Page 203 of His Pretty Little Duet

I study him, meeting unwavering eyes that are always assessing and watching. He’s radiating heat; his muscles arestill on fire from the meticulous way he fucked me. I didn’t do anything. I never domuch…

"Did I do okay?" I ask him, tucking a piece of his dark hair behind his ear, rewarded with the easiest of chuckles—the deepest and most contented and just…Clay.

"Such a sweet question."

“I didn’t—I don’t really ever do much.” I shrug. “Is that okay?” I stroke my kitten as she meows, falling off my chest into the small gap between Clay and me. "I feel like I just?—”

“Take meso well. Look so pretty. Flush for me. Open for me. You sound so endearing when you come apart around my cock, and you enjoy the way I control your body. You enjoy being manhandled, little deer. Don’t feel ashamed. You’re safe with me, sweet girl. Safe to be you.”

“Am I enough?” I swallow thickly. “Like that?”

"You are more than enough, little deer," he admits. "My strong, brave, bratty, sweet girl. I don’t think you understand what you mean to me. I am changing for you, not the other way around. You wanted comfort; I filled my home with pillows and lounges. Hung a dreamcatcher above my bed. Replaced my books with softer stories. You wanted to be spoilt; I make sure you have every kind of sweet thing available to you. You wanted a purpose, responsibility, so I gave you the kitten. You wanted attention; I’ll offer you every moment I have to give.

"And”—his eyes darken— “you wanted to be disciplined, to be held accountable, so I will damn well punish you when you misbehave. You wanted a dangerous man, little deer, and I will threaten the lives of every fucker you meet.And…” He pauses, and I’m riveted by his every word. “You want pleasure, so I will give you every kind you desire. Becauseyouare notenough. You are more. So, I will make the world around you more too.”

My heart expands. When I peer up at the dreamcatcher above my head, my smile growstoo—everything growing,swelling, making room for the future. Thinking about all the love and affection I now have. Friendships. Him. His family. My kitten.

Clay Butcher.

The Don of theCosa Nostra,who hangs dreamcatchers over his bed, sleeps with a nameless white kitten… A man who understands intimately who I am, through my skin and bone to my soul, to my slowly building self-confidence. Who understands what I have been through. Who turns the immaculate world he lives in around to fit my brand of rumpled and eccentric personality, to meetmyneeds.

For a moment, inside my mind, I see a smoke-filled forest and eyes so like mine staring back at me through the fog. As I focus on those brown eyes, my kitten prods me with her little needles. I sigh. I don't need a man with my likeness; I don't need a father or a mother or a sibling or uncle, not when I havehimas all-consuming and impressive as all those roles combined.

He is my everything.

Fawn

Luna.

Luna Butcher.

She pads around in the diamond gap of my legs, occasionally stopping to lick milk from my cereal bowl. The television flashes with the morning news, and I get my first glimpse of Clay since we fell asleep last night.

He was gone this morning.

But there he is, wearing his smooth, charismatic armour, fitted to perfection within a flawless charcoal suit. I know what is under that armour now. And it’s volatile. Deep. Vulnerable. Angry. So full of passion and possession it makes me want to weep with joy that a man soalivelives beneath that veil.

A familiar-looking red-headed woman interviews him in front of a burnt trunk and, behind them, in the far, far distance, a helicopter circles the glowing forest.

The orange headlining banner scrolling the bottom of the screen reads:Eight members of the outlaw Stockyard Motorcycle Group and well-known businessman Dustin Nerrock have died after becoming trapped in the bushfire due to taking a shortcut back to their motorcycle headquarters.

Clay goes on to say, "I flew back from Dubai the moment I received the regrettable news. The city and all its members send their condolences to the families of the fallen Stockyard Motorcycle community. It is truly a tragedy. We will be hosting a memorial ride through the District on Thursday."

He's a clever man.

"Don't let her eat from your bowl," HJ says, capturing my attention, appearing in the lounge room wearing his all-black suit and tie. "They have worms, Miss Harlow."

I curl up my nose. "Luna does not have worms. They put the little drops on her fur to kill the worms."

He stops staunchly in front of me, his hands hanging down by his sides.

Exhaling hard, I ready myself for another day of being followed, being politely responded to, being treated like a ward. It is what it is.

"You know," he begins, "I'm lucky to still have a job. I'm lucky to still be alive. A month ago, Mr Butcher would have fired me for letting you slip away. Well, at least that would have been the story for why I wasn't around."

Gazing up at him, regret for him but not for my actions plays across my face. "I'm so sorry. I had to."

He nods stiffly. "I know." A rough sigh leaves him. "I need you to remember that it's my job to keep you safe. At the very least, you should have requested I go with you.”

---