by Cara Dee
I shouldn’t joke about it, but it's all I can do. After listening to her saying she's been feeling weak, and seeking out pain could—aside from numb her—prove she's strong, I lay awake all night and cursed my sorry ass for leaving San Francisco.
One of the first nights I wasn’t haunted by dreams of Dylan.
I should've known Gabriella would need a place to land after her breakup.
"Poor girl," Rio sighs. "Here's to hoping she'll get better now."
"Agreed." I straighten up and take a swig from my lukewarm coffee. "How's your own girl? I hope you weren't too rough on her."
He chuckles wryly. "Well, orgasm denial tends to work. I gave her a few weeks."
"Ouch," I laugh and wince.
His humor fades. "She will apologize to you, Cade. I explained what I know, and she feels bad. She knows there are two sides to every story."
If not three.
An apology isn't necessary; I'd rather put that evening behind me, but I get where he's coming from. "Count on the same from Gabriella. She'll be making rounds at Switch soon."
That lightens the tension, and we leave the topic to discuss what he and I are best at. Play parties. I haven't hosted in ages because I've moved, and there's no room to have a bunch of people over unless I fix up the backyard, which is now a haven for weeds to grow wild. The last owner ran an auto shop and used half the area in the back as a parking lot for the vehicles they were working on. A wooden fence surrounds the property, saving the neighbors from seeing how bad it looks out there.
May has brought some nice weather, though, so maybe I can work something out in a couple months.
*
"What're you in the mood for?" I spread out the takeout menus on the kitchen table and grab the phone.
Gabriella hums and lifts a pamphlet from a Greek place. "I need to learn how to cook. I only know some basics. Except for lasagna. My lasagna is the best. That and my last name are the only Italian left of me." She giggles.
I lean back against the counter. "I'll have to bribe you into making it for me some time." I'm useless in the kitchen unless a diet consisting of cereal, grilled cheese, and scrambled eggs is sufficient. Last time I checked, it wasn’t.
I'm good with takeout, though. I even order salad sometimes. Well…on the side.
"No need to bribe. I'll pick up the ingredients soon." She holds up a menu from a restaurant that does stellar Thai. "What say you?"
"Sounds good." I grab the menu from her, only to pause with my gaze trained on her body. And I reckon I might be in trouble at some point soon.
She was pretty in the dresses John wanted her to wear. She was sinfully slutty in the threads she chose to rebel in. This, on the other hand, hits the perfect spot for me. Dressed for comfort in barely there jersey shorts and a top saying "Define Good Girl" that lets me know she's not wearing a bra… Yeah, I approve.
I like the bed head she's rocking, too. Without any fucking products in it.
Less makeup.
Damn.
*
I wave my fork at where Gabriella's journal lies next to her plate. "You gonna tell me what you've been scribbling in that book of yours the past two days?"
Maybe I'm a little curious.
She smirks around a spoonful of soup. "It's nothing fun, I can tell you that."
"I don’t care." I've already guessed it's nothing pleasant, 'cause she's looked troubled when I've seen her writing in it. "Thing is, Gabriella, we know each other without really…" I chuckle. "Without actually knowing each other. I know where you live, what your primary fetishes are, what makes you laugh, what soda you prefer at Switch… I know what you do for a living—"
"I quit."
"Huh?"
She bites her lip, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I worked in retail because John liked my schedule."
Fucking hell. It pains me how much her life changed—and will change again—all because of that asshole. She wanted to please him and be there as much as possible, and so he played her like a fiddle. He had no fucking right.
I blow out a breath and shake my head. "Motherless bastard."
She offers a small smile. "I'm focusing on moving forward."
I nod, and I won't rant about what I would do with John if I ever see him. I've done that enough. Instead, I get back on track. "All right, then. I don’t know what you do for a living. I also don’t know a whole lot about your hobbies, taste in music—other than the fact that you have no respect for oldies whatsoever."
She bursts out a laugh, a cute fucking sound that makes me grin. Then she falls silent, and we sorta just watch each other.
