Page 74 of Ward

Aidan

Ishutdownmy laptop and massage my tired eyes. It’s been another marathon workday, what with the new app rollout and Matthew’s insistence that the development team test the software again on all platforms before next week’s release. My back aches from sitting at my desk since noon. I could use a stiff drink, or something soft and pink to spank.

Jen knocks on the open door to my office.

“Unless you have anything else for me, I’ll be heading home.” Shortly after the fire, we finally sat her down for a frank discussion about the nature of mine and Grace’s relationship.

Needless to say, she was taken aback, and insisted on speaking privately with Grace. Whatever they discussed seems to have eased her concerns because she’s no longer giving me the stink eye.

“Nothing else, Jen. You go on home to Ethan. The rest can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Pushing up from my desk, I brace for the pang in my chest. My cracked rib and the bullet graze on my thigh stopped hurting months ago, but the echoes of that night can still be felt in phantom twinges, like memories branded onto my nervous system.

I had Liam buried next to his mother on her family’s plot. Grace and I were the only guests at the funeral. I told Grace she didn’t have to attend, but she said she wanted to—for me, if not for Liam—and I was grateful for her presence. My son was a lot of things. Selfish, cruel, vindictive. He may not have been my biological child, but I’d thought about him every day for twenty-two years.

Since the funeral, I’ve made my peace with what happened the night of the fire, and the events that came before.

Now, I look to the future.

The first thing I did was purchase a penthouse in the city so Grace could live close to campus while she was still recuperating. I built her a new dance studio in the room with the tallest windows. By the time we both healed sufficiently, Grace had returned to school full time, immersing herself in English Lit and History, but still on limited duty in her dance classes. We managed a few stolen weekend nights here and there, and as her ankle healed, I began training her in earnest.

She was right, there is no reason for us to keep our sex life and our BDSM play separate. They’re part of us, individually and together.

I walk Jen to the elevator where Grace is saying goodbye to Jasmine. I wait until they’ve both gone before I pull her against me and slant my mouth over hers, appreciating how readily she opens to accept my tongue.

Since Grace’s school uses the winter holidays for recitals, shows, and fundraising events, they allow an entire week off for Thanksgiving. I’ve had Grace at my mercy since I picked her up the first Friday, testing and extending the tolerances she’s been building, seeing her take to full immersion like the champion she is. I know she’s eager to play tonight, and I promised her we’d try something more intense.

“Are you ready, little one?”

She flashes that megawatt smile I can’t get enough of.

“Yes, please,” she says.

I grip her waist with both hands and kiss her forehead. “Go to the bedroom and take off your clothes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

While she’s getting undressed, I head to the study to pour myself a splash of whiskey. Knowing she’s waiting for me sends a flood of heat straight to my cock. I bide my time, sipping leisurely at my drink.

The longer I make her wait, the more sensitive she’ll be to my touch.

She’s already kneeling at the end of the bed when I enter the room, which is exactly where I want her.

I unbuckle my belt, and she wets her lips. Disrobing for Grace feels like unwrapping a present, each new swath of exposed skin a gift to her eager gaze. I stroke her face and neck, her rosy cheeks, then slide my thumb between her lips.

Her tongue is soft and wet, and I can’t wait another second to feel her lips around me.

I lose my shirt and then my slacks, freeing my cock and balls from my underwear. Grace opens her mouth obediently. She’s aching to please me, and her earnestness sends a shot of adrenaline straight to my dick. I rub the head over her lips, glossing them with precum.

Her angel-soft tongue slips out to taste me. I groan as my balls tighten.

“Take me as far back as you can, little one.”

I wedge my cockhead into her mouth. She’s a hungry little thing, bobbing back and forth along my shaft, accepting more with every go. My hand closes around a fistful of golden hair, as I watch my shaft glide between her lips.

“I think you love sucking my cock, little one.”

She wraps a hand around my shaft and eases off me to say, “I do, Sir.”

“What do you love most about it?” I pet the side of her face. She presses a gentle kiss to the tip, the same way she might kiss something delicate. My heart swells as my cock aches, and my inner sadist vows to make her pay for teasing him.

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