Page 38 of Dolls & Daggers
“We didn’t really get along. He always made me feel like I was a burden. My mom took it hard, though.She wouldn’t get out of bed for days at a time. She didn’t know how to do anything around the house. Dad paid the bills, managed their accounts, fixed things when they broke. She felt like her life was over. And while she was grieving… she sort of forgot about me.”
I think about my own childhood. About how my motherneverleft me alone. I don’t know which of us had it worse.
I want to pull her close, but Dove clings to the pillow in her lap like a lifeline, twirling her hair as she continues.
“That fall, I turned fourteen and started high school. Everyone was nice at first. Understanding. They let it slide when I didn’t want to participate in class. Kids gave condolences in the halls. Teachers asked about my mom. But no one knew that I was taking care of myself. No one really cared to look that closely. Not untilhim.”
Her voice cracks, and my hands clench. A lump forms in my throat because I already know the rest of the story without her having to say a word. But I let her continue anyway because I have a feeling she’s never told her account to anyone who wanted to truly listen.
“He was everyone’s favorite English teacher. Funny, smart, kind… handsome. All the girls had a crush on him. And I felt…honoredwhen he started paying attention. At first, they were just little things. He’d ask how I was instead of my mom or if I needed anything for school. Then he told me he was impressed with my writing. Said I had talent. Asked if I’d ever considered pursuing it as a career, and offered to give me private tutoring lessons. Honestly, one of the only reasons I even became a writer was to spite him.” Dove angrily wipes her tears from her cheeks and snorts a laugh. “When everything was said and done, he told me I’d amount to nothing, but look at me now, Mr. Patterson!”
I scoot closer and rest a hand on her knee, stroking gently in what I hope is a comforting manner.
“Anyway, I was elated. So, I said yes. It started with tutoring after school, then late-night sessions, then spending time at his house. By the time I realized how wrong it was, I was nearly seventeen.” She sniffs. I make a mental note to find out everything I can about this guy.
If the Doll can do it, maybe I can too. Perhaps it’s not about facing what happened to me but ensuring it doesn’t happen to others. Maybe I can start that journey by rectifying Dove’s stolen past.
“He knew I needed a father figure, so he stepped in and groomed me. For a year and a half, he walked that line between innocent and wrong. And once hecrossed it,” she exhales sharply, “he took most of my firsts. He ruined ‘good girl’ for me. I think I would’ve really liked that sexually, too.” She pouts, forcing a joke because it’s what she has to do to cope with the tragedy.
Dove meets my gaze, softening when she sees the unshed tears in my eyes. “Don’t cry for me, Songbird. I’m not worth?—”
I yank the pillow from her lap and pull her into mine, hugging her fiercely. “You’re wrong, Dove. You are worth it.”
She shudders against me, throwing her arms around my neck as she tightly returns my hug. We’re nearly in the same position I was in with the Doll last weekend, but I know without a doubt I’d rather be here with Dove than with the stranger I admire.
When she pulls back, I smooth the tears from her face with my thumbs. Even sitting, I’m taller than her, and I can’t help it when my dick grows hard beneath her, ready to say hello to the real thing instead of getting jerked off to the thought of her.
Her eyes drop to my lips. She licks her own.
Not the best time for our first kiss. I hate that Hunter’s lips have been on hers tonight, and I hate that the same pink lips I’ve agonized over for weeks now just told me a tale that rivals my own.
It’s not the time for intimacy.
Yet, as our breaths mingle, the space between us disappears. Gently, I cup her cheeks and guide her to me, tasting her for the first time. She tastes every bit as sweet as she looks, like candy and tequila, with a hint of citrus from the shots earlier. A reminder that she’s had a lot to drink.
“Stop overthinking it, Songbird, andkissme,” she demands, winding her fingers through my hair.
She attacks my lips with a fervor that forces my eyes shut as I cling to her—to her scent and taste and the feel of her in my arms. So small and light and easy to escape from if I needed to.
So perfect.
She licks the seam of my lips, seeking entrance, and rocks against my erection. The tension shifts—from sexual to anxious. I pull back, hands firm on her shoulders.
She giggles. “What? Trying to make me work for it?”
I loosen my hold. Allowing her to nip at my lips as I say, “I… I don’t like kissing… with tongue.”
Dove blinks. “What? You afraid I’ll try to bite it off?”
Running my hands down her sides and underneath my jacket, I rub the soft fabric of her dress with rough strokes. “It just grosses me out.”
“Why?” Her question is genuine, and she stopsmoving, hands steady on my chest while she waits for my answer.
“I don’t know. They’re… long.” I realize how stupid I sound and try to distract her by kissing down her throat.
When I get to her collarbone, she drops her mouth to the base of my throat. “Of course they are. They’re for licking.” Her mouth traces a slow line upward. “And tasting.” She presses an open-mouthed kiss on the pulse point below my ear before grabbing my chin and turning my face to her. “And kissing.”
Kiss me now, Songbird! Just like I taught you!