I'm glad she's here. My home is different, warmer, when she's around. I focus on work easier, and I've only checked my email once today. Still no response from Dylan, but the bitterness hasn’t spiked as it usually does. No extra tightening of the vise grip on my chest.
"You're right." She sets down the spoon. "I want to know more about you, too."
Leaning back, I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "Well, I already know me, so I'm more interested in you—and your journal. We'll start there."
She laughs. "I already told you it's nothing fun." As if she's reminded of what her journal is about, she sobers and touches the book gingerly. "Mostly, I've been writing down goals and stuff. I hope it will help me to stay focused? I don’t know. And the rest…" She stalls, uncomfortable. "You said it, Cade. I acted like an obnoxious bitch, and I want to apologize to everyone I disrespected, so I made a list of things I remember doing that make me cringe."
First instinct is to take what I said back and smooth things over. I don’t do that, though. I admire her for facing this head on, and it makes me believe in her.
"I'm proud of you, princess." I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. "That’s a great attitude, and I'll be here every step of the way."
She smiles and ducks her head.
*
"Whiny fuckin' morons," I mutter and flip the channel. Arm behind my head, pillows propped up, I try to find a news channel that’s worth watching.
I showered while Gabriella was on the phone with friends earlier, and now she's taking a bath. She'll probably be out soon. I heard the shower running a minute ago.
Tonight, I'm getting rid of some modesty. I've raised the thermostat a bit so Miss Icicle won't complain—too much—about the alleged cold. So no more sleeping in sweats and beaters to be polite and shit. She should be lucky I've kept my boxer briefs on.
The door to the bathroom opens, and Gabriella emerges in another one of my tees. She's taken a liking to those, not that I mind. She's beyond beautiful.
"Hi." She runs over to the bed, quick to get under the covers. Meanwhile, I'm lying on top of them, and she spots some piercings and ink she hasn’t seen before. "Oh wow, mister."
I smile softly at the return of the nickname.
"Did that hurt?" She points to the barbell in my left nipple.
"Not in comparison." I lower the volume on the TV.
"To…?"
I smirk.
Her gaze darts south to my crotch, and then she's blushing furiously. "Really?" she squeaks out.
I chuckle at how a fucking adorable she is. I make no mention of it, but I'm guessing the call with Kayla and whomever else went well—and that she feels more relaxed. The changes in her behavior are subtle, although easily picked up on. She carries herself just a tad more innocent, speaks a bit softer, and doesn’t guard her expressions as much.
It's humbling as fuck, albeit frustrating. She'll be trouble for me sooner rather than later at this rate. Good thing I have self-discipline and know how to turn a shower cold.
"I had no idea." Her gaze travels up to my rib cage and my chest again. "I feel like I should've known?" She gives me an uncertain look.
Dylan. There's no need to tiptoe around the subject.
"I left the piercing out mostly," I explain. "Taking his ass is a bit different from fucking a sweet pussy. The barbell scared him, so it's not
weird he didn’t mention it."
"Such a potty mouth," she mumbles, squinty-eyed.
"Mmhmm, but we've been over that." It's time I get under the covers, too. "Daddies can curse all they want."
"No!" she protests as my ink disappears from sight. "I want to know about your tattoos. Please? You have so many!"
I'll share the stories one day. Scenery from sights I've traveled to, a few quotes, an oak to represent my love for woodworking, song lyrics, a Harley, and some fillers—it all bleeds together along my arm and rib cage.
"Tell you what." Twisting my upper body, I reach for my clock so I can set the alarm. "When you're ready to discuss your new body art, I can tell you about mine."
I was surprised when she told me she doesn’t want to talk about that yet. It's ivy and princesses in slutty outfits. There has to be some significance or background story I don’t know.
Gabriella sticks out her tongue at me. "Fine."
My ears fill with the sound of her heartwarming giggles as I stick out my tongue right back at her.
"Time for you to get some sleep." I kill the light and shut off the TV, and she slides on over to me. "I won't work late tomorrow, so I thought we could be at Switch early."
