another boy who never wanted to grow up," I murmur. "Are you my little Peter Pan?"
He nods and smiles widely. "That's me! Forever and ever."
I tickle him, ignoring the warning bells. Forever and ever, forever and ever. Fuck, are we going too fast? It's only been a month. I don't want anyone to get hurt—
Something rouses me from sleep, and I blink and stare u
p at the ceiling.
"Goddammit," I sigh tiredly.
Dreaming of Dylan has become the norm the past three months, and it never fails to weigh me down. I scrub my hands up and down my face. My chest feels tight. I fucking hate missing him.
With the dream fresh in my mind, it's impossible for my thoughts to stray from him. Memories attack me—all the mornings we shared, taking him for ice cream, dates, playing with him at the club… The mornings here at my place were always a favorite.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"You know how you give me a morning surprise every day? Down there, I mean."
"Mmhmm. I love that."
He snickers. "Me too, 'specially when the surprise comes."
Sensing there's something he wants to bring up, I put the paper on the nightstand and turn to give him my full attention. "You can tell me anything." I touch his stomach lightly, the covers riding low.
He gets shy and inches toward me. "Could I do that to you sometime?"
Damn. Just the thought is enough to get me hard. I cup the back of his neck and kiss him gently. "You wanna put your hard little cock inside Daddy?" I graze my teeth along his bottom lip and sneak a hand between us to feel him. He gasps and nods jerkily. "Of course you can." I stroke him unhurriedly and—
"Motherfucker," I groan, throwing a pillow over my head. Hard as a rock and depressed—what a lovely combination.
Did we have to be so damn perfect together?
I drag myself up and scowl at the alarm clock.
I've only slept an hour.
I eye my erection, only to look away and glare at nothing.
I remember that first time he fucked me—too vividly. Too excited to contain himself, he'd lost control fast. "I can't stop it, Daddy, I can't stop it," he'd whimpered. He took me purely on instinct, rocking and thrusting, telling me his surprise was coming… Afterward, I was too revved up, and a minute of his sweet mouth suckling my cock later, I'd blown my own load.
Glancing at the clock again, I slump down on the mattress for some more staring at the ceiling.
I did the right thing.
One day, I hope I'll be able to sleep through the night. It fucks with my mood—a lot. And it doesn’t matter what I dream. Sometimes, it's nights like this one, full of fucking and sweating and dirty words and missing his innocence. Sometimes, I relive the moment I told him we should slow things down. Sometimes, I have nightmares about him being with others…
He was opposed to having an open relationship in the beginning. There's no forgetting that. There's also no forgetting how quickly he changed his mind when we invited Gabriella to play. And, in a way, it's strange to me even now that I didn’t react badly to that, given what happened with my last Little. Additionally, the thought of him playing with anyone else I can think of puts a rock in my gut. Not that it stopped him. He had fun elsewhere anyway.
Fuck him. I clench my jaw and screw my eyes shut.
I did the right thing.
*
Three months, and the pain hasn’t faded. I sleep restlessly, images rolling past like a flickering movie.
"I'm not closing any doors, Dylan," I murmur. "I'm only saying we shouldn’t rush into this. It's heady, yeah? There's a lot of new feelings, things to adjust to…"
He nods minutely, eyes on the ground.
Have I fucked this up?
I'm trapped in that useless state of sleep where I know I'm asleep, where I know I'm dreaming, yet I can't change anything. I can only watch everything unfold—again. Repeatedly.
"You're very new, little pan." I walk over to hug him to me. "Remember I told you my last relationship didn’t end well?" Understatement, really. That girl managed to screw me over good. Being all vulnerable and sweet… A fucking act, that’s what it had been. Only out to use me, and then I wasn’t enough. "I'm human, sweetheart. I still have a lot to learn, too. By taking this slowly and focusing on building a good D/s foundation for us, I think it'll be easier—"
"Wait." He looks up at me, hurt. "You mean we're not dating anymore? It's just Daddy/Little Boy?"
I sigh, unsure of how to phrase this. Too much shit is rushing through my head, one part screaming no, the other a bit more level-headed and cautious.
I roll over, stuck thinking about where our miscommunication began.
I was the one who asked him out. One dinner quickly became two, and then he ended up in my bed for play. The lines had been blurry from the start, and though we never labeled anything, I guess we were dating. We were. Nothing else would describe it, now when I look back on everything we did. The texts we sent each other, the dinners we went to, the nights we spent fucking and talking until the sun rose…
Despite all that, maybe given who we are as kinksters and where we met, I thought of him as my Little, not my boyfriend. We had both expressed interest in a Daddy/Little Boy relationship, and somewhere down that road, it morphed into more.
