by Brianna Hale
He turns to me, both his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh?”
“When I imagine your mind it’s a seashore early in the morning, calm and crystal clear. If a stone is thrown into the water the ripples just dissipate, one by one, and a moment later it’s like nothing happened. You probably don’t even know how lucky you are.”
I’m smiling as I say it, but I’m filled with so much sadness it aches. Mr. Blomqvist considers my words, trying to piece together what I’m getting at. I like that about him. I feel heard whenever I’m with him, and whatever he replies with I know he’s chosen every word carefully.
“I’m jealous of your plants, too,” I whisper, knowing I’m treading in dangerous waters now.
“My bonsai?”
“Yes. They’re small and perfect, because you made them that way. They never worry that they should be anything else. Why would they want to be?”
My voice cracks and a few hot tears spill down my face. I rarely say anything like this to my therapist. I’m too busy trying to impress her with how okay I am.
But I’m not okay. I’m really not.
Mr. Blomqvist mutters something in Swedish and puts his arms around me. Sharasta, or something like it. I wonder if he swore, but it sounded too soft to be a curse word. The gesture is platonic and kind and only makes me want to cry harder, feeling his arms tight around me. I want to bury my face in his chest and just let it all out, but I’ve already shown too much weakness.
I am strong and calm, I repeat to myself until my tears stop. It takes several minutes, and all the while I breathe in his scent of almonds and leather.
I pull away from him, wiping my eyes, hating to go but knowing I have to. “Sorry. Please don’t fire me. I know I’m a mess, but it’s just in the cracks, you know? Between the time that matters.”
“It all matters, Lacey.”
I press my palm over my eyes, wishing he wouldn’t say things like that. I have to believe it doesn’t matter that I break down every now and then because I know that I’m going to, over and over.
“I wish I were one of your bonsai plants,” I whisper, not looking him. “I wish I could feel like there was one reason for me to be. One thing I had to do.” I wish I had someone who understands what I need and is there for the worst parts, as he is now. “I feel different when I’m around you. I like you very much and wish you could…”
I choke the words off because I’m not treading in dangerous waters now, I’m walking right into a deep, shark-infested ocean with stones in my pocket.
He puts a hand lightly around my throat, right over the velvet choker, and rests it there. “Lacey. Why did you start wearing this? I noticed it the week after you started working for me.”
I blink away the shimmer of tears and see him gazing back at me intently. His hand around my throat is large and warm, and grounding, too. It’s suddenly easier to speak. Not just words, but the truth.
“I wore it as a reminder to be useful to you. I feel it against my skin and it brings me pleasure. Helps me focus.”
Reading his expression is impossible. “Is that why you kept saying sir?”
I nod. “Because I like it. And because I thought maybe you liked it.”
My lips tingle. Mr. Blomqvist watches me with gentle eyes, his hand still wrapped around my throat. Doing nothing. Just touching me. Grounding me.
“Being here is the only place lately that I’ve felt okay.”
He lets me go and the temperature of the room plummets by ten degrees. “Are you so unhappy, Lacey?”
I laugh hollowly and tug at the hem of my dress. “Unhappy? I’m lonely. I’m anxious. I sometimes feel out of control and do stupid things.”
“What stupid things?”
But I can’t say. I’m too ashamed of what I do. I know it’s not healthy to skip one meal, let alone two or three a day. It’s the only way I have of feeling on top of things and that I’m not a complete failure, and I can’t even do it anymore. For six whole months I haven’t skipped a meal or exercised for more than ninety minutes a day. This is supposed to be what recovery looks like, but I feel worse than ever.
“I’m getting help. I do everything my therapist says. But nothing makes me feel as good as…” I reach up and touch the velvet at my throat. “As you do.”
He looks at me for a long time, his arms folded. “Is it purely emotional, or do you want me to fuck you?”
