21. Austin
TWENTY-ONE
AUSTIN
ME:
How’s my beautiful girl today?
PARIS:
Good. Thank you for the coffee, by the way. I desperately needed it.
ME:
You’re welcome. I hate that I couldn’t deliver it myself, but I’ve rescheduled this doctor’s appointment three times already. Hopefully, Syd got your order right.
PARIS:
She did. It was perfect.
ME:
Good. Are you going to Jett and Bailey’s later?
PARIS:
Actually, I am. My brother called yesterday and asked if I’d let Oakley bring the kids to Pittsburgh, since there’s no youth football this week.
He’s playing in the All-Star Game on Tuesday, but she has to work, so she’s only going for the weekend.
At first, I said no because I’ve never been away from them two nights in a row, but then I realized that it’s only a couple of hours away, so I changed my mind.
I’m sure I’ll be a ball of nerves, but I figure girls’ night will stop me from completely spiraling.
ME:
They’re going to have a blast, and Memphis will love having them there. I’m proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone with this. I’m sure it’s hard, but I guarantee this will be a core memory for them.
PARIS:
I’ll be okay after I cry and throw up a few times.
ME:
Not on my watch, Baby Girl. I’ll see to it that you have the best weekend possible.
PARIS:
Looking forward to it. I have to go make some copies for Mr. Grant, so I’ll see you tonight?
ME:
I’ll be there. Wear something sexy for me?
PARIS:
Maybe.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
When I asked Paris to wear her sexiest pajamas to girls’ night, I had no idea what I was in for.
I figured I’d get to see those gorgeous thighs in a pair of short shorts and a form-fitting camisole, but fuck me.
I couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect sight, the thin satin of her tiny black nightie hugging every one of those luscious curves.
It barely covers her ass, her supple thighs on full display as they travel what seems like miles to her freshly pedicured feet.
I want to lick and suck every part of her, only stopping when I’m sure she’s been turned completely inside out.
I don’t even think I’ve heard a word any of the guys have said since I got here, despite their constant yammering on about God knows what.
I couldn’t give less of a flying fuck when Paris is two floors away, looking like my wettest goddamn dream.
When I can’t take being away from her any longer, I pull my phone from my pocket.
ME:
Meet me in the bedroom across from the upstairs bathroom in five. I need to see you.
PARIS:
The plumbing down here is fixed. If I leave the spa room, they’re going to know something is up. No boys allowed, remember?
ME:
Please hold…
I close out our text thread and scroll down until I find the one I’m looking for.
ME:
I need you to run some interference for me. Can you handle making yourself the center of attention for fifteen minutes or so?
SYDNEY:
On it.
ME:
You’re the best. I owe you one.
SYDNEY:
I’ll put it on your tab.
Approximately three minutes later, I use my empty whiskey glass as an excuse to leave the room, not that they give a shit.
They’re too busy discussing this week’s organized team activities to even notice that I’m gone, which I’m grateful for because I have no plans to return with another drink in my hand.
I want to be sober tonight—to remember every detail, so I can relive it whenever I want.
I pad down the hallway, staying light on my feet before disappearing into the guest room.
As always, I feel like a teenager, my heart pounding wildly and hormones rushing through my veins like scorching hot lava.
Every second feels like an hour, my stare pinned to the sliver of light that bleeds through the cracked door, until finally, she arrives.
She sneaks inside, closing us in with a quiet snick, and spins on her heel to face me.
“Hey, Coach,” she says innocently, lowering her chin and looking at me through dark lashes. The only light in the room is coming from the moon as it filters through the giant picture window behind me, but it illuminates her face and body enough for me to see the way her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Are you drunk, Baby Girl?” I ask, the words full of gravel. My cock is already thick and heavy between my thighs, the sight of her in next to nothing causing the ropes of my restraint to fray until I’m hanging by a single fiber.
She shakes her head slowly, biting her plump lower lip. “No. Bailey gave me a glass of champagne when I got here, but I’ve been drinking it slowly.”
“Thank fuck,” I reply on a heavy exhale, eating up the space between us in two giant steps before crashing my mouth to hers.
My hands find her hips, hers wrapping around the back of my neck and pulling me closer.
