Chapter 11 Greyson
Greyson
“Is my little doe ready yet?” I pushed open Lane’s bedroom door, finding him at his vanity.
Lane caught my gaze in the mirror and smiled at me, his face the picture of beauty. He looked ready, with his soft, dewy makeup and flowing hair.
“Almost, Daddy,” he answered, swiping on a gloss that made his lips look fucking edible.
I stepped up behind him and rested my hands on his shoulders, looking down at the outfit he’d chosen for today’s outing.
He wore a soft cream sweater—cashmere, if I wasn’t mistaken—thin enough to drape beautifully over his narrow frame but thick enough to look effortlessly luxurious. The neckline dipped just slightly on one side, exposing his delicate collarbone and the scatter of freckles across his skin.
The sweater was tucked into a dusty-rose pleated skirt. It hit just above his knees, modest enough for a public outing but not at all dulling his innate femininity.
His legs were wrapped in sheer stockings, the kind that made his pale skin look impossibly softer, disappearing neatly into a pair of low-heeled cream ankle boots that probably cost more than most people’s rent.
Nothing loud. Nothing flashy.
But anyone with functioning eyes would take one look at him and know he belonged to money.
To me.
Lane hummed softly to himself as he reached for a small velvet jewelry tray.
I watched his fingers carefully select a pair of earrings—delicate little gold drops with tiny pearls at the end. Dainty and elegant.
He lifted one to his ear, pushing the post through with practiced ease.
I leaned down slightly, unable to stop myself from brushing my fingers across the side of his neck. “Careful,” I murmured. “If you keep looking like that, I’m not taking you anywhere.”
Lane smiled at me in the mirror, the expression sweet and teasing. “You promised.”
I did.
My gaze dragged slowly down his body again.
God.
I’d always liked beautiful things—fine watches, tailored suits, art, cars.
But nothing compared to Lane.
He was like a life-size ball-jointed doll—soft and delicate and perfect, with big blue-green eyes and pretty clothes and that bright, eager smile he wore when he knew he looked good.
Except this doll breathed.
And laughed.
And curled up against me at night like I was the center of his entire world.
Because I was.
I pressed a kiss into the side of his hair before I could stop myself.
Lane slid the second earring into place, then gave his reflection one last careful inspection.
He tilted his head left, then right.
Satisfied, he smoothed a hand over his skirt and turned around on the stool to face me.
“Okay,” he declared brightly. Those glossy lips curved into a grin. “I’m ready, Daddy.”
We took the elevator down to the private garage beneath the building.
The cool air smelled faintly of concrete and motor oil as I unlocked the car.
Lane gathered his skirt carefully as he slid into the passenger seat, tucking his legs neatly together like the well-mannered thing that he was—usually.
Other times, he enjoyed slicing men open and fucking himself on my cock right next to their dead bodies.
Other, other times, he’d throw tantrums from the rapidly fluctuating chemicals in his brain and needed me to baby him until he was relaxed enough to sleep it off.
I loved all sides of him.
As I’d said many times before, every piece of him fit perfectly with every piece of me. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, created specifically for me. I’d had every right to take him, because he’d been mine to begin with.
The drive today was easy, with Lane spending most of it looking out the window, humming along to the radio while sunlight caught in his hair like flame. I rested a hand on his knee at one point, and felt the pleased little way he leaned closer to me.
We passed our usual mall about twenty minutes in.
Lane noticed immediately. “Daddy?” he asked.
“Thought we’d try somewhere new today,” I told him casually.
The truth was I’d done my research.
There was a boutique at a more upscale shopping center a few cities over—one that carried lingerie specifically designed for men.
Lane and I typically bought his lingerie online.
Sometimes we’d pick up a piece or two while out, but those were always a bit ill-fitting since they’d been made with a different anatomy in mind. The male lingerie obviously fit a lot better, so that was what we both preferred to fill his drawers with.
And while it was lovely and fun to buy him his pretty things no matter what, I knew he’d love actually being able to shop for them in person. Try things on, feel fabrics, etc.