"Okay."
I yawn, waiting for her to get comfortable. Her cold feet glide up my legs, and I wrap my arms around her and kiss her on the forehead. With one hand on her hip, I'm beginning to have a difficult time not feeling more of her. It'd be easy to cup her delectable ass and—goddammit.
"You're a tempting little thing," I murmur.
She chuckles breathily. "You're one to talk, mister."
Well, hell. I hope she'll be ready for me to crash and burn soon, then.
*
"Mister?" Gabriella knocks on the door.
I open it for her and let the steam out from my shower, then return to the sink. "What's up, buttercup?" I grab a towel and wrap it around my hips and wipe the fog off the mirror.
She looks away from my ass, eyes wide, which I find funny.
"Um." She fumbles. "I don’t know what to wear. I'm nervous. What if they don't want to hear my apologies? I was so bad."
"Hey." I abandon the plan to shave and pull her close, tilting up her chin. "First of all, there won't be much apologizing tonight. Second of all, when you're in a bad place, you tend to do bad things. That doesn’t make you bad. You made mistakes. You hear me?"
"Yes, Sir." She nods, her eyes remaining full of uncertainty. It's all right. She'll find out for herself tonight. "Why won't there be much apologizing? I wrote letters to, like, eight people."
I didn’t know that. That’s sweet of her. "It's Hide & Seek night." Which means most of the club will be blanketed in darkness and smoke. "You can leave the letters if you want, but no one's expecting you to do anything but enjoy yourself with your friends." I press a kiss to her nose. "As for your clothes, I'll be more than happy to pick those out for you. Come on."
Grabbing her hand, I lead her to my closet where her clothes take up half the space now. Her fetish wear hangs in the back, and picking out a pair of black briefs—or hot pants or whatever women call them—is the easy part. Then I sift through her tops.
"We're taking my truck, so you can change here," I tell her.
"Okay."
I pause at a little thing that looks to fit my thigh. A white top with a black pacifier illustrated across the chest. Perfect. Handing it to her, I move on to grab a pair of jeans for myself, a black tee, the leather cuff with Switch's logo—which gets me thinking. Gabriella's off-limits to everyone else.
I open a drawer where I have my insignificant collection of accessories. A couple watches, some cuff links, and several rubber wristbands I've accidentally taken with me home from the club. Wearing a red one means no Top is allowed to approach you for play, so I extend one of those to her.
"You stay by me tonight, understood?"
She nods. "Yes, mister." She's changed into her shorts already, yet she's waiting with the top. Maybe seeing her toned legs and the perfect shape of her tight little bubble ass is what makes me take it further.
"If you can change into shorts with me here, you can do the top, too. No need to be shy."
"Oh," she mouths. "Um, okay."
In fact, I wanna enjoy the moment, so I usher her out of the closet and sit down on the foot of the bed.
She stops in front of the TV, twisting the top in her hands. "Oh, you mean with you…w-watching?"
"Is that a problem?"
She shakes her head, visibly nervous, and then she sets the top on the dresser behind her. She fidgets for a beat before releasing a breath and removing her sweater. When she reaches for the top again, I shake my head.
"Little girls can't wear bras. Take it off."
That earns me a blush, and she unclasps the white cotton and lets it fall to the floor.
Fuck me.
I reckon I just crashed and burned.
"Don't hide from me," I say quietly before she can shield herself. "Come here."
She shuffles closer until she's standing between my legs.
"You're staring, mister," she whispers uncomfortably. "I've gained a few pounds—"
"Shut the fuck up," I whisper back. Unable to keep my hands to myself, I place them along her sides and slowly slide them up her front. Mother of Christ, she's perfect. A perfect mix of soft and toned.
The ivy that travels up her thigh ends in a swirl of stardust above her hip. It's beautiful work. She put thought into the design.
Her nipples constrict before I get there, and I love watching her skin break out in goose bumps and shivers.
I lift my gaze to her face as my hands tease the undersides of her full tits.
