Leland (Daddies Ink)

Chapter One

Rouge

I felt my coffee mug leave my fingers. I saw it fly through the air, heard it when it shattered and hit the floor, and smelled the remaining bit of coffee that had been inside as it pooled on the tile, but I didn’t fully register what I had done until I saw Kay’s reaction. Her eyes were dark with anger and her hands were clenched into fists at her side. Straightening her back, she tucked her loose hair behind her ears, allowing me to see just how pink her face was. She was livid.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I said sincerely. She was one of my favorite coworkers and a joy to work with. How could I do something so terrible to someone so kind?

Kay was looking at me like I was a monster and she was a monster hunter. Hell, I had just thrown something at her . I was a monster.

“Rouge, my office, now,” Leland, my boss and the owner of Daddies Ink, the tattoo shop where I worked, demanded. His tone was heavy and unyielding. I knew he was upset with me and that bothered me almost as bad as my actions had. Irritation filled me.

Why can’t I just control my anger?

I picked up my bag and followed him into his office. Kay’s soft sob caught my ear, just before Leland shut his door behind me. Great, I threw something at her and made her cry.

My heart pounded in my chest and I tried to swallow down my emotions. This was my own fault. I was going to lose a job I loved because I’d lost my temper. I could tattoo in any shop, but everyone knew Daddies Ink was the best in Strickland.

This wasn’t the first time my anger had caused an issue. I carried it around like a security blanket. I hated it, but it kept me safe. It kept me from hoping for too much or dreaming too big. Sometimes it reminded me that people sucked and I shouldn’t rely on them and other times, it reminded me I sucked and people shouldn’t rely on me. It also drained me, gave me nightmares, and made it almost impossible to have healthy relationships.

“You can’t keep going like this, sugar.”

Leland unintentionally caused me to feel so self-conscious. I bet his temper never got the best of him. He was so put together, not to mention, sinfully handsome with his sharp jawline and herculean body. Inquisitive deep blue eyes swept over me and I hated how easy it was for him to read me.

“This isn’t healthy, baby.”

I also hated how my stomach flipped at his term of endearment. Just as quickly as that emotion passed, anger followed. A man like Leland would never want a woman like me. I was too much of a problem, too much to handle. Used. Dirty.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” he said, coming around and sitting on his desk in front of me. “You’re a good girl, Rouge. We’ve just got to figure out how to help you control that inferno inside of you.” It was my problem, but clearly he was done letting me try to deal with it alone. Even if I wished he would.

“Aren’t you tired of carrying all this baggage around?” He waited a minute before scolding me, “Answer me, sugar.”

“Yes.” I tried not to wiggle under his sharp gaze.

“ Then let me help you put it down.”

“I’m in counseling,” I blurted out. Mainly because I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t trying at all. I had sought outside help.

“I figured, but if I’m guessing correctly, you’re probably not telling your therapist the whole truth, are you?”

I wasn’t. I couldn’t tell her everything. It was too bad. Clenching my right hand into a fist, I allowed my nails to dig into the flesh while I struggled to come up with an answer.

“Stop.” His firm, one-word command shocked me. I hadn't realize he could see what I'd done. His face was pinched and his forehead wrinkled, but his eyes were still gentle and concerned just like I was used to seeing. He didn’t look mad, even though his tone had been so firm.

Extending his arm forward, he waited for me to place my hand in his. I did and he rubbed his thumb over the half-moons I’d left in my skin.

“Aww, baby.”

I closed my eyes against the belittling feelings that taunted me. I was such a fuck-up.

“Look at me, Rouge.” Leland’s firm order broke my thoughts.

I opened my eyes and obeyed him.

“Good job, Little one.”

Jerking back, I scrambled to get out of the chair and away from him. Rage filled me as quickly as disappointment did.

“I’m not a fucking Little,” I seethed. Was that what this was? Just a ploy to get me to play into his desires? Well, fuck him. I snatched my bag from the floor, preparing to storm from his office.

My anger wasn’t because he called me a Little, but at the fact I could never be one, no matter how badly I longed to be. It was draining to wish for something that would never happen, so I'd shoved my Little side into a closet and did whatever I could to keep anyone from trying to open the door.

“I’m not letting you run away, Rouge.” He stepped in front of the door, hindering my angry exit.

My brain hated the way he said my name, but my clit loved it. Images of us tangled in sheets that smelled like him played in my mind, even as I mentally denied the attraction I felt for him. I could never have him, not that he would ever want me anyway.

“M-move,” I demanded.

“No. At least not until you listen to what I have to say.”

Reaching up, I grabbed a strand of hair under my signature side-ponytail and pulled. The pain from the hair being pulled out of my scalp silenced my anger for just a bit. I would have a few minutes to think without it clouding all my thoughts.

Meeting Leland’s eye, I realized what he’d just seen and before I could stop him, his hands were taking out my hairband. His stunned silence was all I needed to confirm he’d seen the bald spots from where I’d been pulling my hair out.

