Page 9 of Slash
The simple praise made Kayleigh beam, and Nicole found herself thinking about the romance novels she'd devoured over the years. The ones where strong, dominant men took charge and made everything better. She'd always thought they were fantasy, too good to be true.
But watching Slash guide her daughter through making pancakes with the same military precision he probably applied to everything else, Nicole found herself wondering if maybe, just maybe, she'd been wrong.
"You're staring," Savannah murmured beside her.
"I'm not staring," Nicole protested, but she was. She was staring at the way Slash's hands dwarfed Kayleigh's as he showed her how to flip pancakes. At the patience in his voice when she got flour on everything. At the way he seemed to instinctively know what a little girl needed to feel safe and valued. And how he praised her without hesitation. A lot. He definitely wasn’t stingy with positive reinforcement.
"Perfect flip, princess," he told Kayleigh when she successfully turned a pancake. "You're a natural." The casual endearment made Nicole's heart skip.
"He's good with her," Savannah continued. "Could be with both of you. If you let him."
Nicole's throat tightened. "I can't just let some man take over our lives because he makes good pancakes."
"No," Savannah agreed. "But you could let him take care of you, at least for now. I know it sounds like I’m pushing you. I’m not. I just see how he looks at you and I’ve gotten to know him, actually all of them, since coming here. They are good men. Honorable. Strong. Protective. And, I can see the way you are looking at him."
"How am I looking at him?" Nicole asked, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.
"Like you're drowning and he's the first solid ground you've seen in a year," Savannah said gently. "And honey, there's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes we need someone to pull us to shore."
Before Nicole could respond, a commotion erupted from the main room of the clubhouse. Voices raised in anger; the scrape of chairs being pushed back. Slash immediately stepped in front of Kayleigh, his entire body language shifting from gentle to lethal in the space of a heartbeat.
"Stay here," he ordered Nicole, his voice carrying the kind of authority that brooked no argument. "Both of you."
But Nicole was already moving, maternal instinct overriding everything else. "Kayleigh, come here baby?—"
"No." The single word stopped her cold. Slash's eyes had gone flat and dangerous, the scar on his face standing out white against his suddenly pale skin. "You stay put. I’ll handle this."
"She's my daughter?—"
"And she's under my protection." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper, but it carried more weight than shouting would have. "That means you follow my rules, little girl. Or people get hurt."
The endearment should have offended her. Should have made her bristle with independence and feminist outrage. Instead, it sent heat flooding through her veins and made her knees weak.
Little girl.
God help her, but she wanted to be someone's little girl again. Wanted someone else to make the hard decisions and shoulder the responsibility and tell her everything was going to be okay.
"Okay," she whispered.
Something shifted in Slash's expression, surprise and approval warring with the cold readiness for violence. "Good girl. Stay with Savannah. I'll be right back."
As he strode out of the kitchen, Nicole sank into one of the chairs, her hands shaking.
"Breathe," Savannah said gently, rubbing her back. "It's probably nothing serious. These guys are super competitive and it’s probably a game of chess gone wrong or pool. It’s literally nothing. I’ve not seen Slash respond like that before. Interesting."
But Nicole wasn't thinking about whatever was happening in the main room. She was thinking about the way Slash had looked at her when she'd submitted to his authority. Like she'd given him something precious. A gift he'd been waiting for his entire life. A little boy on Christmas morning, seeing a bike under the tree with a big bow.
"What's happening to me?" Nicole whispered, pressing her palms against her heated cheeks. "I don't even know him, and I'm already..."
"Already what?" Savannah prompted gently.
"Already imagining what it would be like to be his," Nicole admitted, the words barely audible. "To really be his little girl. To let him make the rules and know they'd keep me safe instead of trapped. God, what's wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong with you," Savannah said firmly. "You're a submissive who's been forced to be dominant for survival. You're exhausted from being strong all the time. And you've just met someone who sees that in you and wants to give you what you need. That's not wrong, Nicole. That's recognition."
"I'm in so much trouble," she whispered.
Savannah's laugh was soft and understanding. "Yeah, you are. But the good kind of trouble, I think."
