Page 8 of Spoiling Lillian
“Okay.” I’m not sure I’ll like wine, but I’d try it if he wanted me to.
He releases my hands and sits back. “Tell me about your day.” Bryson asks this every time we talk. He always looks and sounds interested to hear the boring details, too.
“I spent several hours at Simone’s. Her friend Natasha came over, too.”
Bryson nods. “I know Natasha. I met her at Surrender one night. I’ve known her Daddy, Jameson, for years. Good guy.”
I’m fascinated by the way Bryson doesn’t flinch when he refers to Jameson as her Daddy. He doesn’t say boyfriend or her man. He calls him her Daddy. I guess it’s because he’s used to the terminology from belonging to a kink club. Even though he’s not a Daddy himself, he definitely doesn’t judge other people or ignore their titles. I’ve heard him refer to the owner as Master Roman. It’s a title. Bryson is respectful.
Bryson takes a sip of his water. “What did you girls do at Simone’s?” He flinches. “Sorry. I should say women or ladies. I’m used to referring to Simone and her friends as Little girls. I mean no disrespect by including you in that particular kink. It suits you, and I’ll admit I’ve started thinking of you as Little even though you have not specifically told me you want to identify as such.”
I clasp my hands in my lap. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
“What? For you to identify as Little? Of course not.”
“But it’s not your thing,” I point out.
“It doesn’t have to be my thing for it to be yours, sweet girl.”
I stare at him, searching his face. I’m not laughing now. This is serious. I really like him. Perhaps I’m being absurd, but I’ve never been attracted to any man before. Bryson is the first. We’re going to be incompatible in the end, and that makes me sad.
“Lillian…” he admonishes. Does the man not realize that he often talks to me like the Daddy he insists he isn’t capable of being?
Finding my brave side, I inhale deeply. “I feel like we’re straddling two worlds here. We have been since we met. But tonight is different. Before, we were two acquaintances who became friends and enjoyed each other’s company. We listened to and supported each other, but now we’re on a date. It doesn’t really matter if I’m Little or not because no matter how much research I do, I can’t see myself wanting anyone to strip me naked, strap me to one of those crosses, and swing a whip at my backside until I have welts on my skin and howl in pain. I can’t give you that, even though it’s what you need.”
Bryson holds my gaze, though his brows furrow slowly. Finally, he draws in a breath. “Lillian, I’m not going to claim to have all the answers. I hear you. I have the same concerns. However, I also really like you, and I want to explore this thing between us. Perhaps we can agree to focus on what we have in common and ignore the elephant in the room for a while.”
I nod. “Maybe. I mean I’d like that, too, but the elephant is huge, and eventually he’s going to fart and stink up the place.” I can’t keep a straight face as those words come out, and suddenly, I’m back to giggling.
Bryson’s eyes are dancing again as he laughs. “See? You’re so refreshing; I can’t get enough of you.”
I can see that. But how long will it last before the fart drives us both running in opposite directions?
Chapter 4
Bryson
* * *
Dinner is delightful. Lillian and I never run out of things to say. I didn’t expect we would since we easily talk non-stop nearly every evening without a lull in the conversation. But talking on the phone and being with someone in person can be a totally different animal.
It’s impossible to take my eyes off Lillian. She’s stunning. And it’s not just her appearance. That’s only a small part of why I’m staring at her. It’s her bubbly personality, the way her eyes light up when she tells me a story, the way she licks her lips in between bites and dabs them with her napkin.
Lillian is a gem. I know from what she’s told me that she wasn’t always like this. It’s a new side of her. Until she moved out from under the oppressive thumb of her parents, she wasn’t free to laugh and relax.
I’ve learned that her sister left home four years ago when Lillian was seventeen. Lillian was forced to deal with her parents alone for all this time. She genuinely tried to be the good daughter when she was forced to step onto the pedestal after Simone left. She might have even been able to continue doing so if her parents hadn’t decided she should marry someone of their choosing. That was the last straw. She took off from Chicago to seek out Simone here in Seattle.
They are as thick as thieves now that they’ve reunited. I’ve questioned Lillian’s lifestyle preferences many times. She’s exploring. That’s expected and totally acceptable. But what are the chances both sisters are Little? That’s like a needle in the proverbial haystack.
But is it? As I watch Lillian talk, I change my mind about the odds. Both women grew up in a repressive environment. Why wouldn’t they jump at the opportunity to explore their inner Little?
“…After we finished coloring at the kitchen table, we had lunch. Camden cooked for us. He made finger sandwiches. He even cut the crusts off.”
I can’t stop smiling. I doubt I ever will when I’m with her. Cutting the crusts off is one in a long list of things I’m certain her mother or nanny or cook never did. They didn’t let Simone and Lillian be kids.
“Camden’s a good guy. It’s obvious to me he would do anything for Simone.”
Lillian chews another bite of her steak and swallows. Her manners are ridiculously impeccable. Not surprising, but I kind of hate that it’s so ingrained in her. It’s not a conscious effort at all. She went to etiquette classes. Sheesh. Her elbows never touch the table. She’s sitting ramrod straight. She dabs her lips. I don’t know a thing about the proper use of utensils, but the way she cuts her food, shifts her fork, and even how she sets it on the plate between bites is all deeply rooted in habit.
