Page 81 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

Lance nods, but largely ignores my comment when he says, “So who’s he fucking? The maid?”

I snort. “I think whoever he is, he wishes it was the maid.”

There’s a roiling in my gut, because as well as thatdidgo, I think Quincey has some surprising news of his own. “Let’s go back to Crave before B notices.”

We head back, and spot Quincey in his car, on the phone, face soft. Yet when we get inside and I ask her if she’s heard from her dad, she says no.

thirty

I love him.

brielle

“And what willdinner with my father accomplish?” I ask, tucking away my collar after a particularly filthy session with my guys. I got in the pen tonight because I spoke without permission, and my punishment was two back to back face fuck sessions, made complete withtotal consumption.

I reapply powder around my mouth, and roll on chapstick, leaving the taste of them lingering on my tongue. Like a dirty secret only for me, to help me get through dinner.

“You can’t let the relationship go until you’ve both thoroughly tried. Trust me, I’m, as you like to call it,an old man,” Aug says as he kneads my shoulders from behind, taking my eyes in the reflection. From the edge of the bed, Lance slips into his dress shoes, adding, “Grandpa’s right, you can’t give up until you’ve really tried. And if you really do decide you want to excommunicate him, well, we’re on board. But consider that outcome beforehand, and try as hard as you can to avoid it.”

“He’s used his money to control me my whole life and I’ve always gone with it but I see now how snotty and closed off and judgmental I’ve been. If he can’t accept this career I’m choosing, this life I want—how can I make room for him in it?”

Not a bad question, if I may say so myself. Lance comes to my side at the dresser, collecting a gold bracelet and sliding it on my wrist. Heat erupts in my panties as his fingers skirt my wrist, clasping the bracelet. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“Don’t take his side!” I try to rear back but am stopped by the wall of muscle that is Aug’s chest.

“Don’t be a brat,” Lance argues.

“Stop,” Aug quips, dipping his fingers deeper into my shoulders. “All he’s saying is that it’s not cut and dry on either side, okay? So let’s go into this dinner with open minds and full hearts. We love you, and he loves you, and it’s going to be okay, alright?”

Ugh. I wanted to be angry right now because I am definitely Quincey’s daughter and anger helps me deal with nerves. But they won’t let me, because they want me to be better.

“Deep breaths,” Lance instructs.

We inhale together, the three of us, and exhale the same way, and just as I feel calm circle my spine, the doorbell rings.

“We’re headed to the mentorship ceremony,” I say, my brows pulling together in confusion. “Who is that?”

Lance shrugs as the three of us head toward the front, looking to both answer the door and leave. He pulls it open as I’m smoothing my hands over my black wrap dress, making sure the tie is tied tight, and my nipples aren’t showing.

“Who are you?” Lance asks, his voice abrupt and gruff.

I look up and my mouth falls open as my heart leaps into an unsteady, rapid cadence. “Winnie?” At first, happiness washes over me at the sight of my best friend. But the happiness is brief as I remember that, despite all the great things happening in my life right now, my best friend has been ghosting me ever since she ratted me out to my father.

Ghosting me.

I shake my head. “How could you?” I don’t know if the question is about ghosting me or outing my secrets to my father, but my bottom lip trembles as I repeat the question, not knowing what else to say. “How could you?”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes, stepping through the threshold. Lance stops her by stepping in her way.

“Who are you?” he asks again.

“W-Winnie,” she stutters through tears, her curls in a waded heap, old sweats and a ratty t-shirt clinging to her frame. She looks like shit, beautiful shit but still shit. “I’m Brielle’s best friend.”

“You’re not a very good best friend considering you told your friend’s father about her love life then stopped communicating with her,” Lance says, squaring off with her, shoulder to shoulder as he folds his arms over his chest.

Aug clears his throat. “We’re going to the mentorship ceremony. It’s over this week and since Brielle isn’t having a graduate school grad party, this is our big celebration.” He steps forward, blocking my view of Winnie completely, my wall of protectors. My doms, my partners, my everything. “Don’t upset her before her graduation party, please. If you want to talk, she lives here, which you clearly know.”

With that, they’ve waved her off, and as Lance closes the front door, I catch a glimpse of her face, her wide green eyes full of tears. Her clothes are wrinkled and— “Wait!”

---