Page 56 of His Pretty Little Duet

With a stunning wide smile that reaches her eyes, she gestures towards the new shirt.

A print. A little deer—Bambi.

She grins at me.

Well fuck.

Fawn

“I should ask them all their names,” I murmur to myself as two henchmen clutch plastic bags neatly packed with an entire new wardrobe, each item individually wrapped in tissue paper. They head towards the rear SUV while a few others circle us. I can't keep calling them all henchmen.

My dress twirls around me, reminding me of its pretty presence. Looking down at it, I smile. I slipped on a white summer dress that skirts thigh-high, exposing my legs to the faint tapping of the warm breeze. I love it. And all the other pieces, but most of all, I love the way Clay watched me, as though missing a single outfit would be simply unacceptable.

“They wouldn't answer you,” Clay states, and I gaze at him as his deep gravelly cadence hits me.

"Why?"

"Because they have been instructed not to."

"Don't you trust what I'll say?"

"Get out of your head, little deer." He places his palm at the lowest part of my back, his fingers spreading out to touch more, to control more, and it is all so smooth, so dominant.

A flutter sweeps to the delta at my core, thinking about how that hand smacked my bare arse in the car and how he made me feel vulnerable and accountable. It seems strange, but I think I understand it. The spanking thing. The scolding. It is the infliction of caring. It's caring so much you hold a person accountable, push them to be stronger, to notice their weaknesses.

It's being cruel to be kind.

He cares.

Escorting me towards the central black sedan, I try to control the way his touch fills my lungs with a kind of airy bliss that freaks me the hell out.

Passing a few drifters lingering near, eager to catch a glimpse of their mayor, I cast my gaze low, not wanting the attention.

Their mayor...

Do they know who he really is?

Is the District like Gotham City and Clay a villainous Batman? Corruption is a steady heartbeat that ensures pockets are filled and people stay employed. I arch my neck to see the tall man, gripping in his appearance, a magnet to every gaze. He’s so handsome. He’s almost agonising to behold, his appearance inducing feverish skin, a galloping pulse, overwhelming faintness.

He is basically a virus.

The henchmen have a perfect formation, seemingly well versed in curtaining their boss from perusal. I can’t even imagine what every day must be like for him, being the subject of permanent intrigue. Always on. The city’s charismatic leader.

“Fawn?”

I freeze when I hear that unmistakable voice. A voice I didn’t expect or prepare for. My hand falls to the slight bump between my hips, hiding it with the small span of my tiny palm.

No!

Not now.

I peer around, my gaze bouncing between the shoulders of Clay's men, frantic to convince myself the voice was in my mind but then?—

I see him cross the street.

Oh God.

He calls over, “Where have you been?”

---