by Cara Dee
"Christ, princess."
Mark’s words from before echo in my head. How she's changed. The ink. Drinking? Good God, the girl I knew disliked alcohol. It made her scrunch her nose.
"We think she rebelled," Mark says quietly.
"That doesn’t surprise me." I press a kiss to her forehead and let her lean against my shoulder. Damn, she's out for the count. "John turned her into something she never was in the first place." Sugary sweet, with barely a will of her own.
Her ex used to be my buddy, too. Then he started neglecting his girl, and I noticed he was micromanaging her—when he actually spent time with her. It sent her on an emotional roller coaster, losing the stability he was supposed to provide. I couldn’t fucking stand it. To any kind of partner, that’s terrible. To a Little who regresses, it's downright traumatizing.
Last time I spoke to her was over the phone. She'd just dumped him—at last—and I told her how proud I was. It was a weight off my shoulders after months of wishing I could steal her away and keep her from harm myself.
This still worries me, though. It seems to be about more than breaking free and starting fresh as an independent person.
Mark goes on. "She's been playing a lot—with Sadists. She approached Dante."
I wince. "Did he scene with her?" Gabriella's never shown interest in receiving pain.
"Tonight, actually." Mark runs a hand over his head, tired. "She dropped afterward and refused aftercare. Dante was understandably pissed, but she left the club before we could intervene. Then she came back a few hours later, plastered."
I curse and turn back to Gabriella.
What are you doing to yourself, little girl?
She makes a drowsy sound in her sleep. My heart jumps, and I brace myself for her waking up. Instead, she mumbles something I can't understand and goes under again.
I want her to open her gorgeous green peepers and flash me a dimpled grin like so many times before. John may have changed her temporarily, but I've seen glimpses of the wonderful brat she really is.
"That was our limit," Mark says. "She's allowed to play with whomever she wants, but she can't show up drunk. She can't disobey the rules, interrupt scenes, throw tantrums, and ignore what Doms demand of her after she's already agreed."
Of course she can't. I'm surprised they haven't banned her. We've booted people for less.
"I hope you'll talk to her. You know her best," he finishes.
It goes without saying that I'll talk to her, but I'm afraid I don’t know her as well as everyone might think. She was already with John when he introduced her to our local community, and I didn’t really get to know her properly until I noticed he was taking more and more work calls.
"I'll do what I can." My hand comes up to feel her forehead. "Thanks for bringing her over." Now that she's here, I'm not sure I'll let her go anytime soon.
With John out of the picture, I won't have to hide that I'm protective of her.
"We had a feeling you wouldn’t mind," Mark murmurs. "Any word from Dylan?"
I draw in a deep breath through my nose and shake my head. "Last I heard, he was training for Nationals. I reckon he's started fresh in Texas."
That had been a punch in the gut. First finding out he left, then being ignored like a plague. After calling him relentlessly, texting, calling again, leaving an embarrassing number of messages, and even checking Switch's online forum, I've given up.
He posted a status update on his Switch page that he was happy down in Texas and training was going well. Nick's and Rio's subs congratulated him and said they missed him, before Dylan, for some reason, deleted the update. He hasn’t been active much since then, so maybe he's found a new community. Or he's focusing on his career.
"Perhaps Gabriella talks to him," Mark offers.
It's a possibility, considering how close they were before Dylan left. I'll ask her, even though I'm not sure I can stomach the answer. Seeing more proof he's willfully avoiding me ain't exactly pleasant.
"You get some rest, man." Mark squeezes my shoulder and walks toward the door. "You working tomorrow?"
"No, I'm not on until next weekend." To be honest, I'm not itching for it like I used to. Being a dungeon monitor for the past three years has been fulfilling and fun, and all that sorta runs down the drain when you feel like roadkill.
To make matters worse, my friends are all sickeningly happy and in love. I've caught bits and pieces online. There's Nick and Kayla's wedding in Mexico later this summer. Rio and Chelsea's collaring ceremony is coming up, too. And who could forget Mark, Evangeline, and Brayden having a baby.
