“Such a good girl.” I dip in for another kiss, smiling at her little moans. I’m already getting hard again at the feeling of her body softening beneath me. But I don’t want to blur the memory of our first time together by a more brutal one, so I ease back to lie beside her, pulling her close and enjoying the feeling of her little body wrapping around mine as she lays her head on my chest and drapes a leg over mine.
After a few minutes of peaceful silence, she asks, “How come you got a vasectomy?”
I stroke her hair gently. “When Killian became old enough to stay home alone, I started going out to see women. No dates, just play. I had a lot of sex with a lot of different women, never playing too much or too long with the same one since I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. And I most certainly didn’t want a kid with any of them—not for my sake or Killian’s. So I decided the best way to make sure that didn’t happen was to get a vasectomy.”
“Do you ever regret it?” she asks. There’s no disappointment in her voice, yet I wonder if this will become an issue for us given her age.
I don’t want to ask right now, but I need to know. “Do you want kids?”
She shrugs. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’m only twenty-one, so I guess it’s hard to say for sure, but I’ve never felt the urge. I’ve always imagined myself ending up like a cat lady.” She says the last part with a bounce like it’s a good thing. “Ten cats, all strays I’ve rescued.”
I chuckle. “Ten cats. I’m afraid I have to draw a line there. One more. Maybe three total—absolutely no more than three.”
“Don’t I get to decide that for myself? I mean, when I move out.”
I grab her jaw. “Oh no, young lady. No matter what happens—if you stay here or get your own place—you’ll still be mine. I plan on spending a lot of time with you no matter where you live.”
She makes a resigned bob of her head. “Okay, three cats. I can live with that.”
“I’m serious, Jenna. I want to be with you, for as long as you want me. I hope that will be a very long time. I can’t give you kids, and I’m not sure I can live with you—not right now. That depends on Killian. But I want you to be mine. My girlfriend, my sub. Mine. Do you understand?”
Her expression sobers, lips trembling a little as she struggles to find the words. “Girlfriend?”
“Yes, girlfriend. No more manipulation or coercion. I’m not saying we’ll be equals—at least not in the usual sense. I’ll still be your Dominant, the one who has the final say. Is that okay with you?”
She licks her lips and swallows. “I’d like that. Very much.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because I don’t know what I’d do if you said no.”
Sincerity fills her gaze as she presses a hand to my cheek. “I’m yours, Ian. I don’t care about kids and marriage and all that normal stuff. All I’ve ever wanted was to play. The piano, cats, and now you.” Her eyes drift off to the side, sorrow drawing her brow tight for a moment.
“And Killian,” I say softly, giving voice to her unspoken thought.
She nods, the sorrow deepening with the admission.
“Don’t give up on him yet. He’s made more progress during the time you’ve been here than he has in the last ten years. You’re doing that. I still believe he can come around.”
Burrowing into me, she whispers, “I really hope so.”
“Me too,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Me too.”
52
The Gentle Pull
Killian
I hate the kitten. I fucking hate it.
I can’t believe Dad let her keep it. It’s everywhere. Toys are strewn all over the living room, cat food on the kitchen floor, clumps of black fur sticking to the furniture.
Even upstairs, on my turf, I can’t escape it. It comes up here all the time even though I keep telling Jenna to keep it the fuck away. I hear its little paws bouncing on the floor, and then footsteps come rushing up the stairs, followed by Jenna’s innocent fucking voice, sweetly telling the cat that it can’t be here. I want to grab her and spank her every fucking time, but at the same time, I don’t want anything to do with her. So I keep the door shut.
But there’s no escaping the little princess and her new pet. They always seem to be there when I go downstairs, and it bugs the hell out of me to hear Jenna cooing at the kitten, talking to it like it fucking understands her, and carrying it around all the time. It’s pathetic. All wrong. She should be the pet on the floor.
What’s even worse is that the cat somehow seems to have given Jenna more courage, making her talk back to me.
“Get the kitten the hell off of me,” I demand when I go into the kitchen and it jumps up my leg, piercing my expensive pants with its sharp claws.
