by Stasia Black
I squeeze my eyes shut. Handcuffs. Cock rings. That nice new little contraption I bet will bring Jackson to his knees—
“Callie?” A squeeze to my knee makes me open my eyes again. Jackson doesn’t move his hand from my leg but he nods in my dad’s direction. “Your dad just asked when you think you’ll graduate.”
“Oh.” I look over at Dad in surprise. God. Finishing college has been the last thing on my mind with all the shit that’s going on. I think fast. “Well, CubeThink has a tuition reimbursement program so I’ve been planning to take one of my last few classes in the spring semester.” I’m talking out of my ass but that would actually be a great plan. I could take one class a semester and be finished in a year if I did some summer classes.
Yes, that’s exactly what I should do. Because there’s no fucking way I’m giving into Gentry’s demands. I’m not going to ruin this thing with Jackson, or fuck up my job. Not just for Jackson’s sake, but for my own. Here Jackson is, talking up all these smarts I’m supposed to have. He’s right. I’m almost a fucking Stanford graduate. It’s time to live up to it.
Jackson smiles at me like he’s proud. It only makes me more determined. I will find a way out of the bind Gentry’s trying to put me in. And God, for the first time in years, even Dad isn’t looking at me like I’m something he wants to scrape off the bottom of his shoe.
“What’s the title of your current position?” Dad asks, finally looking me in the face.
“Senior Software Engineer.”
“Which means?” Jackson prompts. “Tell him a little about what you do.”
“Well,” I start a little hesitantly, “it means I’m working to design, build, and run the backend services powering the quadcopter drones we’re building, including APIs and data pipelines.” With anyone else, I wouldn’t have gone into so much detail. But with Dad and for the purposes of this visit, I figure bringing out the fancy terms he’ll never understand can only work in my favor.
Dad nods thoughtfully like he comprehends any of what I just spouted. “Nice,” he says, nodding some more. “Well, I’m really glad to see that you’ve turned your life around and are finally living up to the potential your mother and I always saw in you growing up.”
The little girl inside me lights up at the praise. Which makes me want to go punch Dad and then myself. Then I just want to groan. Why is family always so fucked up?
Instead, I force myself to smile. A wattage just short of my old pageant grin. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
“I think it’s time for the main course.” My mother says gaily. Then she snaps my sister’s name and Shannon rises obediently to head into the kitchen. I go to help her but Mom waves me to sit down.
“I’m happy to help—”
“We want to hear all about you,” Mom says. “There’s nothing going on in your sister’s life anyway.”
Shannon obviously hears this before she slips into the kitchen because I see her posture stiffen. I wince on her behalf but then she’s gone. When she comes back in carrying a tray of plates like a waitress, her face is perfectly placid. I wasn’t the only one who learned my role well by living in this family.
Meanwhile, Mom and Dad pepper me with questions about my new position, the project Jackson and I are working on, and our budding relationship.
Shannon finally sits down with her own plate and starts to eat quietly, not looking at anyone. Nobody looks her direction. What the fuck?
“Shannon’s graphic design company has really been taking off this past year too. It’s an incredibly competitive market, but she’s really making a splash and gaining new clients every day.” I smile at her. For the first time since I sat down at the table, it’s a genuine one. “She works seven days a week sometimes to keep up with the orders.”
“And yet she’s still splitting the rent with her sister at thirty-one and doesn’t have any romantic prospects,” Mom says, none too quietly as she sticks her fork into her quinoa, chicken, and kale casserole.
“Shan’s got a boyfriend,” I defend and a second later get a kick under the table.
Ow. I look up and find Shannon glaring at me.
Mom’s attention finally focuses on Shannon. “Why didn’t you tell me? What does he do?”
Shannon’s jaw hardens before turning to meet Mom’s eyes. “It’s not important, forget about it.”
Mom clucks her tongue and smooths out the napkin in her lap. “This is your problem. All you ever do is have a series of relationships you don’t take seriously because you know they have no future. I just don’t understand it. Why date someone if you can’t see yourself growing old with them? You aren’t a spring chicken anymore and it’s long past time—”
“I just didn’t want to deal with twenty questions.” Shannon’s obviously irritated but just as obviously trying to hide it. “Sunil and I have been dating for five months and yes, actually it is serious. He’s thirty-five and owns his own thriving business.”
“What kind of business?” Dad asks at the same time Mom asks, “what sort of name is Sunil?”
Can you hear a person’s teeth grind from across the table? Maybe I’m just imagining it from the expression on Shannon’s face, like she’s barely holding on to her patience. “He owns a yoga studio downtown,” she answers Dad and then pierces Mom with a glare. “It’s an American name because he’s American. Born here and everything.”
Mom waves a hand as if swatting a fly. “You know what I mean. That’s an ethnic name. What kind?”
Oh my God. I want to faceplant in my quinoa casserole.
“A yoga studio?” Dad asks dubiously. “That doesn’t sound like a very solvent business. And two people who each own their own businesses dating…” He shakes his head. “Not a good idea. Do either of you even have insurance? A retirement plan? What kind of savings are you really able to establish if you’re living month-to-month in that dump you girls share?”