I suck in a breath. Jesus. Did he really just say that? I suppose he knows what it means then, to collar someone. That it’s sexual. Is he into being a dom, and did he know what I’ve been doing all along? “Would you, if I asked you to?”
Mr. Blomqvist shifts on his feet. “It’s complicated, Lacey.”
Humiliation courses through me. That’s just a polite way of saying no. Why did he even ask me if he was just going to say that? “Never mind, I should go. In fact, I quit. It’s for the best.”
I try to push past him but he catches my arm and gently pulls me back. “No, you don’t. I haven’t finished talking to you. There’s no reason to feel embarrassed.”
“It’s not that.” It is that. I asked him to sleep with me, and he turned me down flat. “I just don’t want to be here right now.”
“I said there’s no reason to feel embarrassed or that your pride is hurt. Do as you’re told.”
I look up at him through my lashes, my feet suddenly planted to the spot. Do as you’re told. That’s what I want to hear him say. I suck on my lower lip to redden it and watch him watching me do it. I’ve never done anything like that in front of a man, but it feels good. “I’m trying, sir.”
“I can see that,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch my cheek. I feel my heart beat a little faster because with that one small touch he’s joined me in these dangerous waters, and suddenly they don’t seem quite so full of sharks.
He drops his hand. “But I don’t do pale imitations of the real thing.”
I feel as if he’s punched me in the guts. I’m a pale imitation. Bland. Boring. I didn’t think he’d be so cruel. He could have just said he doesn’t like me that way, or he can’t.
“Lacey,” he says sharply as if reading my mind. “I didn’t mean you. I mean it’s complicated, because I always want everything.”
There’s a fire burning in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He touches my neck again, his thumb caressing the column of my throat, almost as if he can’t help himself.
“Everything?” I whisper.
Mr. Blomqvist moves toward me, each of his steps slow and measured. His grip on my throat tightens, and he keeps coming until he has me pinned against the wall.
His mouth is very close to mine. “Yes, everything. I’m a control freak, remember?”
Chapter Nine
Stian
“Doing thing by halves isn’t my style,” I tell Lacey, loving the feel of her beneath my hands. I can feel how desperately she wants to be happy, and I think I can show her how.
“And you feel like you’d have to because I’m in therapy,” she says, misery still coloring her voice.
“No. If you weren’t in therapy, I wouldn’t touch you.” I stroke my thumb over the velvet choker, imagining what she’d look like wearing nothing else. Her head is tipped back, and she’s looking up at me with parted lips as if she’s waiting for me to kiss her.
So I do.
Lacey tastes like cherry lip gloss and salty tears and it’s so good. I kiss her slowly, coaxing her lips apart and then sliding my tongue against hers. The movements of her mouth are tentative, and she lets me take the lead. I deepen the kiss, desire shooting through me. I’m more than just kissing her. I’m marking her with my lips. Mine. My sweet bonsai girl, just aching for some control.
I gather her up in my arms and pull her to me, feeling her slender body against my hard one. She might be troubled, but she’s not fragile. I’ve seen for myself how hard she battles to just get through the day. Telling me how she feels and what she wants must have been excruciating, and yet
she did it. She trusted me. I like to be wanted, and I fucking love to be needed.
“Is everything too much Lacey, or does that sound about perfect to you?”
“What’s everything?” she asks breathlessly.
“Your body. Your obedience. Your submission.” I stroke a finger along her plump lower lip. “Your happiness.”
“You can have the first three, sir,” she breathes. “They’re all yours. But I don’t know what I’ve done with the fourth.”
“I told you. Everything. I’m going to have your happiness, too. Trust me, käraste.”
The acceptance in her eyes is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I could make you happy if you tell me everything that your heart desires. But I won’t settle for less than everything. You can’t hide things from me or save things for other men.”
“I don’t want other men,” she says right away.
