by Brianna Hale
“How do you feel about early birthdays then?”
I think for a moment. Sitting cuddled against Mr. Blomqvist without any underwear on, well that’s different. “Early birthdays? I think I might be all right with those.”
He kisses my throat. “Good. Open it, käraste.”
I take a closer look at the carry bag and the word that’s printed on the side, and change my mind again. “Versace? I can’t, it’s—”
“Open it,” he insists softly, still smiling.
Inside I find a white leather handbag, made to perfection and very chic. Stupidly expensive, though. If he wanted to buy me something, it should have been something inconsequential and small, because this is making a much bigger deal out of my birthday than I’d wanted to. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept something so—”
He turns the bag around and points at the clasp. It’s large and silver and is shaped like Medusa’s head. I’d forgotten that Medusa was the Versace logo.
“I thought she might make you feel powerful.”
My face crumples, and I cover my eyes with my hand. He remembered what I said about Medusa, and that I like to wear symbols of protection. I think with all his tattoos he must understand that they’re more than just symbols. They’re my strength and meaning when I need them.
“I’m sorry,” I say through my tears, because making me cry was probably the last thing he wanted to do.
“Hey. Käraste. Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head, trying to speak past the lump in my throat, but failing. He did the very opposite of wrong.
“Are you going to say thank you, daddy, and accept your birthday present like a good girl?”
I nod, and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. A few minutes later I’m able to whisper. “Thank you, daddy.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I study him. “Why do you like doing this for me so much? Not the birthday present. All of it. I have a lot of baggage. You must have figured that out by now, but nothing I do or say seems to scare you off.”
“Scared of you? I’m the control freak. Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”
“You’re not a freak. You’re actually really lovely. Why are you looking at me like that?”
He’s wearing a smile that’s so peaceful and beatific it almost doesn’t seem real. That a person can feel that way. That he can be looking at me that way, as if there’s no place in the world that he’d rather be than here.
“No reason, käraste. You’re just sweet, that’s all. Happy birthday.”
“Daddy,” I whisper, my heart fluttering in my chest. I take a deep breath. “Did you want to maybe, um. Sleep together?”
His vivid blue gaze holds mine. “There’s no hurry, käraste.”
But there is a hurry. I won’t be here forever, and it’s not like we can see each other out in the real world. Our entanglement or whatever this is exists only in his office, and we have just a few weeks left together. It might be weird, having sex in an office and not a bedroom, but I don’t care. He’ll be there, and that’s what matters.
I open my mouth to remind him that time is short, but he points out that it’s seven and sits up.
“Can I have my underwear, please?”
Mr. Blomqvist rubs a hand over his jaw. “Mm. No.”
“Excuse me?”
He grins, and this time he doesn’t look beatific at all. He looks devilish, and pulls my underwear out of his pocket and dangles them on a forefinger before my face. “These are mine. I want you to remember your lesson all the way home.”
I want to snatch them from him, but I can see him daring me to with his eyes. Instead, I smooth my skirt down demurely and stand up. “Yes, daddy.”
He grins even wider and pushes my panties back into his pocket. “Such a good girl.”
The very breezy journey home has me clinging to my hem every time there’s a gust of wind. When I walk in the front door an hour later, my parents spy the Versace carrier bag straight away. I’m suddenly doubly conscious that I’m naked beneath my skirt. Knowing I’m probably blushing red to the roots of my hair, I say, “It’s a present from Mr. Blomqvist. To say thank you for all the work on the exhibition, I guess.”
Dad accepts this blithely, as if it’s no surprise that a daughter of his is so useful to Mr. Blomqvist. My mother looks like she wants to say more, such as, Employers don’t buy young women Versace handbags for platonic reasons. What’s really going on here? How old is he? What’s his agenda? But she holds her tongue. Probably she’ll ask dad a load of questions about Mr. Blomqvist later when I’m not in the room, because I don’t think she’s ever met him.
I wear the handbag to work in the morning with a pair of white jeans and flats and a sleeveless blouse, and it works. Medusa is protecting me, and even though it’s my birthday, a day I’ve been dreading, I feel powerful.
Chapter Thirteen
Stian
Did you want to maybe sleep together?
I’ve been thinking about taking Lacey to bed ever since she called me sir the first time. After she asked to be one of my bonsai and I kissed her soft, cherry mouth, I’ve been aching to. But it’s delicate. For starters, I didn’t think I’d be taking anyone’s virginity at my age. It’s something I probably wouldn’t have thought twice about in my twenties, but it seems a lot more significant now, being someone’s first. Being Lacey’s first. Being the one to possess her body. Make her come. See her breathless and vulnerable beneath me.
She’s never self-conscious when I undress her, though we’ve never been fully naked with each other yet. Lacey doesn’t seem to be afraid of touching me. She’s gone down on me three times without any prompting from me, and it’s fucking delicious, though she seems sheepish about spitting afterward. As if I give a damn.