By the time we pulled into the valet circle, Lane was nearly vibrating with excitement, even with me keeping the lingerie store a surprise.
The mall itself was exactly the sort of place I preferred—polished marble floors, soft lighting, quiet music drifting through the halls. Every storefront gleamed with understated luxury: designer handbags, tailored clothing, jewelry that probably cost as much as some people’s houses.
Lane’s hand tightened around mine as we stepped inside. His eyes were wide. “Oh,” he breathed.
The first boutique we stepped into sold designer womenswear. With all of these stores, I was more than prepared to defend my husband if anyone gave him shit for liking women’s fashion.
But the attendant looked up from behind the counter and immediately brightened, easing my concerns. “Well, hello there,” she said warmly, her smile growing the longer she took in Lane’s appearance. “Goodness, you look stunning.”
Lane flushed pink almost instantly. “Thank you,” he said politely.
I could practically see the moment the sales associate decided she adored him. “Oh, we have to show you some things,” she said, already stepping around the counter. “That color looks beautiful on you—have you tried anything from our spring collection yet?”
Lane glanced at me for permission.
I gave a small nod. “Go ahead, baby. Whatever you want.”
That was all it took.
Within minutes, the woman had Lane surrounded by soft fabrics and hangers, holding dresses up against his frame and cooing over how pretty he looked.
Another attendant drifted over soon after.
Then another.
“This shade would look gorgeous with your hair.”
“Oh, he has the prettiest freckles.”
“Look at those lashes!”
Lane giggled shyly at the attention, cheeks pink, turning this way and that as they held up the outfits for him.
I sat on the plush couch in the private suite they’d brought us to, glass of sparkling water in hand as I watched the women fuss over my husband with satisfaction.
He was adored.
And judging by the way the attendants kept sneaking glances at me—clearly clocking the expensive watch on my wrist, the way Lane hovered close to my side when he wasn’t being dressed up—it was obvious they’d already pieced together the dynamic.
One of them approached me while Lane was whisked toward a fitting room. “You’re very lucky,” she said with a knowing smile.
I watched the curtain close behind Lane. “Oh, I’m well aware.”
“May I ask if there’s a budget you’d like us to stay within?”
“No budget.”
The woman smiled as I handed over my card, clearly excited for the commission she was about to earn. “I’ll start an account for you, sir. Please let us know if there’s anything specific you’d like to see him in.”
“I will, thank you.”
I could hear Lane’s soft laughter through the curtain as they passed pieces into him.
“That one is perfect for you.”
“You’re going to look like a dream.”
A minute later, the curtain slid open, and Lane stepped out in a pale blue dress that hugged his frame like it had been tailored specifically for him.
The attendants collectively gasped.
And I…
Well.
I sat up a little straighter.
Lane turned slowly, the skirt swishing around his thighs.
“What do you think, Daddy?” he asked.
I took my time looking at him. Head to toe. Slowly. “Turn again.”
He did, obediently.
The sales associates were practically vibrating with delight.
“It’s gorgeous on him, right?”
“He has the perfect figure for this silhouette.”
I hummed thoughtfully. “It’s nice,” I said calmly.
Lane pouted a little, clearly hoping for more enthusiasm.
Then I added, “Do you have it in pink?”
The attendants burst into delighted laughter.
“See? He loves it.”
Lane grinned and ducked back behind the curtain.
By the time we left that store, three large shopping bags hung from my arm, and Lane walked beside me, looking flushed and pleased with himself.
We wandered further through the mall, Lane pausing every few windows to admire displays while I let him tug me along at whatever pace he liked.
Eventually, he slowed in front of a jewelry store.
Lane’s gaze drifted over the window. “Ooh, pretty,” he murmured softly.
I followed his line of sight. “Want to look?” I asked.
Lane nodded. “Yes, Daddy. Maybe they’ll have some pearls.”
An image of him on our wedding night flashed in my head.
I could do with a repeat.