"Well, we miss you around the club, buddy. Come down for a drink, at least."
"We'll see," I say.
He gives me a two-finger wave and then leaves.
I return my focus to Gabriella.
"Let's get you to bed, princess." I lift her up and position her on my hip so I have one hand free. I flip off lights as I head back upstairs, and other than another mumbled sound from Gabriella, she remains oblivious.
She's gonna feel wonderful tomorrow. If worshiping the toilet won't get her there, my reprimanding her for not taking care of herself will.
Chapter 2
There's no more sleep for me that night. Having no clue how much alcohol Gabriella's had, I worry too much to relax. I sit in my pop's old rocking chair while she sleeps restlessly in my bed.
I didn’t see it before, but the print on her top speaks volumes about her rebelling. "Daddy, close the door" is written across her chest, and the filthy implication of wanting Daddy to close the door so they can do unspeakable things—that no little girl should know about—is the opposite of what John turned her into.
If he still visits Switch, it'll be virtually impossible to hold back from rearranging his face.
Around five, I can tell it's time to move this party to the bathroom. Gabriella lets out pitiful moans and clutches her stomach. Standing up, I carefully gather her in my arms, and then I carry her to the bathroom near the stairs.
"No…" Her forehead creases as the nausea builds up, and she rouses slowly.
Lowering her to the floor, I grab a towel and pat it over her damp forehead. "Gabriella. Can you wake up for me?"
She groans. Her eyes are still closed, but she seems more aware. As if knowing what's about to happen and where she is, she hugs the toilet and rests her cheek on the seat.
A minute or two later, she starts throwing up.
*
For the next couple of hours, I rotate between the kitchen to get Gabriella water, the bathroom where she whines and tells me to go away, and my computer so I can tell her friends—who are worried and checking in—that she'll live.
Earlier, when she first noticed I was with her and that she was at my place, her expression was fucking priceless. It's been a while since we saw each other, so her eyes had widened adorably; she'd stuttered my name and then cried for me to get the hell out.
"I don’t think I have anything left…" She slumps against the toilet and flushes for the umpteenth time.
"Drink more." I stand next to her and extend a glass of water. "I'll get some toast ready for you."
"No," she moans. "No food. Go on without me. Leave me behind."
I chuckle. "Glad to see your humor is waking up, but that’s not how this works."
We may be friends on equal ground, but our relationship is heavily influenced by our lifestyle, and we're close enough that I can enforce some rules. It's common, not to mention an easy dynamic to slip into when it feels so natural.
Same goes for Nick's little Kayla. She obeys her Daddy yet takes directions from those Nick trusts. In Gabriella's case, that means she'll suck it up and let me take care of her until she's on her feet. She'll listen to me, she'll do as I say, even though we're not together.
"Are you going to be a pain in my ass, mister?" She scowls up at me.
I smile at the mister, a nickname that stuck even after she learned my name.
"I
can guarantee the answer is yes if you don’t watch your language."
She huffs then pouts. "You have a potty mouth."
I point to myself. "Daddies can curse. Are we clear?"
"That’s so—" She wisely shuts her trap at my look of warning.
"Here." I almost forgot. Retrieving two painkillers from the pocket of my sweats, I hand them to her with the water. "Hopefully, you won't upchuck these."
She whines. "I'm mortified."
"Don’t be silly." I squat down next to her and feel her forehead. "Go on, drink up."
She obeys, visibly weak and exhausted. "I'm tired."
Join the club.
"We'll take a nap soon, how's that?" I gently push back her hair, reminding me of something. She's been sick, and she's covered in makeup and hair products from yesterday. "I'll fix you something to eat, and you can take a shower. Then we'll cuddle it up in front of the TV."
She hums and closes her eyes as I scratch her scalp. "That sounds amazing, except for the food."
I grin.
*
I've changed the sheets and prepared a light breakfast for us when Gabriella emerges from the bathroom. Wrapped in a towel, her hair clinging in short spikes that just barely touch her shoulders, she forms a silent "o" as she takes in my place for the first time.
