Chapter 7
SEVEN
Ella
It’s perfect.
Sometimes, messy is perfect.
I’m working on a new song, a break-up anthem. It’s forcing me to remember how things were with Joel. Looking back, I cannot believe I was such an idiot.
I wanted to be loved
So I took the crumbs you left behind
And told myself
They made a meal
I stare at the page, wondering what sort of second verse I can come up with. Sweat gathers behind my knee, so I straighten my legs and fluff out the skirt of my dress, trying to cool off. My phone rings, startling me.
The screen shows Carl Baldwin as the caller. The detective? What could he want?
“Hello?” I answer.
“Is this Ella Marchand?”
“Yes, hi, Detective Baldwin. Is something wrong?”
He makes an amused sound. “Nothing’s wrong. Just wanted to check in. I heard Marks gave you the brush-off when you spoke the other day, which wasn’t my intention.”
“No, it’s okay. I know you’re all busy there.”
“Yeah.” The detective is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Well, is Teddy still missing?”
“Tommy,” I correct him. “And…this is embarrassing, but no, he’s not missing at all. It turns out, he never was. He actually wrote the threatening note himself, hoping I could get my boyfriends to give him money.”
“Oh.” Detective Baldwin sounds taken aback.
“I’m very sorry for wasting your time,” I say.
“No, you should be able to come to us when you’re worried. There are just policies in place about when we can start cases.”
“And for good reason,” I say with a brittle smile.
“Yes. Well, I’m glad everything has worked out. Other than your brother sounds like a—never mind. It’s not my place.”
“He’s an asshole,” I say. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
The detective laughs. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking. Good luck, Ella. Be well.”
“Thank you.”
I end the call and turn back to the piano. An hour passes, then another. I field texts from Kingston and Sebastian, reassuring them that my guards are with me and I’m at the university. Then another hour passes.
Standing up, I stretch. I imagine what it would be like, if this were my job. If, tomorrow morning, I could work with Sebastian on some of my lyrics, get his feedback, and come straight back to the practice room, or go into the studio he made me, and lose myself in my music all over again.
What would it be like if this—music—were my real life, not an escape from the drudgery of my job with Maids in Heaven. I’m grateful for what Melinda and Maids in Heaven has given me, but cleaning isn’t my passion.
Music, though—songwriting, singing—that’s my passion.
I’m going to do it, I decide. I’m going to quit my job, focus on my music.
I’m going to go after my dreams.
It’s only possible because you have rich boyfriends , a nasty voice in my mind whispers.
I mentally pick up the little voice, roll it into a ball, and drop-kick it into the sun.
* * *
Sebastian
When Ella comes to my place at the end of the day, she’s practically vibrating with energy, tight as a piano wire.
“Be right back,” she says, pressing quick kisses to King’s and my cheeks before racing for the guest-room-turned-studio. The skirt of her sundress flounces as she goes, giving us tantalizing glimpses of her upper thighs.
“I wonder what’s up with her?” Kingston says.
A moment later, music floats out through the open door of the studio. The melody is raw and romantic, passionate. I can imagine it accompanied by a bass drum in the rhythm of a heartbeat. It repeats a couple of times before moving into a new melody for the bridge.
It’s long been my opinion that a bridge can make or break a song.
She fucking aced the bridge.
I don’t even need to hear the lyrics to know this song is going to be amazing.
A couple of minutes later, the music dies and Ella emerges from the studio, looking triumphant.
“Hey,” she says. “Sorry I had to rush in there. It all came together when I was on my way home. I wrote down as much as I could, but I was afraid of losing the melody before I could record it.”
“It sounds incredible,” I say.
Looking back and forth between the two of us, she says, “And I came to a decision. Which may or may not have been the key to unlocking that song.”
King and I wait.
“I’m going to quit my job at Maids in Heaven,” she says slowly, as if bracing herself for our disapproval.
There is zero chance of us disapproving. I have to fight the urge to pump my fist in the air in victory.
Kingston goes to her first, pulling her into a hug. “You know we’re happy about you quitting, right?”
“Yes?” she says, sounding not at all certain.
“You tell us what you need, anything you need, and it’s yours,” Kingston says.
“And even if you decide you want to kick us to the curb, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of as far as having a place to live and whatever else you need while we separate,” I say. “But I have a feeling you won’t need any of that kind of help because you’ll be making your own money.”
She makes a self-effacing sound and grins. “Yeah, Helena said I might be out-earning you in five years.”
“I’d be shocked if she were wrong.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” she asks.
“Not in the slightest,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. “Well, I’m going to give Melinda my two week’s notice tomorrow.”
“We’ll have to preemptively celebrate,” I say, “because I’m leaving in the morning for Vegas.”
“That’s right,” she says, looking stricken. “I can’t believe I forgot. I’m going to miss you both so much.”
“I’m not leaving quite yet,” Kingston says. “My flight is Sunday evening.”
“Well, I’m still going to miss you,” Ella grumbles.