Inside, the store was calm and refined, glass cases lining the room. A well-dressed associate looked up. “Welcome.”
The man did a double-take, a flicker of surprise crossing his expression before settling into a look of warm professionalism.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’d mistaken Lane for a woman on first glance. Luckily for him and his bodily safety, it didn’t appear to bother the associate, as he stepped closer to the display cases with a friendly smile. “Is there something specific you’d like to see?”
Lane glanced at the jewelry with quiet fascination, his fingers curling slightly around my arm.
“Something delicate,” I said. “Gold suits him better than silver. Oh, and if you have any pearls, please.”
The associate nodded. “Of course.”
He unlocked a case and brought out a tray lined with soft cream velvet containing several gold pieces.
Lane leaned closer, studying them carefully. “Oh, that one,” he said, making heart-eyes at a slender gold chain necklace with a small pearl pendant.
“Would you like to try it on?”
Lane nodded happily. “Please.”
The associate moved behind him, carefully lifting his hair away from his neck before fastening the clasp. Lane turned toward the mirror on the counter. The pearl rested perfectly at the hollow of his throat, just below his collarbone.
His fingers came up to touch it lightly. “It’s so pretty,” he breathed.
I watched his reflection in the mirror, then glanced at the price tag. Not bad.
“We’ll take that one,” I said.
Lane’s eyes widened. “Grey—”
“And the bracelet next to it,” I added calmly, admiring the classic strand of pearls that would look perfect on his wrist.
Lane looked up at me with that soft, adoring expression he got when I indulged him. “You spoil me,” he said.
“I do,” I purred.
The associate boxed the bracelet with careful hands while Lane continued admiring the pearl resting against his throat in the mirror.
He looked so very pleased with himself.
And very aware that I was watching him, preening under the attention.
Once the purchase was finished, the associate handed over the elegant little shopping bag with a polite smile. Lane thanked him sweetly, then slipped his hand back into mine the moment we stepped out into the corridor.
The new necklace stayed on.
“I take it you love it?” I asked.
Lane touched the pearl again, smiling. “It matches my earrings.”
“It does,” I agreed.
We continued through the mall, the shopping bags slowly multiplying in my hands while Lane wandered happily beside me.
We took a break for lunch at one of the high-end cafes dotted around the building before returning to our leisurely walk.
At one point, a bright, sweet scent drifted out into the hall.
Lane slowed.
The shop was filled with colorful displays—perfect spheres of bath bombs stacked into pyramids, glass jars of bath salts and oils, soaps shaped like flowers, and who knew what else.
Lane turned those hopeful eyes toward me. “Daddy…”
I sighed theatrically. “You already have an entire cabinet of bath products.”
“But these are different,” he insisted.
I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
He considered that for a moment, then stated, “Because I said so.”
I snorted quietly, handing over my card. “Fine, princess. I’m going to go sit down to give my arms a break. I’ll be out front once you’re done.”
Lane beamed, practically skipping into the store as I took a seat in one of the chairs stationed in the center of the walkway.
I watched as he drifted around the store, filling a basket as he went.
Once he’d finished, he came over to me holding a very large bag with a bright smile on his face.
Lane looped his arm through mine as we returned to walking around.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome.”
He glanced around curiously as we walked a little farther down the wing of the mall.
“So what else is here?”
I smiled. “Actually,” I said, steering him gently toward the far end of the hallway, “this is why I picked this mall.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just wait.”
We turned the corner.
And there it was.
The storefront was elegantly styled with satin displays, and mannequins dressed in delicate lace pieces far more intricate than anything you’d find in an ordinary lingerie shop.
But the mannequins were unmistakably male.
Silk bralettes cut to fit a masculine chest.
High-waisted lace panties designed with the proper tailoring.
Sheer bodysuits that would cling beautifully to a slender frame like Lane’s.
Lane stopped dead in the hallway. “No way… Daddy!”
“Surprise,” I said.
Lane turned to me with an expression somewhere between shock and absolute delight. “I’m going to die of happiness!”