Chapter 14
fourteen
MAC
She’s mine, this beautiful girl, sleeping in the crook of my arm. She probably didn’t mean those words the way I took them, but I am taking them.
She’s mine.
I trace her sleep-softened features with my eyes in the dim light from the bathroom and feel again that swelling, crushing sensation of my heart lying outside my chest. This girl could fuck me over so easily.
I’ve opened myself to her too much, too fast. I’ve clung to her like a lifeline because I’ve been adrift, coming out of the service, finally ending my marriage, seeing the wreck my daughter’s making of her life.
But I’m not reversing course. Bren’s given herself to me and I’m keeping her.
When my phone beeps softly, I wake her, stroking her cheek with my thumb. “Rise and shine, my dirty girl.”
She cracks open one eye. Slams it closed again. But her lips quirk like she’s fighting a grin. “What unholy time is it?”
“Seven thirty. I let you sleep in.”
“For a whole thirty minutes,” she grouses without opening her eyes.
“I want to go over to Logan’s and make everyone breakfast, then work out. Come box with me, my little badass.”
She lets out a gusty sigh. “Naked.”
“Naked boxing?”
She stops fighting it and lets that cocky grin spread across her lips. “Yes, Sir.”
“I suppose you’re angling for orgasms?”
“Would I?”
She would. And since she’s mine and there’s nothing better than claiming what’s mine, I roll her over and bang her into the mattress before dragging her to Logan’s without letting her shower.
We leave through the front door of the shop since, despite the hour, Nicky’s already got the lights on and the shutter up.
He’s sitting with a client on one of the couches in the reception area, flipping through Brenna’s design book spread on the coffee table in front of them.
Bren gives them a wave as we pass but doesn’t interrupt.
“Did I remember to give you back the mermaid, girl?” I ask as she locks the front door behind us.
“You did, Sir. It’s back in the book, along with one of the designs you didn’t pick. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I pull the leash out of my jacket pocket, clip it to her collar, and loop it around so it doesn’t strangle her when I drape my arm over her shoulders. She shoots me a glance that’s equal parts chagrined and aroused. “Glad you’re getting use out of it.”
“Would you like to do some more work on your mermaid today, Sir?”
“No, my plan for the day would be precluded by fresh ink, but if you have time when you’re back at work on Tuesday, I’ll take you up on that.”
“Do I get to know the plan?”
“Depends, what do I get for letting you in on it?”
Bren screws up her face at me. “The pleasure of a subbie who’s appropriately dressed for the occasion.”
“Eh. How about the pleasure of a subbie who goes without another orgasm until bedtime?”
“Not seeing how this is pleasurable, Sir.”
I squeeze her shoulders and try not to laugh at her chagrin. “Very pleasurable for me, girl.”
“Sir.” She huffs out a breath. “Lunch-time.”
Her grudging submission is its own pleasure. “That’s a deal, girl. Hope you don’t mind a late lunch.” I chuckle when she elbows me. “How about a swimming lesson?”
Her eyebrows shoot to the brim of a black beanie she’s pulled over her dreads. “You’re going to teach me to swim?”
“That’s the plan, girl.”
She slides her arm around my waist and tucks tight to my side as we walk through the already-busy morning streets. “Good plan, Sir.”
Logan’s given me keyless access to his house.
In case he and Emmy have decided to sleep in, or are otherwise engaged, I let us in without ringing the bell.
The cat greets us at the door. While Bren strips down to a T-shirt, it meows like it’s starving to death then runs through the great room towards the kitchen.
As we follow, I notice a nose-wrinkling, gassy, overripe-fruit smell. Very at odds with Emily’s housekeeping.
“Eww,” Bren says behind me. “Something’s gone off.”
It’s the cat, as it turns out. When we reach the kitchen, we find a half-chewed banana on the floor. The cat flops next to it, showing off its creamy belly, and more of the gassy smell fills the air.
“Sable,” Bren scolds. “You stinky kitty.”
The cat stretches hugely and purrs.
“I don’t think bananas are kitty chow,” I tell the cat, scooping the half-eaten banana off the floor.
“Bloody hell—” Logan’s footsteps thump across the hardwood behind us. “Please tell me that’s not your cooking, Mac.”
I shoot him the bird over my shoulder as the cat perfumes the air again.
“Fuck.”
“Can cats even digest bananas?” Bren asks, giving the cat a wide berth as she heads to the refrigerator.
“Not without difficulty,” I say.
“Daddy? Omi—gosh. Is that the garbage?” Emily asks as her light footsteps patter across the floor.
Bren snickers. “It’s your dumpster of a cat.”
“What? Oh, Sable, are you sick, boy?” Emily kneels next to her cat and rubs his tummy soothingly, which causes the stink to thicken.
