Page 41 of Daddy's Princess

“We can’t do that again,” she says resolutely. “Someone could’ve seen us.”

“I highly doubt it would’ve been the first time someone was caught kissing in an elevator. It’s not that big of a deal.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize how stupid it was to downplay the fact that we were nearly busted—at work—in the elevator. This is precisely the kind of thing she told me she wanted to avoid.

“I was literally rubbing your dick while you had your tongue down my throat! Not to mention your hand on my boob!” Sugar shrieks.

She has a point. The only problem is thatIdon’t care who knows about us, and she’s determined to keep it a secret. I study her for a moment. She’s breathing heavily, and she has a strained look to her face. Her brow is furrowed, and her lips are pinched together tightly. It takes half a second to remember why I gave in to her asinine request to keep our relationship outside of the office private.

“Okay, babygirl. It’s okay.” I pull her into my arms again, laying a chaste kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I won’t lose control like that again.”

Sugar pulls away enough so she can level me with a shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yes, baby, really. I told you that I’d take whatever you would give me. I meant it. You’re not ready for people at the office to know about us, and I will respect your wishes, even if they clash with my own desire for the whole world to know that you’re mine.”

She giggles and throws her arms around my neck, kissing me enthusiastically. My dick thickens behind my zipper again. God, this woman is going to be the death of me. I gently push her away, laughing at her pout.

“I’m glad you’re happy again. I hate seeing your tears.”

She lifts one eyebrow. “I thought you liked it when I cry?” She attempts a sassy tone, but it comes out a lot more serious than she meant.

“There is a difference between making you cry because I spanked your naughty bottom and making you cry because you’re upset or hurt.”

Sugar gives me a bright smile. “As long as you know there is a difference.”

I hate that her past has made her feel the need to clarify something that should be a given. It’s true that most dominants enjoy seeing their submissive’s tears. We are, by nature, sadists—some more so than others. And most submissives have a masochistic streak in them. Not all, but most. There is a huge difference in making your submissive cry during a scene and doing something to physically or emotionally cause her pain outside of a scene.

One is consensual, and the other is abuse.

“Of course, I do.” I lightly kiss her already kiss-swollen lips.

A minute later, we are parked outside what looks like the backside of an old office building but is actually one of the finest kept secrets in the city. The Alley Cat is the best place in the entire city to come for a low-key, yet delicious lunch or if you’re looking for a beer after a long day at the office and some greasy bar food. It’s a mix of old school pub and fine dining that can’t be topped by even the most world-renowned chefs.

The owners do absolutely no advertising. It’s a well-known secret amongst native New Yorkers. The locals keep the place more than busy, but also respect that this is a local haunt and don’t want it overrun with tourists. Sugar gives the building a suspicious look as I lead her toward the alley entrance that gave the restaurant its name. It’s not really an alley. More like a wide alcove, but a trick of light and shadow makes it appear to be a gloomy alleyway. It serves its purpose in keeping the secret of the Alley Cat’s greatness.

“Where are we?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

She grips my hand a little tighter and follows me into the gloom. As soon as the door to the restaurant opens, she relaxes. “The entrance to the place is like a cautionary tale. I never would’ve stumbled in here on accident.”

“That’s precisely the point. Oliver! It’s been forever since you’ve darkened our ominous doorway,” Georgette says with a wink. “How’s your mother?”

Georgette has been at the Alley Cat since day one. Believe it or not, my mother was a waitress here once upon a time. The classy well-to-do woman she is now is a far cry from the broke college kid she once was. “Would Eloise Titan-Rose be anything but fabulous?”

Georgette gives a husky laugh. “This is true.” She pulls out a couple of menus and leads us to one of the many vacant booths. I’m not fooled by the nearly empty restaurant. Within the next hour, this place will be packed with the small waiting area shoulder-to-shoulder people waiting for a seat.

We order burgers with thick-cut fries. Sugar orders a cookies and cream milkshake and dances in her seat as she happily slurps the shake. “This is delicious.”

Our conversation flows smoothly as we eat. We talk about Fairyville and how she’s loving that she’s heading up the project.

“I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”

Sugar chews her lip, nervously. “I’m not sure I’m ready for you to see it just yet. It’s not finished…”

I reach across the table and rest my hand on top of hers. “I’m sure it’s great. No one expects a first draft to be perfect. There will always be things that need to be tweaked along the way.”

Sugar scrunches up her nose. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?” I ask with a smile, remembering how much it bothered her that her sketch of me wasn’t just so. She sat quietly on my lap as she fixed each imperfection in her sketch until it was a picture-perfect match. Sugar is an amazing artist because she’s a perfectionist.

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