We cook dinner together, all three of us, making breakfast for dinner. Ella makes omelettes, Kingston fries up sausage and bacon, and I make french toast. Schrodinger winds between our legs to the point where we debate whether he has a death wish or whether he’s trying to kill us all.
After the extra food is put away and the kitchen is clean, I snag Ella’s wrist and whirl her around until she’s pressed against the table.
She’s been looking so sexy all evening, in this tiny slip of a dress.
White with little pink green flowers printed on it, the skirt flaring out enough to tease me with her legs and giving me dirty ideas.
Ella clings to my biceps and grins up at me. “Do you want something, Daddy?”
“Do I ever.” I slide a hand beneath her skirt, up her leg. Then I hook my fingers into the waistband of her silky panties and pull them down.
Looking over at Kingston, Ella says, “Daddy, are you just going to stand there and let him sully me like this?”
“Fuck yes, I am,” he says with a stormy, lustful expression on his face.
“Dessert time,” I say, lifting Ella up so she’s sitting on the table.
“Sebastian,” she whines, “this is unsanitary.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t be thinking about that in a minute.” I lift up the hem of her dress, moving slowly so she can feel my hands on her legs, getting closer and closer to her pussy.
She gazes down at me, eyes wide, face flushed, lips parted. She looks so fucking young to me again, and the fact that it turns me on so much is a red flag, isn’t it?
Except no, it isn’t her youth that turns me on. It’s Ella that turns me on. Everything about her.
I’m an old man, and I’m a fucking pervert, but I’m not a pedophile, and Ella is a beautiful, grown woman.
And I love her. I can’t let her go because of society thinking I’m too old for her. I’ll only let her go if she wants to go.
I hope she never wants to go.
Shoving the dark thoughts from my mind, I lower my mouth to her pussy.
“Daddyyyyy,” she says, drawing out the word.
“Lie back on the table,” Kingston tells her.
She does. Her hands move against my head, drawing her toward her while she arches her back.
Licking and sucking, I focus on her clit with my tongue and press my finger inside of her. Those beautiful thighs clench around my head, but I pull them apart, opening her so I can take my time and savor her sweetness.
Kingston grabs one of her knees, helping me hold her in place, then he lowers his head to her chest and sucks on her nipples through her dress.
“Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” Ella whispers.
“Hey, I need some dessert, too,” Kingston says.
Lifting my mouth away from Ella’s decadence, I gesture toward her. “By all means, friend. Feast away.”
I hold one of her legs, he holds the other while he laps at her cunt. Leaning over her across the table, I kiss her beautiful mouth, drinking in her moans of pleasure.
After more kissing, Kingston pulls away from her and says, “Time to go to bed, little girl.”
“I’m not tired,” she says, her voice indignant with her protest.
“Are you arguing with your daddies?” I ask.
Scowling, she says, “No.”
“Then up you go.” Kingston pulls her to her feet and leads her to the bedroom.
As soon as the three of us are in there, he positions her in front of the bed so he and I can both look at her.
Wet spots show on the fabric over her nipples, and the skirt portion of her dress is wrinkled and doesn’t lay flat. She looks messy, aroused, and so fuckable it makes my dick hurt.
I twirl my finger in the air. “Take off your dress.”
Her lower lip juts out. “I don’t wanna.”
Lifting her chin with my knuckles, I look into her eyes. Does she really mean it? There’s a challenge in her expression, and a playfulness. She’s being a bratty little troublemaker, is what she’s doing. I exchange a look with King, and he shrugs.
“What,” she says, a challenge in her voice. “Are you going to spank me?”
“No, you mouthy little brat,” I say, “I’m going to torture you so much worse.”
Her eyes widen in momentary fear before she straightens her shoulders and juts out her smart little chin.
“What sort of restraints do you feel like using tonight?” I ask King.
Wearing a sadistic smile, he goes to the trunk at the foot of my bed.
Ella watches, trying to hide her trepidation, while he sorts through the goodies in the trunk. I expect him to pull rope from the trunk, but instead he grabs four cuffs…and a spreader bar.
“What is that ?” Ella asks. “That doesn’t go in me, does it?”
“Fuck no,” I say.
“And…you’re not going to hit me with it?”
“With a metal stick? Just how perverted do you think we are?” Kingston asks. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
Ella claps a hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles.
I take the spreader from King and show her the metal rings on each end. “Cuffs go around your ankles and clip to these, princess. It’ll keep your legs nice and spread for us so we can torture your pussy with orgasms—or by withholding them—until you beg us for mercy.”
“Uh…right,” she says. “I’m feeling very tired, now. I think I’ll just go to bed. Goodnight!”
Kingston grabs her before she can go anywhere.
In one quick motion, he yanks her dress over her head.
He unsnaps her flimsy little bra and lets it fall to the floor.
His eyes are dark, no-nonsense, as he pushes down on Ella’s shoulder until she lowers to the bed.
He puts the velcro cuffs around each of her ankles.
Ella watches, fascinated and unsure, while I clip the spreader bar to the first cuff.
Then I grab her other leg and pull it wide so I can attach the other.
The sound of the spreader’s clip locking into place is loud in the bedroom.