Page 41 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“If you ever try to silence me again, your death will be merciless,” he says. To my surprise, Brody doesn’t lunge at the man on Scotty’s behalf. Instead, he leans in and whispers something into Scotty’s ear that makes his eyes bulge. “That’s not fair! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“You just threatened the man’s life, baby.”

“I know, but I was just playing. Jerk. Well, I don’t care what you say. I’m not standing in the corner when we get back. Not happening.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Brody growls. “I ain’t gonna tell you this again, Freakshow; when Daddy says there’s going to be a punishment, there’s going to be a punishment.”

Scotty sighs and gives Tatum’s father a remorseful smile. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Good boy,” Brody praises.

“Anyway,” Mrs. St. James says, grabbing a packet of Splenda and tipping it into her tea. “Abi. Go on, sweetie. Tell us all about yourself. Where are you from? What do you do for work?”

I grab my glass of water and take a sip, gripping Tatum tighter. Somewhere along the way, he’s started shaking with nerves, and it’s my job to keep him steady. Swallowing, I set the glass on the table and clear my throat.

“I’m from Russia, originally,” I start. “I lived there until I was ten. My mother said she could tell I wasdifferentfrom a young age, and she wanted me to have a happy life, so she brought me to the States.”

“And your father?”

“My father ...” My heart is pounding in my chest. Every pump of blood feels like an explosion, the sound of my heartbeat strong in my ears. Just as I steadied him only moments ago, Tatum grips my side, the pressure is painful but just what I need.I look into his eyes, unsure how much of my origin story he wants me to tell them.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice soft and full of care. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“You’re sure?”

He nods. “You’re okay.”

He’s right. With him staring into my eyes with this level of care and comfort, I’m okay. It feels nice to have him show his protective side. It even gives me a bit of hope things might work out for us in the end.

“My father was not a kind man,” I continue, staring at beads of condensation that fall down the side of my water glass. “Not to her. Not to me. My mother and I had to flee while he was at work one day.” I grab the water glass and take another sip. My hands are trembling, but when Tatum stares into my eyes, the tremors stop. “I still do not know how he found us, but somehow, he did.” I place the glass on the table and look at Mr. and Mrs. St. James. The pair are staring at me with concerned expressions. Part of me wants to tell the rest of the story. To let Tatum’s family know how my father ripped her life away, right before my very eyes, but the only words I can manage are, “He took her from me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mrs. St. James says, and the emotion behind the words is enough to bring tears to my eyes. Tatum reaches for my face, but he does not wipe them away. Instead, he simply cups my cheek, his eyes saying the words his voice cannot.

“Little one.”

“You’re okay,” he assures me. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

We don’t speak much after that. We just stare at each other as life roars on around us. Once our meals arrive, Scotty, Brody, and Mr. St. James tear into theirs, but Mrs. St. James is staring at me and Tatum like we’re the most precious sight she’s ever seen. Considering Tatum keeps nodding off, making him seem almost childlike in nature, we probably are.

“You don’t know how happy I am that he’s found someone like you, Abi,” she says. I look down at Tatum, now fast asleep in my lap, and smile. “He can argue it all he wants, but he’s never looked as happy as he does when he’s with you. Even with his ex-boyfriends, he never once seemed genuinely thrilled to be in their presence. He didn’t cuddle with them in front of us. All I’ve ever wanted is for him to be happy, and you’ve done that.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Thank you for loving him.”

I chuckle softly, leaning down and kissing his scalp. “Thank you for raising him to be so loveable.” As I watch his eyes flutter and flicker behind the lids, I hold him just a bit closer to my chest. “Tatum?” His eyes blink to life, and once they’re open, he just stares at me, not speaking. I use my free hand to grab a couple of French fries and hold them out for him to take. He follows my lead, leaning in and taking them into his mouth. His lips close around both the fries and my fingers, and his tongue flicks across my fingertips. A low groan escapes me, and I find myself rolling my hips, grinding my half-hard cock against his ass. Red heat rushes across his face, and for a moment—a truly terrible moment—I think he might slap me. Instead, I watch as his hand slowly reaches down and slides beneath his ass. His fingers wrap around my cloth-covered shaft, squeezing me perfectly. His hand moves forward, then back, his soft eyes staring right into mine.

“Abi,” he whispers.

It takes every ounce of strength I can muster to refrain from carrying him into the bathroom and ravishing him. Unfortunately, self-control has never been Tatum’s strong point. Though he’s released the grip he had on my shaft, his hips are now rolling inconspicuously against my lap; each movement pulling me closer to an edge I didn’t even realize we were approaching.

Fuck. He’s barely begun, and I’m already close.

“Tatum,” I manage, gripping his hip. If he keeps this up, I’ll spill over at the table, right in front of his mother and father.Granted, neither are paying us much attention, and Tatum’s upper body shows no signs of what his lower half is doing to me, but I don’t know how I’ll manage to stifle my moans if he grinds an unrequested orgasm out of me. It’s building and building until Tatum stops moving against me. He looks over his shoulder, probably daring me to keep going, but I can’t. Not with his family so close to us.

“Date night,” I hear Mrs. St. James say once my impending orgasm has subsided. “Every couple needs one, especially when times are stressful. Weddings can take everything out of you. It’s important to keep the spark alive. That’s all I’m saying.”

They continue talking, but all I can do is close my eyes and try to catch my breath. I almost came. I almost shot a load at the table while his parents were only inches away. What I need is to compose myself. As I gulp and gasp for air through the protective barrier of his back, I realize his mother is insisting I take Tatum out for a night on the town before our impending nuptials.

A date. In the six months he’s spent stealing my heart, he’s yet to agree to one. I’ve broached the topic a handful of times, but it always ends with either a slapped face or a scowl aimed in my direction. Now, with his mother pushing the matter, my heart races at the prospect.

“Would that be alright with you?” I ask. “Would you allow me to take you out?” Leaning closer, I press my lips to his ear. “A real date. Not just for show.” He sucks in a quick breath and the grip he has around my hip tightens. “I know,” I whisper even lower than before, “it is frightening, but I promise, I will do all the work. You do not have to plan anything.” I press a kiss to his cheek, because it’s right there, begging to be kissed. “Let me show you how much I love you, Tatum. Before you take all of this away, let me show you what you mean to me.”

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