I part her lips with my tongue, the taste of the champagne she’s been sipping on exploding on my taste buds.
I’m feral, licking and sucking like a man possessed as she feeds me the softest, sweetest moans.
“Say I can touch you,” I beg into the kiss. “Fuck, Paris. Please.” Every muscle in my body is wound tight with desperation. I’ve never been this worked up in my life, my fingertips burning with the need to dig into her anywhere I can.
“Yes,” she rushes out on a whisper. “Yes, I want it.”
I don’t waste a second, my flattened palms slipping under the satin of her nightie and curling around her ass.
She’s so soft and perfect, heat radiating from her flesh and warming me all over.
My cock leaks like a faucet at the feel of her in my hands, so incredibly hard that I can barely even see straight.
But even with my heightened sense of arousal, I know there’s something I have to say before I can take things to the next level. She needs to know who I am.
I kiss her again, this time slow and deep as I breathe in her sweet perfume.
My heart rate drops just enough to feel like it’s not going to tear through my shirt, and I pull away reluctantly.
She chases the connection, a pitiful little whimper filling the space between us as she attempts to yank me back in.
But I stand to my full height, waiting until her eyes flutter open so that I know I’ve got her attention.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her lips swollen and glistening. “Why’d you stop?”
I swallow, taking a deep breath as I slide my hands up to her waist. As much as I want to keep my fingers fused to the supple globes of her ass, I need to focus here.
She deserves to know what she’s getting into by consenting to me.
“Before we go any further, I need to tell you something.” Her expression falls, her eyes going wide in panic.
So, I immediately continue, not wanting her to freak out before I get a chance to say my piece.
“I’m a service dom, Paris. Do you know what that is? ”
Her brows pull in, her lips parting as she considers my question. “I…I don’t think so.” The apples of her cheeks flush, but the last thing I want is for her to be embarrassed about any of this.
I nod gently, keeping a tender grip on her hips.
“That’s okay. A service dom is someone who gets satisfaction from taking care of their partner.
Some people keep it strictly as a part of their sexual dynamic, focusing on their submissive’s pleasure rather than their own, but others—like me—take it beyond the bedroom.
It can be anything from doing chores for their partner to giving them a massage after a particularly long day, and these things often get the dominant aroused. ”
She looks up at me with curiosity behind her gorgeous brown eyes. “Is that why you do my yardwork and bring me coffee? Because it turns you on?”
Exhaling harshly, I nod again. “That’s part of it, yes.
And I owe you an apology for that. I should’ve been honest about who I am before I did anything.
I should’ve given you an opportunity to consent, since service is my kink.
I take full accountability for that, but I was afraid that if I told you before I was sure you were even into me, you’d get uncomfortable and I wouldn’t be able to help you anymore.
I swear, though, I didn’t get any type of sexual pleasure from it—at least not until the night you fell asleep in my arms.”
“You…” she replies, her head cocking to one side quizzically. Her chest lifts and falls as she breathes, and I watch a thick swallow as it rolls down her throat. “You were aroused from holding me?”
My gaze falls to the floor, shame and embarrassment settling in.
“Yeah. I…kinda came in my pants. I tried not to, but the way you found sleep so easily while I stroked your hair just did something to me. I had a feeling you hadn’t rested so peacefully in a long time and convinced myself that I was the reason for it.
Your cheeks were so warm, and you were making these soft, contented sounds.
Every one of them was like a jolt right to my dick.
I got hard, and before I could even register what was happening, I had made a complete mess of myself. That’s never happened to me before.”
Taking a chance, I lift my chin, my eyes locking onto hers.
I expect to see something behind them that tells me how disgusted or horrified she is—or at the very least, a bit of hurt that I didn’t say anything sooner.
But there isn’t a trace of any of that to be found in her stunned expression, a shaky exhale leaking from her lungs before she finally fills the space between us with an almost inaudible reply.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
My brows shoot up, nearly touching my hairline, but before I even get a chance to make sense of her words, she’s taking a fistful of my shirt and yanking me forward.
Our lips collide, and like a switch has been flipped, my girl goes from timid and confused to utterly insatiable.
I’ve never seen her even remotely close to this, but fuck if I don’t love it.