“Pft. Blasphemy. A woman who isn’t me…”
I’m sort of shocked by her making a joke right now, but relieved nonetheless. “Can you imagine?” I tease.
“No. Thank God I got here before she did.”
I hold her tighter. “I suspect you were always going to get here before her.”
“You can’t know that, Mace.”
“Can’t I? Sweetheart, I doubt anyone I met would have ever felt like the right person because in my subconscious mind, I had already met the right person for me. The fact she didn’t know it isn’t relevant.”
“I suppose.”
“You’re twenty-two years old, and you haven’t dated anyone significant in your life. Do you not think that has something to do with harboring feelings for me?”
“I know it does,” she admits.
“Then you can understand why I haven’t been on a single serious date with anyone in the past four years, either. I might not have consciously considered pursuing you out of respect for your father, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t pining after you. This room is a manifestation of my wishful thinking.”
“I hate that a part of me feels like my father had to die for my own life to begin.”
I shake my head against her neck. “I don’t think that’s true. Your father knew we had feelings for each other. He was astute. I suspect eventually he would have pointed it out to one or both of us. He was most likely waiting for you to get a bit older so he could be sure you knew your own mind. And he was right. It was for the best that you didn’t spend your college years in a relationship with an old guy like me.”
She finally cracks her serious façade and chuckles. “You’re not that old.”
“Aren’t I, though?”
“It’s only thirteen years. It won’t seem like a big deal when you’re sixty.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” I rock her back and forth, enjoying having her in my arms. I never dreamed I would have the opportunity to touch her like this anytime in the near future. Perhaps I hoped I would eventually woo her, but it wasn’t on my radar for this week.
“I want to go sit on that loveseat, curl up, and read a good book.”
“There are several books on the shelf, but I suspect you have dozens on your e-reader.”
“But also, I want to draw. I see colored pencils on the shelf and crayons. It’s the giant box.”
I smile. This is going well. “You can do whatever you want. And make a list of whatever’s missing so we can order it.”
“This doesn’t seem real. I’m here, in your home, and you’re interested in me.”
“Very. Very interested, Baby girl.”
She sighs heavily. “You’re like my father’s unattainable friend. Someone I close my eyes and think about when I touch myself. Not someone I get to actually touch.”
I chuckle. “You may touch any part of me you want whenever you’re ready.”
Pressing against my arms to release her, she wiggles free of me. “Speaking of touching… I can’t think when you’re holding me. You scramble my brain.”
“Ah, that’s all part of my master plan.” I hate it when my hands aren’t on her.
She turns to face me, backing away, moving deeper into the room. “What’s your preferred age range for a Little?”
“I don’t have one, Baby girl. To me, what matters is having the ability to nurture you, no matter what that looks like.”
Still moving backward, she keeps talking. “I’ve never had the opportunity to explore this kinky side of myself outside of my imagination.”
I step into the doorframe and lean against it, giving her space. “When you read a good age-play book, you go into your head and act out things while touching yourself, right?”