I wasn’t ready for the "more" part.
"I don’t want you to see it as taking a step back," I reply. "More like…refocusing. It hasn’t been very long, and you're…" I can't say it, for fear he gets even more hurt. I see it, though. He's very attached, he soaks up every word I say, he practically lives at my place now. And I like it a bit too much. "I don't wanna stop you from exploring."
Being new, that’s what he should do. If he doesn’t, who's to say he won't wake up one day and realize this ain't enough, and then I'm fucked all over again. It's crushing. I'm already anxious about it. He loves being with Gabriella, though I've truly enjoyed that too, but who's next? A Daddy Dom? A Top I don’t know? A Mommy Domme?
I don't wanna be replaced.
Dylan nods pensively, and he takes a step back and clears his throat. "Maybe you're right. It's only been a few weeks."
I wake for the tenth time that night and lie unmoving on my side. A car drives past down on the street. The digits on my clock flash 2:49 AM. All I see in my head is Dylan, his expression when he backed off a bit and nodded.
I did the right thing.
I did the right thing, dammit.
*
No, fucking no.
I groan.
The knocking returns.
"Jesus, where's the fucking fire?" My feet hit the floorboards with a thump, and I reach for a pair of sweats as I get out of bed. Whoever's pounding on my door at… I squint at the alarm clock. 3:27 AM.
Someone has a death wish. As if I need more reasons to be kept from sleep.
Tightening the drawstrings, I cross the open space that makes up my home. Down the spiral staircase that creaks just a bit too much to be considered safe. Into the garage where I have my workshop—my life—and I nearly knock over a stack of cherry wood strips leaning precariously against my workbench.
There's another handful of rapid knocks, and I'm officially pissed.
Given that I don’t live in the safest neighborhood in San Francisco, I grab the bat next to the door before I open it.
My brows shoot up.
"Sorry to wake you," Mark mutters. He's exhausted. So am I, for obvious reasons, but I'm not the one carrying a girl who doesn’t belong to me. Unless Evangeline, my buddy's pregnant submissive, has gotten her leg inked while I was gone.
"Am I dreaming?" I frown and set down the bat.
He rolls his eyes. "If only. May I…?"
I guess my manners aren't awake yet. "Yeah, sorry." I back up and let him in, then close and lock the door.
I've been on the East Coast the past two—almost three—months, so I suppose I have a lot of catching up to do.
Mark Cooper, one of my closest friends, is either at home with Evangeline and Brayden, making plans for the family they're starting, or he's bartending at Switch, the fetish club and local community we're part of. Never before has he brought over girls in the middle of the night.
"Mind explaining?" I roll my lip ring absently and eye the girl. A sub? Passed out drunk? I can't see much, other than white cotton panties and a matchin
g top.
Inked ivy slithers up her toned thigh.
I rub my eyes and yawn.
"I know you just got back into town, but we've had it." He carefully situates the girl on my bench, and she falls forward to his chest. Dark, messy, chin-length hair shadows her face. Arms slack. "Nicholas and Rio are worried sick—hell, so am I." That would be the other two who make up our closest group of buddies. Well, the toppy types, anyway. "We understand; she's been through a lot, but the way she's changed…?" Mark shakes his head and strokes the girl's back. In the meantime, my confusion is morphing into frustration. "The wardrobe change was nothing. The tattoos raised a few brows, but then she started drinking—"
"Who?" I widen my arms. "Sorry, buddy, I'm tired as fuck. You're gonna have to walk me through this slowly. I don't know who that is."
That makes him scowl. "Are you serious?"
I shoot him a glare in return, 'cause it's not the fucking time for jokes.
He looks dazed for a moment; then he sighs and tucks the girl's hair behind her ear. My brows knit together, and I cock my head.
"It's Gabriella, for chrissake."
"What?" My gut flips, my jaw momentarily dropping. No goddamn way. I walk closer without realizing it, and holy fuck, it's actually Gabriella. No longer the dolled-up baby girl with frilly dresses and impeccable makeup.
"You missed a lot while you were out playing woodworker, Cade."
Playing woodworker? Prick. He didn't seem to have an issue with my business when he had me design his entire bedroom. He seems to enjoy the fetish furniture I created for Switch, too.
Besides, Mark knows very well I needed to get away after all that shit with Dylan.
"So fill me in, asshole," I reply. "Unless it's about Nick and Kayla's wedding. I already got my invitation in the mail." Closing the last distance, I murmur, "Let me," and take over for Mark.
My brain refuses to catch up. Even as I gently cup Gabriella's cheeks and gaze down at her face, I don't wanna believe it's her. It makes me fucking queasy.
Her closed eyes are smudgy with eyeliner and mascara.