After my hour with Lacey the following Wednesday, I pull into my garage and head inside, looking around at the book-lined lounge room, the greenhouse through the French doors that keeps my bonsai alive through the winter. I’m loath to try and change the parameters of our relationship in any way because change seems to be something that upsets Lacey, but I don’t want to sleep with her in my office. I want to do it here, somewhere comfortable where I can treat her properly and she can relax. I picture her in my bed, her long dark hair spread out across the pillow and her body naked and ready for me to devour.
I want to have her under my control, but more importantly, I want to take steps to make her mine permanently, and that means moving things outside my office.
Because Lacey, I believe, is perfect for me.
I keep circling back to the fact that she told her therapist about me, and it brings a smile to my face every time. It must have been hard for her to tell her therapist what we’re doing, and I feel a fierce thrill of satisfaction that she did. Lacey’s determined for this to be something real, too, and I can be good for her. I listen to her. I’m supportive. Out here, in the real world, we could have a real relationship.
We could have everything.
I go to the fridge and pull out a bottle of mineral water and notice the calendar stuck to the wall. Next week is her last week. Already. Fuck, I’m going to miss her so much. In a week and a half, I won’t have her in my office at all.
The next evening I have her on my lap with her dress unbuttoned down the front and the lace cups of her bra pulled down. She’s just finished coming all over my fingers and her hair is wild and tumbling around her face. She stretches her arms luxuriously over her head, arching into me and rubbing her pussy against my hard cock.
I grip her waist, smoothing my thumbs over her ribs, imagining how good it would feel to unzip my trousers right now and just plunge into her.
Patience, Stian. Virgin, remember?
Should it bother me that the woman who fills my head every hour of every day is so much younger than me? I haven’t been able to feel one ounce of guilt over the age difference, but I feel like I should bring it up.
“Does
it bother you that I’m older than you?”
Lacey lowers her arms thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked you how old you are.”
“Thirty-nine.”
She considers me for a moment, and then shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t bother me. I prefer it, actually. I don’t do the normal things other women in their twenties do, like go to bars and clubs and things. They’re too loud and intense. You don’t like to do that, either. Or at least, I don’t think you do.”
I hadn’t thought about it that way. I like the pub, but bars with loud music and a crush of people get on my nerves. “You’re safe. I don’t.”
Lacey smiles and wraps her arms around my neck, stroking her fingers through my hair. “You’re steadying. Plus, you’re really sexy. I guess I’m into older guys.”
“Well, lucky me,” I murmur, kissing her smiling mouth.
“What about me, I’m not too young and silly for you, am I?”
“Käraste, you’re about the least silly young woman I’ve ever met.” Insanely cute, though. A sweet, clever little girl, and all mine. I put my head on my side, watching her fluff her long, dark curls. “What are you doing Friday night?”
“Nothing, why?” She looks up and meets my intense gaze, and her cheeks slowly turn pink.
I trace my forefinger over her lower lip. “I thought I could show you my other bonsai plants. At my house.” It’s outside our routine. Outside anything we’ve ever done together before.
She smiles shyly. “Oh, your bonsai plants. Yes, I would love to see them.”
I kiss her hungrily and pull her even more tightly against me in my lap. Yes, you sweet girl. You know exactly what I’m talking about and that’s why you’re blushing. You want your daddy to fuck you, don’t you?
Her hand slides down over my chest, and I cover it with my own, pressing it tightly against my heart. “If you’re sure,” I say, watching her closely. “Like I said, there’s no hurry.”
She nods, still smiling. “I’m sure, daddy. I’m on the pill, by the way. I’ve been on it for years, because of cramps.”
Condoms are fine, but thinking about rawing Lacey makes my cock spasm in my pants. Keeping my face carefully blank, I say, “I’m clean, but I can use a condom if you prefer.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to.”
My eyes rake her, from her waist to her pretty little tits to her throat to her beautiful face, vividly imagining what it will be like when I have her spread beneath me with her pussy wrapped tight around my cock.
All mine.
On Friday we leave the office together at six and head down to my car. She hums along to the radio as I drive, her hand reaching over now and again to brush against my thigh. She seems relaxed and happy, and I take her hand and give it a squeeze as we sit at the traffic lights. It’s a beautiful evening, warm and sunny, and for once I don’t even mind that the roads are busy.
When we get to my house, I pull into the garage and take her inside.
We hold hands as I take her through the rooms. I’m proud of the home I’ve managed to make for myself in the years I’ve lived in Britain. I’ve furnished the rooms carefully, and filled them with books and pictures that make me happy every time I look at them. Everything is just how I want it, and the house has a sense of permanence to it because I wanted it to feel permanent. When I decide something’s right, I commit to it.
“This room is my favorite,” she says, standing in the middle of the living room and gazing around. “It’s so cozy with the sofas and the bookshelves. I would love to read in here on a rainy day when the fire’s going.”
I stroke my knuckles across her cheek. “I would love that, too.”
Min älskling. My darling. My love. The feeling fills me from the center of my being right to the tips of my fingers and toes.
Lacey gazes back at me, the softest of expressions in her eyes. I smile at her, wondering how we got here, but so grateful that we have. “It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
“If you hadn’t fired your last assistant. If I hadn’t nearly fallen down the stairs.”
“I still feel terrible that I shouted at you.”