***

Leland

I adored Rouge’s retro hairstyle. Never had it crossed my mind that she was using the style to hide a big problem. She had four large bald spots under the side-swept ‘do.

“Oh, Sugar.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a thing I do when I get upset.”

“It’s not fine. You’re self-harming.”

“No, I am no t.” Disbelief was evident on her beautiful, scowling face.

“You are, baby. You’re pulling your hair out. Any time you harm your body on purpose, it’s self-harm.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but then closed it. “Okay. You’re right. Can I go now, please?”

Ah, we’d reached the ‘ I’ll do anything you say to get out of this room’ point in the discussion. I knew it would come eventually and I wouldn’t be swayed.

“No, I asked you to listen to what I have to say.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“No, Rouge.”

Tossing her purse down in frustration, she grabbed my arms in her hands and pulled. “Fucking move, Leland.”

“No, not until we’re done with our discussion.”

“I am done.”

“I’m not, sugar. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but you will, because you’re a good girl.”

Her face softened and she turned, walking away from me and the door. She went back to the office chair she’d been using and settled back into it, crossing her arms with a huff of irritation.

I thought the good girl comment might work. She was a good girl, just a good girl who was struggling and I really wanted her to be my good girl.

“Okay, what did you need to talk to me about besides my termination?” Her tone still had a bite, but her body language wasn’t as hostile.

I walked back over and sat on my desk again.

“Your anger is powerful and it causes you to hurt others and hurt yourself. You throwing a coffee cup at Kay was absolutely unacceptable. Lately, your coworkers have been doing nothing but walking on eggshells around you. You are a very skilled artist and an asset to Daddies Ink when you’re not mad,” I said, starting my well-practiced lecture.

Her chin dropped to her chest. It was easy to still see her curling in on herself.

“I know, as do your coworkers, that you’re hurting right now. Life hasn’t been easy for you, from what we’ve gathered, and the last thing we want is for you to lose your job.”

I didn’t miss the way her shoulders lifted the slightest bit at the mention of work. I was relieved. I had hoped the possibility of keeping her position would help sway her toward what I was going to suggest.

“I don’t want to… I don’t mean.. I…” She trailed off. I waited for her to gather her thoughts. My heart broke for the poor Little girl. Her life had been so unfair. She had been raised in a cult her parents founded, and then forced to marry as a young teen. The man, her husband, who had been almost three times her age, had done some really terrible things to her and his other wives. She’d run away with her twin sister before she was even legally an adult. She’d never told us these things herself, but her sister, Emily, had. She worried about Rouge’s healing as much as I did.

Kneeling in front of Rouge, I took one of her hands in mine. “You don’t what, Little one?”

I intentionally used the phrase I knew she despised. As expected she snatched her hand from mine.

“I’m not a Little.”

“You are, Rouge. I know it and you know it. What I don’t know is why you’re so vehemently against it.”

“I’m. Not. A. Little.”

“You are so good to the Littles. Even on your angriest days, you never use your sharp tongue with them. You hold them, read to them, give them stickers, you even let them climb on you like a jungle gym.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m a Little. It just means I tolerate them.”

“Rouge.” She flinched at my tone and I worked to rein it back in a bit.

“They don’t deserve my anger.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re vulnerable in that space. It’s hard to give yourself to someone like that—to love people that big. They need to be protected.”

“How do you know that, though, Rouge?”

She didn’t answer.

“I think you know that because you can relate to them, because you are one of them.”

She fidgeted, but eventually answered. “I scene at the club. It’s easy to be open-minded to their needs.”

“No, I don’t believe others view it that deeply, even others in a BDSM relationship. I think perhaps they think the Littles are cute or silly, another form of a submissive. They respect them in the kink, but they wouldn’t understand how hard it is to ‘be vulnerable’ and ‘love someone that big’ unless they knew it on a personal level. I believe that’s why you’re so protective of them too. You know what you need and you reflect that in how you take care of them.”

“You said something about n-not losing my job,” she deflected.

“I did. I’m going to give you two options and the weekend to think about them.”

Finally she looked up and met my eyes.

My stomach flipped around and I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans. “The first option is I let you go as an artist. It would kill me to do so, but you’re a danger to yourself and to others.”

Looking away, she flushed and nodded. “O-option two?”

“You become my submissive for six weeks.”

“What the fuck!” she exclaimed, trying to shoot from the chair.

I pressed her back down with my hands on her shoulders.. Her hands instinctively reached up to pull at her hair. Gently grabbing her hands, I lowered them back into her lap. “Take a deep breath and let me explain before you get the wrong idea.”

“I can’t get the wrong idea because there’s not a damn right idea to get.”

“Nothing sexual. I’m not even asking you to be a Little. I’m asking you to submit to me for six weeks. Let me guide you. Let me work with you to help you get your anger under control. Give me time to show you there are other ways to handle bad feelings.” I’d butchered the speech I’d practiced. My gentle way of explaining my proposal had gone straight out the window along with my confidence.