by Stasia Black
“I think it’s time for the main course,” her mother says gaily. Then she snaps Shannon’s name and she rises obediently to head into the kitchen. Callie rises to go help too but her Mom waves her to sit down.
“I’m happy to help—”
“No, sit, sit. We want to hear all about you,” her 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. Callie winces on her behalf but then Shannon’s gone through the door. When she comes back in carrying a tray of plates like a waitress, her face is perfectly placid. Looks like Callie wasn’t the only one who learned how to put on a false façade by living in this family.
Meanwhile, their mom and dad pepper Callie with questions about her new position, the project she and I are working on, and our budding relationship.
While completely ignoring Shannon. She finally sits down with her own plate and starts to eat quietly, not looking at anyone. Nobody looks her direction. Callie obviously notices too.
“Shannon’s graphic design company has really been taking off this past year too,” Callie finally says. “It’s an incredibly competitive market, but she’s really making a splash and gaining new clients every day.” Callie smiles at Shannon. And for the first time since we all 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 the age of thirty-one and doesn’t have any romantic prospects,” their mother says, none too quietly as she sticks her fork into her quinoa, chicken, and kale casserole.
“Shan’s got a boyfriend,” Callie defends and a second later I feel her jolt, like she just got kicked under the table.
Callie looks up and Shannon is glaring at her.
Their mother’s attention finally focuses on Shannon, though. “Why didn’t you tell me? What does he do?”
Shannon’s jaw hardens before turning to meet her mom’s eyes. “It’s not important, forget about it.”
Their mother 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?” their dad asks at the same time their 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 her dad and then pierces her mom with a glare. “It’s an American name because he’s American. Born here and everything.”
Her mom waves a hand as if swatting a fly. “You know what I mean. That’s an ethnic name. What kind?”
Callie puts a hand on her head, again looking mortified.
“A yoga studio?” their father 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,” their mom says with a flippant laugh, covering her mouth and leaning into me and her husband’s side of the table with the pretense of whispering a secret. “We’ll just hope the next one has more promise.”
Callie keeps watching her sister like she’s waiting for her to do something, waiting for her to stand up and walk out of the room any second at this shit they’re pulling. But Shannon just sits there and continues eating, eyes glued on her plate.
Callie seems disappointed and at the same time, she follows Shannon’s example, back straight, always keeping her mouth stuffed full of chicken and quinoa. And looking like she wishes she were anywhere but here.
And as much as I want to stand up and flip the table, tell her dad to go fuck himself, it’s not what Callie needs right now. In fact, if her white knuckled grip on her fork is anything to go by, it’s taking everything she has to hold herself together. Me showing just how pissed I am won’t make it any easier on her.
And I swore to myself that I’d be whatever she needed on this trip and right now she needs calm and steady. She needs to not have to deal with her asshole parents. So for the next twenty minutes, I carry the conversation and to my relief, Callie begins relaxing beside me the more I regale her parents with stories of famous acquaintances and international travel. All the external shit I know will impress shallow idiots like them.
Shannon brings out key lime pie for dessert and Callie is tense again beside me.
“So Mom and Dad,” she cuts 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 plastic smile. “He’s definitely a Cruise.”
She hurriedly brings out her phone and pulls up the most recent pics of her son. I get the briefest glimpse of the little boy flipping through a board book. He’s looking up at the phone and the pic was snapped mid-giggle. Damn, he’s a cute kid.
Callie’s features are a mix of pained and loving as she looks at the phone before giving it to her mom. Her mom’s eyes soften the smallest bit before she hands it over to her husband. He observes the phone for a moment and then nods once.
“His custody hearing is in a couple of weeks,” Callie says tentatively. “It would mean a lot to me if you guys were there.”
Her dad’s quiet a long moment, still looking down at the picture on the phone.
I can feel the tension radiating off Callie. Jesus Christ. Why is this bastard making such a production out of this? He has the most fabulous daughter in the universe. What the hell is wrong with him?
Finally her dad hands the phone to me to give back to Callie. Then he looks Callie directly in the eye and gives another 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.”
Callie nods repeatedly, her eyes moist. “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—” She cuts off mid-stream, her eyes dropping.
Then she picks up her fork and shoves a bite of pie in her mouth as if to forcibly stop herself from simpering any more to the father whose so obviously let her down so many times in the past.