I cast my eyes over the pink choker, the white dress. A possessive thrill goes through me at the thought that she only wants me, and she’s been wanting me, as much as I’ve been wanting her. “Then how about while you work here you be my girl? Daddy’s girl. I know you like to say yes, sir. Why don’t you try yes, daddy.”
I slide my hand down her belly and cup her sex, and she whimpers against my mouth. Her arms come lightly around my neck and she arches into my hand. I move my fingers beneath her dress and brush the seam of her sex through her underwear.
“Daddy? That’s a bit kinky, sir,” she says, opening her legs for me. I hear shades of oh I couldn’t possibly… in her voice, and it makes me smile.
“I am a bit kinky.” I circle her clit through her underwear. “How does that feel?”
“It feels so good, daddy.” Her cheeks turn the same shade of pink as my azalea. Fuck. This is going so well already. I ease one finger beneath her underwear and find she’s waxed completely bare and so wet. I have to close my eyes and grit my teeth as the urge to fuck her right now sweeps over me. Her clit is swollen and I bear down on it, imagining the slow plunge into her pussy.
“Do you like daddy’s big fingers touching your clit?” I whisper into her ear, rubbing faster.
She whimpers and nods, her lower lip caught between her teeth. I slant my mouth across hers again. “Good girl. Why don’t we see if we can make you feel even better?”
My office is spacious and comfortable and tucked away from the other museum employees, but just in case someone from downstairs comes looking for us, I go and lock the door and come back to her.
I hook a finger into her underwear and pull them down her legs and over her shoes, and then push them into my pocket. I sit back on my heels before her, just holding up her dress and looking at her. Totally bare, her lips pink and shiny with her arousal. Her pussy is going to look incredible spattered with my come. I want that, so fucking much, but not today. Lacey leans against the wall, gazing down at me and breathing lightly, alert but trusting.
I lean forward and kiss her little cleft, and then slip my tongue between her folds. Her clit is hard and swollen against my tongue. She makes a whimpering sound, and her leg shakes. Herregud, she tastes good. I part her with my fingers and lick deeper, groaning with pleasure at the feel of her against my tongue. Lacey is shuddering against the wall, teetering on the brink of an orgasm.
Denying her the release just yet, I stand up, put one hand on her collarbone to keep her where she is, and reach for her clit with the other. I love fingering girls. All I need to do is make tiny movements on that little spot, and I can overwhelm her whole world. The control is spectacular. Lacey watches me with big, trusting eyes.
I talk to her as her climax builds, controlling the intensity to keep her this side of her peak. To keep her focused on me. “Here’s what I want to happen, Lacey. I’m your boss. We have work to do. But we’re going to have more than just a working relationship while you’re here. Sometimes I’m not very nice, but I think it will be good for you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, daddy.”
I up the intensity of my rubbing and she shudders against me, her head tipping back. I smile indulgently at her. “Sometimes I’m very nice, though. Do you like that?”
Lacey reaches up and grasps the lapels of my jacket, holding on for dear life. Her voice is tight with arousal as she whimpers, “Yes, daddy.”
Fuck me, that’s good. I push one of my fingers into her mouth, and she immediately sucks it. Even better. If I ever made a porno, it would be called Girls In Dresses Being Good And Doing As They’re Told. I could watch this all day.
Her climax rises up and takes over her, and her cries get louder. I take my finger out her mouth and press it against her lips. She wraps her arms even tighter around my neck and holds me as she comes, lost in what I’m doing to her.
“Good girl,” I breathe into her ear, easing up the pressure a little as her orgasm trails off, and then releasing her. I smooth her skirt down as the afterglow makes her weak.
Taking her hand, I perch on the edge of my desk and pull her between my thighs and into my arms. I can feel my cock straining against my trousers. When she moves closer to me, she rubs against me, reminding me that she naked and wet beneath her skirt. I think about pushing her face down over my desk and fucking her, hard and fast, until I burst deep inside her. Tempting, but not yet. I line up all the things I want to do to her, one after the other, like a row of delicious morsels. I can’t wait to take the first bite out of her.