“Oh Gerald, don’t worry, Shanny’s flings never last that long,” Mom says with a flippant laugh, covering her mouth and leaning into Jackson and my dad’s side of the table with the pretense of whispering a secret. “We’ll just hope the next one has more promise.”
I keep watching my sister, waiting for her to stand up and walk out of the room any second at this shit they’re pulling. But nope, she just sits there and continues eating, eyes glued on her plate like it’s must see TV.
Damn. Is this how she keeps the peace and maintains a relationship with Mom and Dad. Or maybe they aren’t always this bad…?
I follow Shannon’s example, back straight, mouth stuffed full of chicken and quinoa. I really wish there were something stronger than the cucumber water at each place setting. Though maybe it’s a good thing there isn’t, because I probably need every ounce of self-control I have to get me through this lunch.
Jackson seems to recognize my need to cut out for a while because he carries the bulk of the conversation after that, entertaining Mom and Dad with tales of his international travels.
Lunch is almost over and Shannon has brought out the key lime pie by the time I’ve done my breathing exercises and prepared myself enough to get down to the reason for our visit. The fact that they haven’t mentioned their grandson once in the hour and a half we’ve been here is enough to piss me off all over again, so I try to force it from my mind.
“So Mom and Dad,” I cut in when there’s the briefest lull in conversation, “can I show you some pictures of your grandson? Charlie’s getting so big lately and he’s the most adorable little kid. Really smart too.” Another pageant smile. “He’s definitely a Cruise.”
I bring up the most recent pics I snapped on my phone of him yesterday flipping through a board book. He looked up at the phone right before I snapped the picture. I crossed my eyes and made what he calls my ‘googwy face.’ It always makes him crack up and yesterday was no different. I managed to capture the moment in the snapshot and just seeing it makes my heart squeeze.
I hand the phone ar
ound to Mom. Her face softens before she hands it to Dad. He nods once and I take that as a good sign.
“His custody hearing is in a couple of weeks,” I venture. “It would mean a lot to me if you guys were there.”
Dad’s quiet a long moment, still looking down at the picture.
Shit. Did I press too much too soon? Should I have waited until later in the weekend to ask?
Finally Dad hands the phone to Jackson to give back to me. Dad looks me directly in the eye and gives one decisive nod. “We’ll be there and speak on your behalf. You’ve really turned your life around and I can respect that. You might have made a mess of things a few years ago but everyone deserves a second chance. One chance, mind you,” he holds up a single index finger and his eyebrows narrow in warning. “You only ever get one second chance with me.”
I nod repeatedly. “You won’t be sorry, Daddy, I promise. I’ve turned my life around for good. I’m not that girl anymore. You’ll see—” I cut off mid-stream. Because what the fuck? What am I doing?
Um, babbling like a little bitch. That’s what I’m doing.
I nod once more and shove a bite of pie in my mouth. God. Am I still that insecure little kid wanting her Daddy’s approval so bad? I shift uncomfortably on my chair and glance at Jackson. He’s watching me and gives me a supportive smile. Did he not see the daddy’s little dearest bullshit moment I just had? I was doing the same kind of shit with Mom in the kitchen too, now that I think about it. I look away, mortified again.
I scarf down the rest of my pie and finally, finally the lunch from hell is over. It’s hard not to catapult out of my chair.
The women, naturally—at least according to my mother—should do the dishes and clean up while my dad takes Jackson downstairs to his man cave. Dad actually calls it that. I don’t even bother with the internal wince on that one.
It takes over an hour to clean up, Mom pecking at Shannon the whole time about her weight, her clothing choices, Sunil’s family, her income, his income. I swear, it just doesn’t stop.
Finally I claim a headache and jog up the stairs to my old room. It’s not a lie, either. Dealing with my parents has definitely brought an ache not only in my head, but all over my body. I want to grab a bottle of wine and turn in early but when I check my phone for the time, I realize I haven’t even been here four hours of what’s supposed to be an entire weekend-long visit.
My old room’s been converted to a guest bedroom and feels oddly impersonal. I take a shower hoping the hot water will help take some of the strain out of my muscles. But they’ve installed one of those goddamn rain-shower faucets in the shower of the attached bathroom and it doesn’t have any other settings. It’s all soft raindrops when I really want a muscle pounding blast. By the time I come out, I’m only that much more wound up.
I wring my hair out and grimace. Ugh, I can still feel some of the conditioner residue on my fingers because the stupid showerhead wasn’t strong enough to wash it all out. Awesome. Apparently I’ll be sporting some leave-in conditioner. Aka, my hair will look greasy like I haven’t showered in a couple days.
I wrap my towel around myself and blow-dry it anyway. When it’s mostly dry, I look in the mirror. And frown. Mom’s right. The dark brown does make me look a bit washed out. Maybe it’s time to consider going back to blonde. I lift up a chunk of hair and turn it over in the light. Maybe some golden highlights would brighten up my look. Make my eyes look less sunken.
I lean in closer to the mirror. God, are those bags under my eyes? My eyebrows deepen into furrows and my hand automatically reaches for the concealer in my makeup bag.
But then I freeze. Because what the hell?
