Katie
He’s quiet at dinner. Reserved. Deep in thought. I spend the meal fidgeting, wondering if it’s me that
keeps his mind so far away.
Or if it’s her.
Tiffany. The beautiful but shallow ex who more than makes up for his lack of conversation with her
bragging.
She owns a condo in Atlanta, a vacation home in the Georgia mountains—who knew there were even
mountains in the state of Georgia—and ‘various other properties,’ whatever that means.
SHE MENTIONED that she was a debutante, several times, to which I had to ask what that word meant.
It turns out around here an upper-class gal who has reached sixteen makes her debut to society in an
over-the-top ball. For Tiffany, that meant her father renting out a Victorian mansion and her sailing
down the curved marble staircase wearing a white Vera Wang gown that was designed just for her.
WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN, I debuted myself into womanhood by becoming the counter girl at the Tastee
Freeze frozen yogurt stand, a pillar in our small town. I also wore white.
In the form of an apron and paper hat.
She holds three pageant crowns—knew it!—including Junior Miss Georgia Beauty, Miss Southeast
Georgia, and my personal favorite, Queen Peach. Apparently, the honor came complete with a ride in
an orange convertible. Excuse me while I gag... and take notes for the female villain in my next
book.
I think I’ll name her... Tifani.
Gran pulls out peach pie with fresh whipped cream, while Tiffany drones on. I tune her out, imaging
the outline for the rest of my book. Maybe there’s some way to work in an evil, killer peach who turns
into sweet jam at the end of the book... thinking of my story makes me realize I haven’t worked on it
in days. I’ve been so wrapped up in the drama of the news, my little running away stunt, the reunion
that followed—I regret nothing.
I’ve got to find some time to squeeze in a few chapters. Even though Darius is paying me generously, I
know firsthand how fast money runs out. Besides, I’d love to have a down payment on a home. Leave
apartment life behind and maybe buy a little cottage in town, far away from the strip. Yellow, with
black shutters and a white picket fence. Or maybe even paint it my favorite shade of pink and have a
little garden in the back, like Gran’s.
A perfect place to cozy up by a roaring fire and write my books.
Somehow, Darius sneaks into my fantasy. But I just can’t picture his large, serious frame curled up on
a red velvet couch in a pink cottage. I see him more in a home like this one, big and proud and
timeless.
But do I see me there with him?
Sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of my eyes, I catch his darting gaze looking at Tiffany every
so often, offering an ‘uh huh,’ or ‘yup,’ into the conversation—I mean, her monologue—every so
often. That muscle in his jaw is twitching away.
He holds the end of his butter knife, twisting it over and over on the tabletop. Does he like being
here? Does he like me being here with him?
I don’t realize I’ve let out a sigh until I feel his hand on my arm, his gaze locked on my face. “What’s
wrong? Are you tired?”
He’s so quick to respond to my every need, my every desire, yet I still don’t know how he feels about
me. Suddenly, I’m bone tired, emotionally drained, and need some space. Forcing a smile, I let out a
little yawn, thinking of my computer and the cozy quilt I saw on Gran’s guest bed. “You know what. I
am kind of tired and I have an email I need to send to my publisher.”
Tiffany’s brows dart sky high. “Publisher? You’re a writer?”
Oops. Shit. I didn’t mean to give her any more ammo to look down her nose at me—I mean, isn’t my
lack of height and class enough—and I certainly didn’t want to bring up my career to his family. “I,
uh... just... dabble.”
Her brows lower, knitting together. “Dabble in what, exactly? What kind of writing do you do? If you
have a publisher, you must write something substantial.”
I look to Darius to save me, but I find his own face lined with curiosity. We’ve only had one or two
brief conversations about my writing and I’ve always brushed it off, ready to change the subject. Of
course he wants to know more.
Sensing my discomfort, Gran pitches in, “Katie, dear, if you’re tired, please feel free to head on
upstairs. You’ll have to excuse our curiosity. In the South, we tend to get all up in each other’s
business.” She shoots a pointed look at Tiffany.
Which the Queen of the Peaches conveniently misses. Leaning her elbows on the table, Tiffany stares
me down. “No, really, Katie, I’ve never met a writer before. Please, tell us about it.”
In no way do I mistake her ‘friendly’ open gaze for genuine curiosity. The only reason she’s digging so
hard is because she can sense my reservation. I’m an open book, my cheeks blush, my eyes go wide,
my fingers tend to tremble when I’m nervous.
I’m not good at hiding my emotions. And you know what? I’m tired of hiding anyway.
Though I’m answering her, my gaze is trained on Darius’s eyes, as I come clean. I care nothing for
her, or her nosy questions. But I long for him to know me... all of me. “As Darius knows... I’m a
romance writer. I write love stories.”
He nods. He already knew that about me, but he leans in, eager for more.
