“How would I know if you’ve shaved or not?”
She tilts her head at me, then laughs. “Um, you were staring?”
“I was looking at your legs, beautiful, at how perfect they are. Thinking how difficult it is for me to sit here and not move my hands up, squeeze, massage, until I’m at your perfect pussy and I can feel how wet you are for me. Only for me.”
I’m shaking, getting dangerously close to unhinged.
She straightens her legs. “Look. Don’t you see these little black dots?”
I lean forward. “Yeah. Now that you mention it. I wouldn’t have otherwise, though. Don’t tell me you were getting self-conscious about that.”
“A little,” she admits.
I put my hand on her thigh, then slide down toward her knees, then past, bending at the hip so I can rub over her shins then back up to her knees and toward her crotch. “Nothing wrong from where I’m sitting.”
She looks at me with heat in her eyes. Wide, hungry. I know she wants it as badly as I do. She’s probably been thinking about it just as much as I have, that wild episode in the office.
“Be good,” she whimpers.
“Easier over text,” I tell her.
She reaches over and takes the photo album from my hand. “Can I?”
I nod, swallowing a lump of emotion.
I wrap my arm around her, holding her close as she flicks through the pages. She doesn’t comment on every photo, which I’m grateful for. The early ones are of my mother soon after giving birth to me, sweaty and glowing and happy. Then, a couple pages later, I’m a toddler, and she’s got that darkness in her eyes.
“What happened?” Dakota murmurs.
“If you look at a photo and she looks miserable, it’s because my father was home from work. If she looks halfway human, he was away.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” she says.
I kiss her on the cheek. “Beautiful, at least we got a break from our monster.”
“Still—it’s awful.”
I shrug. “People have had it worse.”
“Hey, you told me not to downplay my emotions. The same goes for you.”
I look into her eyes, frank, assessing, and understanding. I’ve never felt so seen, not that I’ve ever wanted to be. Empire’s Fall has been my identity for years, the slice of me I’m willing to show the world. With Dakota, it’s different.
“Fair,” I admit.
“Fair,” she echoes, imitating my grumpy voice.
I chuckle and nudge her playfully. “I don’t soundthatgrim.”
“Hmm,” she says, laughing again. She flips some more pages, then gasps when she sees the picture of Mom standing outside her jewelry business. “She looks so happy. So proud.”
I blink, getting misty-eyed, before I swallow it down. “She was. Look at her there, like a proud little girl, like nothing bad ever happened to her. I wish I could go back in time and support her more. Toward the end, she asked me to swing by after school. I said I would. Promised. But something came up. I can’t even remember what it was now, what was so important I had to stand up my mother.”
She clings to me, holding me tightly. “Hush,” she murmurs, kissing my neck. “It’s not your fault.”
I hold her tight, then take the album from her.
“Are we done?” she asks.