Everything I’m doing feels so familiar. It’s a ritual I’ve repeated in front of this very mirror too many times to count. Sitting here and staring at myself, primping and finding flaws and trying to fix myself to perfection. And perfection always being so far out of reach.
Being back here is seriously tripping me out. I apply some lip balm but then drop the makeup bag before I’m tempted to pull anything else from it.
I fluff my mostly-dry hair with my fingers and turn resolutely away from the mirror, heading back into the bedroom.
Which is when Jackson’s masculine arms come around me from behind. “Save me.”
I yelp in surprise before turning around and smacking him on the arm. “You scared the shit out of me!” At the same time, just the touch of his skin against mine does what the crappy shower and all the breathing exercises in the world couldn’t—my whole body immediately relaxes. Shoulders down to my calves to my toes, all my muscles loosen. I breathe in the first deep breath in what feels like hours, ever since we crossed the threshold into this house.
“I’m the one who needs saving.” I face-dive into his chest. “I can’t handle them! I don’t remember them being like this. I swear. They’ve gotten all…” I ram my forehead into his chest again,” I don’t even know what to call it.”
Jackson doesn’t say anything to either support or dispute my claim. What he does is curl his arm around my shoulders and pull me into him, which is probably the best move he could’ve made anyway.
“We got them to agree to come to the custody hearing, so we can go home now.” I look up at him, an awkward angle since I’m so close. “Right?”
Jackson rubs circles on my back and I fake whine because I hear what he’s not saying. We have to stay. Of course we have to stay.
“Your mom said we should rest up for dinner. It’ll be ready in an hour and a half. And that you should wear something nice because in her words it’s a formal dinner.”
So ridiculous. We just finished one meal and now we have to go back through that torture so soon. Again? I don’t wanna.
But I know what I do want to do.
I grab the front of Jackson’s shirt and dip my head back, trying on my best lascivious look as I glance up at him. Simultaneously, I grind my groin against his. “An hour and a half. I can think of a few ways to fill the time.”
He chuckles like he thinks I’m joking, kisses me on the top of my head, and pulls away. But not before running his thumb along the top edge of the towel I have wrapped around myself. He just barely skims the top of my breast before pulling back. I lurch after him, feeling almost drunk after his touch, slight as it was.
“I wasn’t kidding.”
His dark little laugh again. “I know.”
I frown, barely concealing a growl. Just for that, he gets to be tortured a little. I reach and undo my towel where I secured it in a knot. With a satisfyingly dramatic sweep, it drops to the floor, leaving me moist-skinned and fully bared.
Jackson’s face stays completely impassive. I’m watching closely, however, and I don’t miss the way his pupils widen and he takes a quick breath in.
Oh yesssss. I do so love my effect on him. I walk the few steps to the bed and lounge backward on it. Then I suck on my middle finger, all the while watching Jackson. I release the finger with a loud pop and then lazily trail it down my neck to outline my nipple, then stretch and tug at the taut peak.
Jackson just stands there watching me. That won’t do. After circling my nipple several more times, I send my hand further south to the smooth area of my sex.
Jackson’s eyes chart the progress and where one moment he’s a statue, the next he’s a flurry of movement. I grin as he undoes his buckle with a clumsiness uncharacteristic of him.
Because of me. Because I drive him to desperation. I grin so wide my cheeks ache.
He gives me a warning look. He doesn’t like losing control but I just tilt a beckoning finger toward him. Doesn’t he know that’s how this game is played?
My way.
With several strong jerks, he pulls his belt free from his pants and I frown. Just loosening it enough to get his pants down would have worked. But then he advances toward me with the belt and my eyebrows shoot up even as wetness drenches my sex.
“Don’t get too excited,” he laughs quietly as h
e approaches, obviously seeing my reaction. He folds the belt several times and then runs the leather from my throat down between my breasts and further to my throbbing pussy. Then he leans in and traces the same path with his nose, inhaling as he goes. A low growl of approval comes from his throat.
“I can smell how much you want me.”
I snatch the belt from his grasp.
“Don’t forget who’s in charge in these little games,” I warn. “Last weekend was a one-off.”
I’m holding the top of the folded belt but he grabs the bottom with a grip that challenges mine.
“Was it?” He’s using his Dom voice on me and it turns me on at the same time it pisses me off. “I think you like to lose control and submit sometimes.”
I open my mouth to tell him he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m suddenly going to become his submissive but he smiles wide as if anticipating me. “Only sometimes. Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten my place, Mistress. Unfortunately, since we’re in your parents’ house and we don’t want them to find out how debauched the supposedly upstanding entrepreneur Jackson Vale is by finding him tied, gagged, and being spanked like a little bitch by their dominatrix daughter, I suggest you bite down on this so you don’t make any noise while I eat the fuck out of your cunt. Sound like a plan?”
He doesn’t give me time to consider, but really, what is there to think about when presented by an offer like that? I open my jaw wide and Jackson shoves the folded leather in. I bite down hard, hoping I’ll leave teeth marks on his belt so he’ll be reminded of this. He grins darkly at me like he read my mind, but he doesn’t waste any more time.