But I got the glimpse of the girl she must have been. So desperate for a father’s approval. This goddamned fucker. Because it’s obvious he rarely gave it.
Callie shifts uncomfortably in her chair and then glances my way, cheeks going pink. Is she embarrassed for me to have witnessed that?
I smile encouragingly. She should know I would never judge her. The only judgement I have are for the people who should have loved her better.
She downs the rest of her pie like she can’t get this horrible lunch over fast enough and I do the same.
As soon as I down the last bite she all but catapults off her chair. I expect her to take me up to the room where we’ll be staying but oh no, the women have to do the cleanup.
Meanwhile Gerald claps me on the back and invites me to his, “m
an cave” downstairs in the basement. He actually calls it that. So I’m subjected to his company for another forty-five minutes. Now that he’s given his blessing on the custody hearing, I know I have to play nice. So even though I’d rather bore a hole through my head, I put up with the pompous ass.
But forty-five minutes is all I can stand. He’s just pulled out an album of his bi-annual fishing trips when I beg off, saying I want to go check on Callie.
When I get to the kitchen, her mother says she’s gone upstairs with a headache. I doubt it was even an excuse. Even a short amount of time in these people’s presence is enough to make anyone’s head ache and we’ve been here for hours.
I walk into the room Shannon said was Callie’s but I don’t see her. I’m about to head back out to look for her elsewhere when a door I thought just led to a closet opens and she comes out fresh from the shower. With only a towel wrapped around her body.
She doesn’t see me because the door opened outward, hiding me. But I can’t go another second without my hands on her so I wrap my arms around her from behind, breathing in her fresh, clean scent.
“Save me,” I whisper.
She yelps in surprise before turning around and smacking me on the arm. “You scared the shit out of me!”
The next second, though, her whole body immediately relaxes into me. She breathes in deep like it’s the first deep breath she’s been able to take in hours.
“I’m the one who needs saving.” She face-dives into my chest. I try to focus on her words. Really I do. But all half of my brain can think is: Naked under the towel. She’s naked under the towel.
“I can’t handle them!” she goes on and I force myself to focus. “I don’t remember them being like this. I swear. They’ve gotten all…”
She rams her forehead into my chest again, “I don’t even know what to call it. They’re just the worst. The whole time we were cleaning up, Mom was pecking at Shannon about her weight, what she was wearing, Sunil’s family, her income, his income. I swear, it just never stops.”
I hold her to my chest, massaging her scalp. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I can’t say it enough times. Thinking about her bastard parents is enough to keep my libido in check, that’s for damn sure.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket to check the time and then groans. “We haven’t even been here for four hours yet and we’re supposed to last the whole weekend? 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?”
I just curl her into me. If she really wants to leave, God knows I’ll call the towncar and we’ll be gone this second. But it’s probably not the wisest idea and she must know it too because she just sinks against my chest.
“Your mom said we should rest up for dinner,” I tell her. “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.”
“It’s so fucking ridiculous.” She wraps her arms around my middle and squeezes. “We just finished one meal and now we have to go back through that torture so soon. Again? I don’t wanna,” she whines in a mock childish voice.
The next second, though, she’s all woman.
She grabs the front of my shirt and dips her head back, blinking up at me through her lashes. At the same time she grinds her hips against my groin. “An hour and a half, huh? I can think of a few ways to fill the time.”
“Ha ha.” I kiss her on the top of her head and pull away. But not before running my thumb along the top edge of the towel she has wrapped around herself. What can I say? She’s fucking tempting. I just barely skim the top of her breast before pulling back. I can see her nipples harden through the towel. Still, if it’s distraction she’s after, giving in right away won’t be any fun, now will it?
She lurches after me. “I wasn’t kidding, you know.”
I laugh darkly. “I know.”
She frowns, her eyes narrowing. Then she reaches and undoes her towel where she secured it in a knot. With a satisfyingly dramatic sweep, it drops to the floor, leaving her moist-skinned and fully bared.
My cock goes stiff but I don’t let anything show on my face. I try not to anyway but fuck. She’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Afterwards when I try to picture her I always think that no, she couldn’t really have been that perfect but the next time I’m with her it’s like, holy shit, she actually is.
