Chapter 2
Bryson
What the absolute fuck am I doing? This is madness. I can’t believe I asked Lillian out. It flew out of my mouth. I would have said anything to avoid her going to Surrender.
I’m not even sure why. I have no right whatsoever to tell her what to do. As she pointed out, she’s a grown adult. She doesn’t need me telling her she can’t join a club.
Or fuck, maybe she does need someone telling her what to do. Maybe she needs a Daddy. I’m not a Daddy Dom. I’m a fucking sadist who strikes masochists with all manner of implements because they like it.
I get an adrenaline rush from breaking people—not that I would ever do anything non-consensual. I practice risk-aware consensual kink. I negotiate with every single submissive before I play with them, including ones I’ve already scened with a dozen times.
But Lillian… She’s so sweet and pure.
Innocent is the word you’re looking for, asshole.
If it hadn’t been for Camden and Simone introducing us, I doubt I ever would have looked twice in her direction.
I sigh. That’s not true. I did a double-take the moment I met her.
Something about her caught my eye. Even after she left the private room where I was observing Camden and Simone, I was still thinking of her.
If I’d been the one doing the spanking, I would have had to bow out.
My mind hadn’t been fully sharp. It kept straying to the adorable woman who’d trembled wide-eyed while she’d watched her sister.
I’d known then that she was young. A thirty-five-year-old man has no business ogling a twenty-one-year-old woman. Plus, she’s not just young. She’s so fucking innocent. It’s written across her forehead.
Fuck, maybe that’s what I’m attracted to. But it’s not my usual style. I never pay attention to vanilla women or those who hang out in the daycare at Surrender. I don’t have a damn thing in common with either of them.
And yet…
I pull up in front of her apartment building and park. I could have met her at the restaurant like I would have with just about any other woman on Earth for a first date. But no…
For one thing, it’s not like we met two days ago and she should be nervous about giving me her address. But also, with Lillian, there’s no way I would want her out at night coming to meet me and then returning home alone.
Hell, her sister, Simone, was attacked by a man in front of this very apartment building. Simone never returned after that night. She ended up moving in with Camden. Lillian moved to Seattle soon afterward and took over Simone’s lease.
Even though the man who attacked Simone is behind bars, I still cringe every time I think about Lillian living here alone. Or anywhere alone.
I climb down from my truck and head for the entrance to her building.
At least it’s locked. After stepping into the entryway, I can go no farther without using the intercom system to have her buzz me up.
But that’s not necessary because she’s standing on the other side of the doors, and when she sees me, she rushes forward.
My God.
Part of me had hoped my memory of her had been an illusion. But apparently not. She takes my breath away, the same as she did the first time I saw her.
She’s smiling as she pushes through the inside doors and joins me in the entryway. “Hey.”
I return her smile. “Hey back. You look lovely, Lils.” Lovely is an understatement, but it’s not like I should tell her she looks sexy as fuck and turn her around and drag her back upstairs so I can strip her naked.
That’s not my style. And it’s certainly not her style.
She’s wearing a dark pink dress. It has spaghetti straps, and it’s fitted around her chest, flaring out under her breasts. It’s short. Stylish. I don’t think she has a bra on, and that thought alone makes my mouth go dry. She is wearing silver sandals.
She blushes. “Thank you. You look handsome.”
I reach up to finger a lock of her long brown hair. She has curled it tonight, so ringlets hang all around her. I suspect it took her quite a while to style it that way.
Her makeup is minimal. In fact, I think she’s only wearing mascara and lip gloss. I’d love to taste it and find out if it’s flavored. But that’s not going to happen. Absolutely not.
I don’t know why I’m holding a lock of her hair in my fingers. I guess it’s the only way I could justify touching her. Hair doesn’t really count. This is a first date. It’s not like I can lean in and kiss her.
I’m so out of my element. I don’t do this sort of thing. I only date women I’ve met at Surrender, and even that doesn’t happen often. Women I meet outside the club never catch my eye.
She looks down at herself and then giggles. “Simone helped me pick this out. She has the most adorable clothes. I think we’re both in a permanently rebellious phase after living in Casa Lighton for our childhood.” She scrunches up her nose.
I chuckle. “You dressed a specific way in your parents’ home?”
She rolls her pretty brown eyes. “In the house. Out of the house. At the country club. Hell, if my mother had her way, we wouldn’t even spend time in our bedrooms without being dressed for the eventuality of entertaining a surprise guest.”
“Yikes.” I cringe. “And this dress wouldn’t have been appropriate?”
“God, no. Nothing about my appearance would please my mother. The dress is too short and babyish. She would gasp if she saw me in flat sandals. My hair isn’t professionally coifed.