“Jesus.” I back away. “I’m re-thinking our breakfast plans.”
“I’ll open a window,” Logan says. “Mac, you want to get the girls some bathrobes from my bedroom? It’ll be too cold for them to sit in here naked with the doors open.”
“Yup.” I check on my bold girl, but she’s got breakfast under control, lining up the ingredients for pancakes on the counter, even while she flicks on Logan’s fancy coffee-machine. She gives me a nod.
When I return with two bathrobes, the stink has dissipated enough that it’s not souring the good smells of coffee and pancakes. Emily’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the purring cat with tears in her eyes while Logan squats behind her. He rubs her back while he talks into his cell.
“Maybe a third of the banana, mate. Couple inches.”
He listens to the reply and kisses Emily’s temple. “Okay, that’s good news. Thanks for taking my call, Ry. Really appreciate it.”
After he hangs up, he gathers Emily into his arms. “Sable’s going to be fine, baby doll. Ryan says banana won’t hurt him. He was a feral cat and Ryan says they learn to live off anything.”
“Aww, Emmy.” I go to a knee beside them. “Don’t worry about your kitty. My Ma had a cat who used to break into her pantry and eat her sourdough starter. Cat threw it up a few hours later and was absolutely fine. Lived until it was twenty.”
Emily blinks wet eyes at me. “Really, Master Mac?”
“Really, sweetie. Your kitty’ll be fine.”
Emily nods tearily before burying her face in Logan’s shoulder. I hear her whisper, “He’s so smelly. You won’t make me take him back because he’s smelly, will you, Daddy?”
I give Logan a sharp glance. He meets my eyes and nods calmly. He’s got this.
I hand him the robe, rise, and make my way to Bren. “Cold, girl?”
“I’m okay next to the stove, Sir.” She shifts eggs she’s scrambling off the heat and turns to wrap her arms around my waist. “Thank you for being like that with Emily,” she whispers in my ear.
“I’m just as fond of her as you are, sweetheart.”
She smacks a kiss on my cheek before turning back to the eggs. I help her assemble breakfast, grilling turkey sausage links and cutting up orange wedges while Bren creates a towering stack of pancakes.
Logan and Emily return from where he’s taken her to the bathroom to clean up, and probably to give her a quick orgasm to calm her down. She’s smiling as they set the table. I’m a little surprised, however, when they set the table for six instead of four.
Once the table’s set, Emily disappears upstairs and when she returns, she has Max and his little, Cynnie, an angelic Asian girl who reminds me so much of Naomi it makes my chest ache, in tow.
Max greets me with a bear hug and Cynnie, who is in the cutest bumblebee onesie I’ve ever seen, gives me a curtsey and a cheery, “Good morning, Master Mac.”
“Good morning, sweetie. Are you on oat milk this morning?” I ask. Having stayed over at Max’s several times, I’m aware Cynnie has a dairy allergy.
“Yes, please.” She has a slight lisp this morning, which Max has told me means she’s in little space, which I could have guessed from her onesie.
Once we’ve got all the food on the table, I swathe Bren in terrycloth, so she doesn’t catch a chill from the open window.
She pours me coffee and fixes it the way I take it without any instruction from me, a small service gesture I like almost as much as her ritual of kissing my cock goodnight.
As she’s busy stirring, I see Emily swap out the coffee cup to the left of Brenna’s plate.
She’s so quick she could be a professional pickpocket.
I catch her eye and shake my head at her.
She dips her head and colors like the sunrise.
Beside me, Bren takes a sip of whatever’s in the mug to wash down a bite of pancakes and sputters all over her plate. “Damn-IT.”
“Language,” Logan growls, but it’s to cover his chuckle.
Bren pats her chin with a napkin while holding the offending cup out to Emily. “What even is that?”
“Turmeric tea,” Emily says. “It’s really good for you.”
“Welcome to hell, Bren,” Logan says, lifting his own cup of steaming, dark yellow water.
“That’s disgusting. Seriously, dis-gust-ing. If you’re going to play hide the coconut with my drink, at least give me the chai. I can stomach that. This tastes like a goat took a shit in my cup.”
“Language,” Logan and Max chorus.
“I thought hide the coconut was a euphemism for sex,” I say to Bren.
She blushes as brightly as Emily, which is charming on my cynical, sassy sammie. “That’s what we called that slight-of-hand game in Jamaica. I don’t know what else to call it.”
I shrug and slide an arm across her shoulders. “Hide the coconut it is.” I lean in and whisper into her ear. “It’s also what I’m calling anal from now on. Get ready for some hiding of the coconut after we box.”
“Sir.” She elbows me and I chuckle into my coffee.