She smiles like she sees exactly how much she affects me and takes a few steps backwards to the bed, crawling up and then lounging sideways on it, facing me.
She sucks on my middle finger, watching me the whole while. She releases the finger with a loud pop and then lazily trails it down her neck to outline her nipple, then she stretches and tugs at the taut peak.
My cock is straining in my pants but I stand still, enjoying the brief look of frustration that passes over her face at my lack of motion. I’m enjoying this little game too much.
Her eyes narrow in challenge. After circling her nipple several more times, she sends her hand further south to the smooth apex of her sex.
Aw damn. Even from here I can see how slick she is already. My cock pulses and I know precum is wetting my boxers.
And suddenly I don’t know what I think either of us is getting out of this game. Screw delayed gratification. I stomp toward the bed, grasping my buckle and ripping it open as I go.
I have to have her. My vixen. Now. Fucking now. More than food or water or air.
She grins in triumph, watching me fumble with my belt.
With several more strong jerks, though, I get the belt free from my pants. She frowns when I don’t immediately shove my pants and boxers down and instead advance toward the bed with the belt in my hand.
Her eyebrows shoot up, eyes on the belt, even as I see her bite her lip in interest.
“Don’t get too excited,” I laugh quietly as I approach. I fold the belt several times and then run the leather from her throat down between her breasts and further to her throbbing pussy. Then I lean in and trace the same path with my nose, inhaling as I go.
I can’t help the low growl of approval that comes from my throat. “I can smell how much you want me.”
But then she snatches the belt from my grasp.
“Don’t forget who’s in charge in these little games,” she warns. “Last weekend was a one-off.”
Not so fast. She’s holding the top of the folded belt but I grab the bottom with a grip that challenges hers.
“Was it?” I use my commanding voice and see lust and anger warring in her eyes. I put a knee on the bed to crawl up between her legs. “I think you like to lose control and submit sometimes.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to tell me off but I just smile wider and cut her off at the pass. “Only sometimes,” I amend. “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 sweet pussy. Sound like a plan?”
I don’t give her time to consider and she must decide there’s not much to consider when presented with such an offer because she opens her jaw wide like a good little subbie. I shove the folded leather belt in her mouth and she bites down hard like she hopes to leave teeth marks. I grin darkly, hoping she does.
Then I shove her thighs open wide and dive in, eating and sucking and fingering and licking and massaging until she comes so many times we both lose count and she drifts into a satisfied, drowsy sleep.
And then I pull her close to my chest where she curls like a satisfied kitten. I breathe in her hair and memorize the feel of her skin against mine.
I meant what I said earlier. Save me. It came off flippant and I know she thought I
just meant from her parents and this awkward weekend. But I meant so much more.
She’s my salvation. One I never saw coming. One I don’t deserve.
I blink and look up at the ceiling as I hold her tight to me. The fact that it was Bryce Gentry who brought her to me? The fact that I know he hurt her and that I think he did it because of me?
My eyes squeeze shut and my jaw clenches.
I’ll protect her now. Slay every dragon. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll bury that motherfucker Gentry in a hole so deep, he’ll never see the light of day again.
And she’ll never ever have to know my secret and shame.
Twenty
CALLIE
“Time to wake up for dinner.” Jackson shakes my shoulder gently.
I turn over into my pillow. “Sleep,” I grumble back, attempting to pull the comforter up and around me so I can hide from the light.
“I don’t think so, sleepyhead,” Jackson says.
All right. That gets me up. “Did the words sleepyhead really just come out of your mouth?” I look up at him. He smacks me with a plush pillow. Oh my God. “Are you, Jackson Vale, starting what I think you’re starting?” I raise my own pillow.
He looks confused for a second. I don’t miss the opportunity. I attack, pillow raised high as I smack him over and over.
I can’t stop laughing. The ever dignified Jackson, getting smacked with a pillow.
“What? Callie, this is—” A hit right in the face shuts up whatever comment he’s about to make. Another laugh bellows out of me, complete with a snort at the end.
“That was a low blow,” he says, red-faced. “Now stop it. Pillow fighting is completely indecorous—” I take another swing at him, but almost expertly, he ducks out of the way. Then he comes up swinging with two pillows that he must have grabbed when I wasn’t looking. They come at me one after another.
“Take that!” he says, sounding about twelve years old.