I keep going. “I’d rather keep my pen name private. I always have, and I’ll continue to do so because
I enjoy the anonymity. It gives me the freedom to write what I want without being burdened with the
worry of whether people I know will like my work. I enjoy writing love stories where the hero and
heroine have to fight for their love. I went to school for creative writing and straight out of college I
had a bestselling series.” Taking a deep breath, I release it, and with this confession, this breath,
comes freedom.
My shoulders feel lighter, my muscles loosen. I’ve been avoiding this conversation with him out of
fear, but I find it feels so good to talk about my writing.
Darius’s gaze is soft, loving, inquisitive. “What was it about? Your first series?”
“Cowboys. So you can see why I loved Gran’s barn so much.” We share a secret smile, thinking of
our tryst in the hayloft. “And I’ve had a little writer's block since then, but luckily, I’ve recently found
some inspiration.”
He slides his hand over my thigh under the table, giving it a soft squeeze. “Thank you for sharing. And
whoever it is you’ve found your inspiration in, is a very lucky man.” He gives me a kiss on my cheek.
Before Tiffany can respond with her sharp tongue, dogging my profession, my cowboys, Gran stands
from the table. “Tiffany, Rawley, these dishes aren’t going to clear themselves. Let’s let our little
author head upstairs to send her email and the four of us can get this mess cleaned up.”
I stand to help. “Oh, that’s okay. I can help out first, and send my email later—”
Gran cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Scoot. Now.”
I can’t hold back my silly grin at her no-nonsense ways. Darius kisses me goodbye, sending me
upstairs with a very public swat to my rear that has my face heating up and me biting my lip. I
suppose it’s the modern caveman’s method of claiming ownership and I love it.
Taking the stairs two by two, I take another deep breath. After the intensity of the day, I can’t wait to
have a few minutes alone. Closing the door behind me, I dress in my comfiest sweats, throw my hair
on the top of my head in a messy knot, and grab my computer from my backpack.
Snuggling down under the quilt that’s just as soft as I’d imagined it would be, I turn on my laptop,
grateful I splurged for that hotspot with my wireless company—do they even have internet out here?
After shooting an email to Sarah, reassuring her I’ll be able to meet the deadline we discussed, I jump
into my story.
I find my daddy dom book turning into a retelling of Beauty and Beast. The hero is gruff and aloof, yet
everything he does seems to be in care of his beautiful captive. He has a hard exterior, yet he’s so
attentive to her needs, it leaves her wondering... does he love me?
She tries to run away from him, but he catches her. The chemistry between them is palpable and I find
myself writing one of the dirtiest scenes of my life, reminiscent of the night Darius tracked me down
on the street, punishing me and making me come till I was bucking over his lap, white stars in my line
of vision.
The beast is just about to slam his huge cock into Beauty’s ready sex when someone enters the room.
I’m so lost in my writing, I startle, nearly jumping two feet in the air. Darius is creeping in the room,
trying to close the door behind him without making the sound of the metal latch clicking.
Hitting save, I close the laptop with a guilty click, sliding it onto the nightstand. “You surprised me!”
“I was hoping to. There was no way I was going the whole night without seeing you again.” A corner
of his lip quirks up. “But I’m also not too old for Gran to dress down, so... shhh.” He climbs into the
bed beside me, propping his elbow up on the mattress and stares at me. “Did you get your work
done?”
“I sure did.”
“Good girl. Then you get to reward yourself, don’t you?”
What does his dirty mind have in store for me? “Well, you could reward me. If you wanted to.” I bat
my eyelashes, hoping for his touch.
He shakes his head, a devilish grin in his eyes. “No. You are going to do it.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” My already damp panties are now soaked.
“I want to see you touch yourself. I want to watch as you bring yourself to orgasm. Right here in this
room.”
I look around me. It feels so naughty, to do this, here in his Gran’s guestroom, with all the lights on.
“Um... could we at least turn this light off first?”
His hand reaches out, grabbing mine and stopping me from turning off the lamp. “No. I want to see
you. All of you.” Kneeling on the bed, his hands move to the waistband of my sweatpants. He pulls
them down my legs, tugging them off and discarding them to the floor.
A thrill runs through me at the idea of carrying out his wishes. Having just written the hottest sex
scene between Beauty and her Beast, I’m already turned on. And now, I have to please a beast of my
own.
Timidness, embarrassment, and shame all swirl around me as I lie under his expectant gaze. Does he
really expect me to... touch myself while he watches? “I-I’m not sure I...”
My words stick in my throat as he reaches for my hip, turning me to the side, and landing a loud,
stinging swat on my left ass cheek. “Ow!”
He rolls me back over. “Now, do as your daddy says and touch that pretty pussy of yours.”
My teeth sink into my lip and heat rises in my face as I reach down with trembling fingers and closed
eyes. Sliding my finger over my panties, I find my throbbing clit and press. I gasp as I slide my finger
up and down over the panty covered crease, then circle my clit once more. I open my eyes.