Wide-open space, low ceilings, two pillars in the middle, kitchen nook, and windows by the bed. Living alone, I don’t have to worry about privacy. I bought the house for the garage that I turned into my workshop, and then I saw the massive loft and figured I might as well make it my home.
"So this is how Cade Kingsley lives," she murmurs. "I love it."
I smile and bring two plates of food to the bed. Then I walk over to the dresser the flat screen sits on and open a couple drawers to find her something to wear.
"Come here." I pull out an old college tee and a pair of boxer shorts that Dylan must've left behind. Being a professional swimmer, his hips are narrower than mine. They'd never fit me, and they can't belong to someone else. He's the only one who's been here. "Will these work? I think they're Dylan's."
She nods, and with one hand grasping the towel, she accepts the clothes. "Do you miss him?"
I hesitate to answer. I'm angry, hurt, bitter, and tired. And yeah, I fucking miss him.
"Every day."
"Me, too." She smiles sadly then tiptoes back to the bathroom to change.
I sigh and slump down on the bed, feeling eighty-seven as opposed to thirty-seven.
It feels nice having Gabriella here, though.
Losing Dylan this past February made me step back from kink. Months of working in various fetish clubs on the East Coast and being surrounded by kinksters couldn’t bring me out of my funk. I delivered and customized new furniture, then kept to myself.
Maybe my break can come to an end eventually. I just have to figure out a way to ease back into it without taking advantage. Gabriella's obviously in a bad place herself, so the last thing I want to do is suck the last of her positive vibe.
Gabriella returns, swimming in my T-shirt, and she hops up on the bed and gets under the covers.
"I hope you don’t mind I stole a toothbrush from under the sink," she says. "I can replace it."
I shake my head and scratch my eyebrow, brushing over the barbell there. "I should've given it to you before I turned you into a thief." I flash her a look to show I'm kidding, and she rewards me with a beautiful little giggle.
Drawn to that sound, I join her under the covers and pull her close. It's amazing how heartwarming Littles can be, regardless if it's their laughter, silly faces, or merely their presence. I hug her hard, letting go of the final worries from last night. Determined. She won't be alone in this, and I'll get to the bottom of everything that's made her sad and act out.
I can do that and remain a friend, someone she can always turn to.
"You're squishing me!"
"I know." I blow a raspberry on her cheek, to which she laughs and tries to shove me away. If only I weren't twice her size. "So cute." I kiss her on the forehead before backing off. "Time to get some food in your tummy."
She scrunches her nose and combs her damp hair with her fingers. "I'm really not hungry."
"You need to eat." I give her a plate with a few triangles of toast and a glass of ginger ale. "If you want more, you can snatch from my plate." My breakfast is far more appealing, with eggs, bacon, and a blueberry muffin.
I happen to know she loves the latter.
"Will it cost me anything?" Her green eyes spark with mischief, trained on the muffin. "I'm afraid I don’t have any money, mister…" My gaze averts to my arm as she trails two fingers over the ink that covers the skin. "Maybe we can work something out?"
I stare at her. It’s a new side to her I have to adjust to. One I've known has lurked underneath the pastels and the glitter, yet it takes me off guard. Between her and Dylan, he was the flirty tease while she was the angel.
Now she owns a tank top that instructs Daddy to close the door.
"Filthy little girl," I mutter under my breath and reach for the remote control. "Eat."
I dig into my scrambled eggs and turn on the news.
Gabriella nibbles on a piece of toast and rests her head on my shoulder, and it's quiet for a while. I can't say I'm paying attention to the news. My mind is racing, focused on the near future. I let everything go when I took off, and now I gotta get my shit together.
Dylan is gone. I've done everything in my power to reach him that doesn’t involve getting on a plane to Texas. And considering he's the one who fucked up, I'm done.
We have a lot of things unresolved, which I hope we can work out one day, though that’s up to him now. It's time I move on. It'll be the single life for me, and I think it'll be good.