“How do you feel, käraste?”
Lacey leans into me, resting her cheek against my shoulder. The gesture is so sweet and trusting it makes my heart ache.
“So good, sir.” Then I feel her smile, her lips curving against my throat. “Daddy. That’s such a cute name for you. I thought you’d prefer sir.”
I do like sir. But from her, sweet and young as she is, I think I prefer daddy. I smile down at her, enjoying that I’ve been able to give her this moment of peace. It won’t last forever, but we can work on that. We’ll make time to work on it.
“Thank you for telling me what you want.”
She covers her face for a moment and looks sheepish. “I don’t know what came over me.”
I think I know. When you’re that unhappy, you haven’t got much to lose. What’s a temp job when you could reach out for something you’re craving deep in your soul?
It’s tempting to send her home without her underwear because I want to keep them in my pocket, but that’s for another day. I help her back into them, one foot at a time, and slide them up her legs.
Still kneeling before her, I cup her ass in my hands, feeling how smooth and soft she is; wondering how receptive she might be to my harsher, more punitive, side. I think she might be. She didn’t start calling me sir because I remind her of a cuddly teddy bear.
“Have you ever been spanked?”
Sucking on her swollen lower lip, she shakes her head. The possessive impulse doubles. Good. No one else has been putting her over his knee and turning her ass a brilliant shade of red.
“Would you like to be, when we have more time?”
Lacey’s mouth twitches with a shy smile, and she nods. A little fearfully, but wanting it just the same. I memorize her expression so I can relive it later, along with every second of the last thirty minutes.
“I’ll look forward to it,” I murmur, standing up. I’m happiest when I have someone under my thumb. A dictator, but in the most benevolent way possible. I smooth Lacey’s hair back from her face and marvel at the change in her. From tears and anxiety to softness and sweetness after just a short time in my arms. I hold her for a little longer, loving the feel of her, tracing the velvet choker and the neckline of her dress with a forefinger.
Reluctantly, I let her go. “I’ll walk you out to the Tube station, and then I’d better get back to the opening.”
She grimaces. “I’m sorry I made you miss most of it. What are you going to tell them?”
I’m not sorry in the slightest. “The truth. That impor
tant business came up, and it couldn’t wait.”
Lacey collects her handbag and we head out of the museum and across the square, not speaking but in step with each other. The evening is warm and the breeze gentle. Lacey’s long hair brushes against my arm, and she’s smiling. I hope her smile lasts all evening.
I kiss her cheek when we reach the Tube. “Mind the stairs,” I say with a wink.
She disappears down into the station with a smile and a wave for me, and I head back to the museum with a lightness in my chest than I haven’t felt in a long time. Despite what some people might think, I don’t enjoy being a grumpy asshole. I like being happy, same as anyone else, and Lacey knows just how to put a smile on my face.
Chapter Ten
Lacey
The train journey home passes in a heavenly daze. I’m still tingling inside my underwear, and I remember every word, every touch, every kiss of the last hour. I can feel Mr. Blomqvist’s lips against mine. The slight rasp of his shaven jaw and the smell of his masculine scent. He was so big beneath my fingers, and yet so gentle as he got down on his knees to lick my sex.
I can’t believe that it happened. That I made it happen. My therapist said once—and I want to roll my eyes at myself for being one of those people who say my therapist said—that confidence is overrated. Confident people are so often insufferable. What matters most is courage.
I’m not confident about anything. I’m really, really scared most of the time, but I can have moments of courage, and I think I just had one with Mr. Blomqvist. I run my finger over my tender lower lip and smile a secret smile. This is something that’s all mine, and it’s filled with pleasure and more than a dash of naughtiness.
Mr. Blomqvist is so easy to talk to. Kind of a dirty talker, too. How about you be my girl? Daddy’s girl. I touch the pale pink choker at my throat and smile even more. I can so do that.