He’s watching me, hungry for more. “Now let me pull those panties down.”
He grabs the waistband, pulling them down over my hips, my legs, tossing them to the floor. I’m
naked from the waist down, wearing only my old, comfy sweatshirt.
His hands go to the inside of my trembling thighs and he parts them. I’m so wet, the quiet room is
filled with the slick sound of my lips parting, making me moan with shame. The scent of my arousal
reaches me and suddenly the need to touch myself is so great, I find my fingers going to my slick sex
without waiting for his command.
My back arches as he croons. “There’s a good girl. Show daddy how you pleasure yourself.”
My fingers move up and down, a climax building in my core.
Suddenly, he gives a deep growl, pushing my hands aside. “My turn.”
He grabs my legs, spreading them, kneeling between them. He bends over and his hot, wet mouth
finds my throbbing, aching sex. He lashes my swollen bud with his tongue and the sensation alone is
almost enough to make me come.
My fingers tangle in his hair as I moan, “Oh, Darius.”
His mouth leaves me, his sharp teeth nipping the inside of my thigh. I cry out in pain, “What was that
for?”
“It’s daddy to you, little girl.” And with that, he buries himself back between my thighs. He licks and
sucks until I’m bucking against the bed, a deep orgasm racking my body in wave after wave.
There are other people in this house and I try to hold back my cries as I come again and again,
whispering, “Oh daddy.”
I’m left shaking, trembling, overwhelmed, when he finally rises. His mouth is on mine and I can taste
my own sex as he kisses me deeply. His hands find my face, cupping it tenderly as he kisses me
harder, his tongue swirling against mine.
It’s a kiss of urgency.
As if he needs me. Badly. Right now.
As if he needs me in the way I need him.
My hands fumble at his waist, unbuckling his belt. He pushes them away, undressing quickly and
returning to me. He lifts the hem of my sweatshirt and I rise up for him to remove it. I wear no bra
beneath it and my nipples are peaked, ready for his mouth.
He cups and palms my breasts, taking one between his lips and kissing. The feel of his caresses reach
deep within my core.
There’s a stirring that’s more than just pleasure and need. It’s a connection, a deep one, between him
and me, our bodies using our limbs, our mouths to connect our souls.
His eyes lock on mine as he presses his cock against my slick entrance. He holds my gaze as he holds
himself there, frozen in time, paused for some unknown reason, and yet... in that moment something
passes between us.
An understanding.
Up until this, our encounters have just been sex, turning one another on until we can take it no longer
and we fuck each other’s brains out.
This... this is different. This feels like, well, there’s no other word for it... this feels like making
love. And I can sense the sentiment goes both ways.
I’m shocked to find tears forming at the backs of my eyes. “I need you. I need you now.” My fingers
dig into his shoulder blades, begging, pleading.
“I need you too, babygirl.” He breaks our eye contact only long enough to brush his lips against mine,
then he’s back, staring into the very center of my being.
And he enters me.
He goes slowly, every movement I feel deep inside my core. He fills me and as he does, there’s a
welling in my chest. A wanting, a yearning.
But it’s not for his cock.
It’s for him.
I want him.
And, I want to be his.
To my horror, the tears escape my eyes, running down my cheeks.
He murmurs to me, “Don’t cry.” Then he does a thing... a thing that pleases me so much, it strikes the
very core of who I am.
He kisses away my tears. So gently, so tenderly, it almost makes me want to cry again.
His mouth finds mine and I taste the salt, mingled with the faint remains of my arousal. His hands
slide behind my head, and he pulls me closer, kissing me harder. He moves further inside of me.
My legs rise, wrapping around his waist. Locking him into me as if I’ll never let him go. And if I had
my way, I won’t.
My arms snake around his neck, embracing him, claiming him for my very own, pulling him as close
to my body as I can.
And he takes me. His force is now a rocking ship, great and powerful as it commands the waves of
my pleasure. My body moves with his, ebbing and flowing until I’m rising up, up, up, to the crest.
And I come. With the blinding light of the sun and the rush of the ocean, I come in a glorious
shuddering burst.
My teeth dig into my lip as I hold back my cries of passion. He lets out a low moan of his own. I feel
his cock twitch inside me, then release, pumping his hot seed inside of me. He thrusts, once more, my
pussy clamping down on his cock as I ride out the last few shuddering waves of climax.
He moves to my side, cupping my body. His gaze never leaves my face as we stare silently at one
another. He tucks a damp lock of hair behind my ear. Smooths the sweat from my skin. Kisses my lips,
my cheeks, the tip of my nose.
Something between us has shifted. A surmountable force, greater than either one of us, as if our
relationship is now its very own being.
Leaving me urgently wondering one thing...
Where do we go from here?