Work, friends, Switch, Gabriella. That’s it.
Technically, she is a friend. She's included in that bunch. I don’t know why I separated her.
"Are you feeling better?" I offer her the blueberry muffin, and she accepts it with a sweet smile.
"A little." She picks bits from it and puts them in her mouth. "Do you know what the Horny Hangover syndrome is?"
"Jesus." I shake my head and ignore the thrill that shoots through me. The girl needs to learn a fucking lesson, and it doesn’t involve sex.
"I'm just saying." She grins impishly. "I can count your piercings with my tongue while you use me as a bed warmer."
And I'm no longer hungry. My gut twists, and I set down my plate before I level her with a serious look. I barely know where to start. She wasn’t fucking joking. She's casual about it. The offer is there. I frown and begin to speak, only to change my mind about the wording. I can't shake her or yell; it won't work. I can't threaten her, either.
If you say something like that about yourself again…
"Gabriella. Why… Why the fuck would you say that?"
Already, she gets defensive. Guard up, inching away, casual expression forced. "There's nothing wrong with sex." She scowls. "You're hung up on Dylan, I'm never having a relationship again, but that doesn’t mean sex stops being awesome."
"Why won't you have a relationship again?"
"Because they su-uck," she sings.
At twenty-four, she's too young to believe that.
"Not with the right person." Even in my jaded, fucked-up state, I know the facts. "I'm very sorry you got burned, princess, but don’t let one asshole—"
"I don’t want to talk about it," she interrupts. "I made bad choices, and now I'm over it."
Christ, she has it wrong. She did nothing but love John. She went above and beyond to please him, and he took a shit all over her. It wasn’t her bad choice to be stood up when they had agreed on a playtime. It wasn’t her bad choice to be mindfucked when she was at her most vulnerable.
"You're not over it," I murmur. "If you were, you wouldn’t be acting out the way you have. Playing with Dante…? For fuck's sake, Gabriella. I know you well enough. Pain's the last
thing you want when you're vulnerable."
"I'm not a Little anymore," she replies, and it's the stupidest thing I've heard all year. "I can't take care of myself or make the right decisions when I let go and regress, so now I'm having fun exploring masochism."
For what reasons, I wanna ask. I'd never stand in the way of anyone exploring curiosities and fetishes, but I gotta know her reasons. She wouldn’t be the first person—primarily sub—who uses pain to punish themselves for something that's happened to them.
As for not being a Little anymore? I call bullshit. I've seen her happy. Her relationship with John wasn’t always bad, and when she relaxes and allows her Little self to come out and play, she soars. It's her nature.
"What is it about pain you enjoy?" I ask.
I have sadistic tendencies myself, but they don’t stray far from sensual sadism. I dole out pain that heightens the sub's pleasure, leaving the more hard-core pain to Dante and Rio and their subs, who get off on actual suffering.
Gabriella shrugs and flicks her gaze to the TV. "It makes me hot."
She's lying to me, which is fucking disappointing.
"Besides, you don’t know me that well," she adds. "We've never even played. Not really."
I narrow my eyes at her. No, she and I have never played, but she has played with Dylan—twice—while I was there to film and watch. Other than the two being gorgeous together, I distinctly remember her reacting badly to Dylan trying my flogger on her. So how's that for enjoying pain?
I wanna shake her, not to mention chastise her for lying and worrying me.
Forcing her to be straight with me won't work, though. I'll earn her trust. In the meantime, I'll keep an eye on her at the club, and she can kiss public play with Sadists good-bye.
Looks like I'll be going back to Switch sooner than next weekend.
Chapter 3
Two days later, I show up at Switch again. I saw Gabriella and Kayla talking on the message boards online, and they have plans to meet up here tonight.
The doorman greets me and says it's nice to have me back, and then his girl hands me a black T-shirt. Confused, I hold it up and see "Dungeon Monitor" printed in white on the back. These gotta be new. Before, the DMs only wore special cuffs.
