Page 16 of Chasing Amber

“Do you want to talk about what spurred this on?”

“Nope.”

Ben chuckles. “Why don’t you just take her in hand already? Daddy her. I bet a good hard spanking would go a long way toward helping her see things for what they are.”

He might be right, but I’m not sure. If he’s wrong, it could go very badly. I scratch my forehead. “I don’t know. What if it backfires?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think it will. Sometimes, especially lately, she’s so Little I feel like she’s crying out for attention—the kind of attention only a Daddy Dom can provide. How convenient is it that the man she won’t admit she’s in love with is a Daddy?”

God, I hope he’s right—that last part, anyway. Otherwise, I’m a schmuck.

Ben slaps me on the back. “Come on inside. Alice made lunch. Giant cheesesteaks for us. Strange tiny tea sandwiches without crusts for the girls. Cassandra had very specific ideas, and she spent about an hour chattering with Alice about the tea party.”

“And Alice had everything on hand to indulge her? She didn’t have much notice.”

Ben nodded. “Alicealwayshas everything on hand. She’s a genius in the kitchen. We are blessed.”

I follow Ben into the house. Alice and her husband, Freud, are in the kitchen. Freud manages the outside of Spence’s home while Alice manages the inside. They’re like family. They live in the apartment above the garage. They’re also extremely accepting of the particular kink practiced in this house and love having Cassandra to worship and spoil.

Freud nods in greeting. “Isaac.”

I nod back.

Alice beams at me. “So glad you’re here. Cassandra has been telling me she wanted to have a tea party for weeks. I thought I was going to have to set Freud up as Cassandra’s companion.” She chuckles.

Freud smirks. “I’d do anything for the Little darling, but tea parties are a stretch.”

Ben hands me a bottle of water. “I’d offer you a beer. I bet you could use one, but you would turn me down.”

I nod. He’s right. I rarely drink. I used to have a beer or two when I wasn’t working, but I’m always working now, and I would never drive Amber anywhere after drinking, nor would I want my guard to be down even an inch.

The kitchen smells amazing, which isn’t a shocker. The scent of steak, onions, and peppers wafts from the stove. There is a giant platter of triangular sandwiches and tiny cakes on the island. I’m grateful I don’t have to eat what looks like cucumber on rye and pimento on white. I like both, but I would be starving afterward unless I ate fifty of them.

Amber only came out of her studio once this morning, and that was to inform me we would be visiting Cassandra at noon. She did so in as few words as possible before heading for her bedroom, where I soon heard the shower running.

The other fun fact is that I saw inside her bedroom before we left. Her bed was littered with clothes, which means she spent some time trying to decide what to wear. Amber never stresses over what to wear. She nearly always wears torn jeans, paint-splattered T-shirts or tank tops, and Converse.

Today, she’s wearing skinny jeans with cuts on the thighs, a pink tank top, and pink Converse. None of the clothes are covered in paint splatters. That’s unlike her, and I didn’t know she even owned clean sneakers, let alone pink ones. I’ve never seen them in two years. What else does my girl own that I’m unaware of?

I draw in a breath and take a sip of water. I need to stop thinking of her asmy girl. It’s going to slip out of my mouth one of these times, and she might kill me with her bare hands.

What I also noticed is that every one of her amazing curves was highlighted for me. I’m certain I stared for a second too long when she joined me in the living room, ready to go. The tank top was tight. She had on a matching lacy pink bra. I could see the straps and the edges of her cleavage. The jeans were made of stretchy material and molded to her fantastic ass and thighs.

The only thing relatively normal was that her hair was up in a ponytail. It nearly always is. It’s thick, brown, wavy hair that I’ve pictured running my hands through for two years.

Alice bustles around us. “I’m going to take this upstairs. The girls are having their tea party in Cassandra’s room.”

I’ve seen Cassandra’s “room.” Spence had it designed specifically for her long before he made a single move to bring her into the fold. It’s very feminine with white furniture and soft teals, greens, and blues—Cassandra’s favorite colors.

I wonder if Amber would ever consent to having a Little room where she could spend time escaping the universe. I suspect she would want it to be a rainbow of colors. My girl doesn’t seemto have one color she prefers, but she likes bold splashes—often literal ones caused by paint.

Freud excuses himself to head out, leaving me alone with Ben in the kitchen, so I decide to ask him a few questions. “Does Cassandra sleep in her room?” It’s a very personal question, but I don’t think Ben will be offended. I’m curious how much of Cassandra’s time is spent in Little space.

Ben chuckles. “Fuck no. We all sleep in Spence’s room.”

I smirk. Of course, they do.

“She does spend a lot of time in there, though, and takes naps there. It’s her special place.”

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