"You're gorgeous, princess." I stroke her a bit higher, my fingers brushing over her hard nipples. She swallows audibly. "Do you like it when I touch you?"
She jerks a quick nod. "Yes, Sir. It tingles."
"It does, huh? Where?"
"Here." She puts a hand on her lower stomach.
"Are they good tingles?"
"Oh, yes." She widens her eyes. "But it makes me think dirty things."
Fuck.
"I see." My attention returns to her tits, and I cup them fully, my mouth watering. Anticipation is good, but fuck if I don’t wanna skip work and begin exploring Gabriella's body. "It's a good thing I like filthy little girls with dirty thoughts."
She shudders as I drop my hands and finger the hem of her minuscule shorts. Her gaze follows, and her mouth forms a silent "o."
"You're hard, mister."
I give my junk a squeeze through the towel to relieve some pressure. "Of course I am. It's thinking dirty things, too."
Patience.
Right.
I check the clock next to the TV and see we gotta go soon.
"We'll have to continue this later." Rising from the bed, I put my hands on her hips and dip down to nip at her jaw. "I'm done pretending I don’t wanna fuck you silly."
"Oh my God," she whimpers.
Chapter 6
With desire, my natural role as a Daddy Dom rears its demanding head, and by the time we arrive at Switch, I'm strung tight and aching to get back in business. My three months away from kink, all while being surrounded by it, have come to an end at fucking last, and Gabriella's about to take the brunt of my depravity.
There's no line at this hour, and only a handful of people are in the lobby to hear a beeping sound when Gabriella scans her membership tag.
I smirk at my banned girl, who looks away in embarrassment.
A male sub is on coat check duty, so I explain to him she's allowed in the club if I'm here. Eventually, he nods and sees it in the notes, too.
"Of course, Sir." He hands us two glow-in-the-dark wristbands for the event. "Enjoy your evening."
"Thanks. I'm gonna need a DM shirt, too," I tell him.
"Right away, Sir." He gets me one, and then I usher Gabriella up the stairs to my locker.
The door to Ni
cholas's office is open, so I know he's here already. Which makes sense; Kayla loves Hide & Seek night.
"You can put your jacket in here." I open my locker for Gabriella and remove one black tee for another. "You ready for me to put you to work?" Given that we're here early, they're in the middle of preparing for tonight. Foam blocks big enough to hide in—and behind—will fill the Club area of Switch. We'll help set up.
"I was born ready," she replies cheekily.
I grin, finding her too cute for words. Especially now when she's shucked eighty percent of her makeup and whatever she put in her hair. Her hair is naturally messy, giving her a short do that says freshly fucked. The pink streaks… I've grown to like them. Shows she's a wonderful little brat.
*
It's a popular event for Daddy Doms and their Littles, and by ten o'clock, the place is buzzing.
"Come on, Daddy! It's about to start!" Kayla drags Nicholas along—or tries. "Oh, I swear. Someone should give your butt a whooping for being so slow!"
Annnd that ends her fun.
I'm on break, so I chug my water by the bar and enjoy the show. Gabriella's giggling next to me. Nick ain't as amused.
"I kidded," Kayla says quickly, seeing her Daddy's flat expression. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and removes his belt. Said belt remains in his grip. Mark takes the jacket and stows it under the bar.
Gabriella steps closer to me and wraps her hands around my bicep. "She's in so much trouble." She laughs, peeking at her friends, while using me as a shield. "Eeep! Mr. Ford looks mad."
Christ, she tempts me. She doesn’t have to do much to drive me nuts, does she? A smile, a giggle, a squeal behind her hand—I'm fucked.
There's no clear signal of the event starting, but everyone knows. The light is dimmed until it's difficult to see, smoke machines release billows of thick mist, the music changes into slow, seductive Goth with a heavy beat, and tiny spotlights in the floor show the line between playground and off-fucking-limits. Basically, it leaves the bar and the seating areas in the Club, as well as the scening stalls in the Cave for spectators and the few who aren't joining.