Lacey shrugs one shoulder, still smiling. “Maybe if you hadn’t, I would never have shown you my affirmations and confessed that I wanted you so badly.”
I step closer, brushing my lips over hers and taking her in my arms. She rises on her tiptoes to meet me, her fingers twining through my hair. Fire licks up my body as I hold her against me, and I deepen the kiss, my lips parting hers and my tongue sliding into her mouth.
Lacey reaches for my tie and unloops the silk, still kissing me. It slides to the ground, and then I feel her fingers undoing the buttons of my shirt one by one.
I press kisses to her cheeks, her throat, as her palms stroke my chest. “Can I put you into subspace, or would you like to try vanilla for your first time?”
Lacey wraps her arms around my neck, and whispers in my ear, “I want you to do what you do best, daddy.”
I was hoping she’d say that. I tell her to get on her knees in the middle of the living room floor, and she does. With red lips and flushed cheeks, she looks up at me while I pull off my shirt and fist it in my hands, breathing a little faster now.
“Perfect. You just stay there, käraste.”
From there she can see the bonsai plants in the adjoining greenhouse. I move about the house, putting my things away and opening the windows to let the breeze in, and enjoying the knowledge that she’s there. Waiting for me.
Ten minutes later, I retrieve something from the bedroom and go back into the living room and sit on the sofa, just watching her. I’m behind her to the left, but she doesn’t turn to look at me. Not even when I run a chain through my hand so that it clinks softly.
“Come here. On your hands and knees.”
Lacey turns around on all fours and does as she’s told, nestling herself on the floor between my thighs. I fit the leather collar around her throat and wrap the chain around my hand. She looks up at me with clear, calm eyes, and I drink in the sight of her.
Collared.
Chained.
Mine.
“Take off your clothes.”
She does as she’s told, unbuttoning her blouse and then wriggling out of her skirt. I hold the chain the entire time, keeping her close to me. When she’s in her bra and panties, I pull her up over my lap. She’s smiling as she settles her cheek on the back of her hands, and wiggles her cute little ass for me. Her panties are pink lace and tucked tight into the cleft of her bottom.
“Daddy’s just going to warm you up a little,” I murmur, squeezing fistfuls of her in my hands. I give her a test spank, just a little smack, and she makes petulant little sounds.
I do it again, just the lightest smack. Lacey doesn’t say anything, just whimpers again as if it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened, but pushes her ass into my hand.
Oh, I see, are we playing that game? I love that game. I give her a gentle smack, and she sniffles dramatically.
“You’re too fucking cute, did you know that?”
I can just see the side of her cheek, and she tucks her face against my thigh and smiles. We go on like that, me hitting her softly and her writhing about and making little gasps like no one’s ever spanked anyone as hard as I’m hitting her now. I run the flat of my hand up her arched spine and unclasp her bra. As it falls away, she makes the poor little me noises again, and I feel my cock pulse with heat. Min Gud. I’m a sucker for that shit. Play up to me baby. I love to see you wriggling about.
I explore her panties with gentle fingers. Stroking my thumb up the seam of her sex, I find that she’s wet between her legs. The lace is soaked and I can see the folds of her plump little pussy. Taking my time, enjoying the peace of knowing that we’re in my house without anything to disturb us, I trace her sex, from her clit all the way to her ass and back again, listening to her soft sounds of pleasure.
Utterly trusting.
Completely focused.
I lift my hand away. This time, I really spank her, and that shocks her right out of her faux-crybaby act. Her palms suddenly press into the sofa and her whole body tenses. The flat of my hand strikes her again and again, swift, glancing blows that sound delicious and raise the blood to the surface of her skin. She squirms in my lap, for real this time, and I pin her down with my other arm. I don’t want any tears from her, but I’m going to make damn sure that I’ve shown her who’s boss.
When she’s roasting hot in my arms, I release her back down to the floor again, holding tight to the chain, and look into her flustered face. Her eyes are hazy and she licks her lips and gazes at my mouth.
Perfect.
“Upstairs.”
I take her by the chain and the hand and lead her up to my bedroom. She clings to me as I unbelt my trousers and undress, planting kisses on my chest and generally getting tangled with what I’m doing, but in the most adorable way. I love it when she’s clingy. I unhook the chain from her collar and throw it aside, but leave the collar on her. It looks so good against the pink choker.
I hook a finger into her panties and pull them down her legs while she holds onto my shoulders, and then I stand up and take her in arms. My fingers trail across her flesh, marveling at the sight of her burnished by the early evening light. Nothing between us now. No clothes. No time constraints. No need to be always hushed and secretive.
I pull the duvet off the bed and throw it to the floor. Lacey comes with me, wrapping her arms around my waist as if she can’t bear not to be touching me.
“Are you in subspace, baby?” I ask, turning to brush her hair off her face. Dazedly, she plants kisses on my wrist.
I put my lips against her ear. “Does it feel nice?” She nods and presses closer to me. “Want me to keep going?” Again, the nod, and this time a whimper of need.
Turning Lacey around, I clasp her tightly by the upper arm and slide my fingers into her wetness. She’s so slick and tight, but completely fearless.