I have no foundation on. Just mascara. And…
” She wiggles her fingers between us. “I haven’t seen my natural nails since I was about fourteen.
It feels so good to have those ridiculous acrylics removed. ”
Wow. She really did escape a madhouse.
I take the opportunity to reach out and clasp one of her hands in mine. “Well, I, for one, think you look fantastic this way. You should wear whatever makes you feel like yourself. Don’t ever do something to please another person again.”
“Thank you.”
“Ready?”
When she nods, I lead her through the outer glass door onto the sidewalk. It’s late July and warm enough in the evenings to go without a jacket.
I feel vanilla and out of my element as I hold Lillian’s hand and guide her to my truck. I don’t release it until I have the passenger door open.
She giggles, a youthful sound I love. She does it often when we’re on the phone. “This is not going to be graceful,” she states, glancing between the seat and the ground. There’s a running board she can use to boost herself, but she’s petite. I’m six-two, and she’s almost a foot shorter than me.
On instinct, I bend, lift her by the waist, and swing her into the truck.
Lillian makes the cutest soft squeal as I set her on her bottom, and then she scrambles to ensure her dress is tucked under her. I sort of wish she’d leave it. The idea of her sitting directly on her panties makes my cock hard.
She has a tiny silver purse that matches the sandals, and she removes the narrow strap from over her shoulder and sets it primly in her lap.
I doubt it holds more than her lip gloss and her ID.
Probably a credit card. Hopefully some cash, too.
I don’t like the idea of her out without any money on her.
And since when do I think of something like that? I’ve lost my last brain cell. I’m even more certain of that when I find myself pulling the seatbelt across her and buckling it.
She’s grinning at me as I back out of the car, make sure all her limbs are inside, and shut the door.
Fuck. Me.
I think part of me thought if I saw her again, I would realize my imagination had gotten out of hand. But nope. She’s even better this time than I remember. In addition, another part of me thought I could flush her out of my system. Again, nope. That’s not going to happen.
She has her fingers wrapped around her clutch when I slide into my seat. White-knuckling the small purse, she’s sitting rigid, spine straight. There’s still a smile on her face, but she’s nervous.
Fuck, it’s not like me, but so am I.
We already discussed what restaurant we’re going to go to. I learned she likes just about anything, and therefore, I’m the picky one. So, we’re heading to a steak restaurant.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I glance at her. “Please tell me you’re not going to order a salad.”
She giggles. “Of course I’m going to order a salad. It’s one of the sides that comes with the petite fillet.”
I glance at her again, grinning. I can’t stop smiling. “Did you read the menu already?”
“Yep. I always read the menu before I go out. It’s too stressful to sit down at dinner and not have a clue about what I’m going to order.”
I smirk. “Is that a thing?”
“Of course. It’s distracting. I want to be able to talk to you, not read four pages of menu options.”
My face is going to hurt from all the grinning. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it. I glance down, find the T-bone, and I’m done.”
She gasps dramatically. “What if you’re not in the mood for a steak? What if you want the chicken or the shrimp?”
“That could happen to you. After all, just because you chose the fillet earlier doesn’t mean you’ll feel like steak when we arrive.”
“That’s why I always have a backup plan.”
I laugh. She’s so fucking delightful. “Tell me the backup plan.”
“Well, runner-up is the shrimp scampi, but only if by the time we arrive, I realize we have zero chemistry and there’s no chance of you kissing me because the garlic would be overwhelming.”
I laugh so hard that my body shakes. I want to tell her we already have so much fucking chemistry that I’m considering pulling over and kissing her on the side of the road. Instead, I say, “Yikes. I’m going to panic if you order the shrimp.”
“Nope. Because we’ve already passed that possibility.”
“Thank God,” I tease. “What’s the backup to the backup?”
“Well, if my stomach is in knots, I would order something easy to chew. In this case, the vegetarian meal. They only had one on the menu.”
“It is, after all, a steak restaurant.”
She shrugs. “It’s good for them to have options in case someone in the party doesn’t eat meat.”
I turn toward her when I stop at a light. “Or if the person isn’t vegetarian but their date makes them nervous.” I wink at her.
“See? You get it.”
I definitely don’t get it, but I’ve never been more entertained in my life. “What comes after vegetarian?”
“In this case, the baked chicken with steamed vegetables.”
I scrunch up my face. “You have a thing against your food having any flavor?”
She giggles again, which was my intention. “No. I just like chicken.”
“Tell me, sweet girl, under what conditions you would order the chicken. Should I be scared?”
“No, silly. I would order the chicken if I wasn’t too nervous to chew and I thought there was a solid chance you would end up kissing me and as we walked through the restaurant to our table I thought the steaks on everyone’s plates looked icky.”
“Icky?” I’ve never been on a better date, and we’re not even at the restaurant yet.