Page 28 of Wicked William

Chapter Twelve

William

Maisy lights out ofthe shop pretty fast as soon as she’s cleaned up, and I take my time with a new, more detailed sketch, wanting to give her a head start home. She’s freaking out.

I don’t need to be a psychic to figure that out.

The sketch takes a life of its own as I imagine what her herb shop would look like. Would she want to serve tea also? Or just sell the leaves? Hell, she probably wants to read the damn leaves.

Maybe she’ll have a little corner set up for readings. I saw a round crystal ball in her room. And some cards that looked like tarot, but all the pictures were of crows.

None of that makes sense to me. Not much about Maisy does. Not her psychic intuition. Not her penchant for moving around like she’s worried if she stays in place too long, she’ll lose herself.

The only time I know I understand her completely is when I’m in her pussy. She’s not running then. She gives herself over to me completely. A beautiful submission I never realized I craved from a woman.

Not any woman, I guess. Her. Just her.

Maisy has messed up my carefully controlled life and thrown me right back into the mindset of the man I was ten years ago—one of the wild, unruly Duke brothers.

And I don’t care. Not really. Maybe unleashing that guy isn’t the worst thing in the world. Ideally, I’ll stay out of jail this time, but I don’t have to be in control all the time, do I?

Maisy doesn’t seem to mind. I can be both the guy who’s home on time for dinner every night and the guy who bangs her in public.

I’ve got layers.

Maybe the age difference isn’t so bad. We’re obviously sexually compatible. I could probably get used to her crystals and psychic visions. I don’t see myself performing any midnight rituals under a full moon or anything, but I can believe she has a strong intuition and an interesting fashion sense.

I’d like to think I could even be good for her.

What am I saying? She’s already got one foot out the door. I don’t need to know her history to know she’s scared of settling down. Once she figures out how to save me from her premonition, she’ll probably load up that Cadillac and drive out of town looking for the next man’s life to throw into chaos.

Unless I can give her something she can’t find on the open road—a home, a place to land and call her own. Something stable and secure, but not confining. Something she can trust. Someone who will give her freedom while she’s standing still.

I don’t want to tame her, not even a little. I want to free her, and in the process free a part of me that has been locked away.

I sound like a damn motivational poster.

But if I’m honest with myself, I can admit that I want Maisy in my life. I want her to stay. I want her to be my partner.

I want to be her hero. Her Daddy.

And just like that, my cock is growing.

When I get home, she’s cooking dinner and humming a tune. I want to scoop her up and fuck her right then and there. Which is ridiculous. Wejustdid that. I take a deep breath and try to keep my composure.

“Hey,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her waist and nibbling her neck.

She turns around, a shy smile on her lips. “Hey, you.”

“What are you cooking?” I ask, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.

“Just some stir fry,” she replies, eyes twinkling. “It’s about ready. Open the wine?”

We have a very companionable meal, and then I show her the more detailed drawing of what the herb shop might look like. She gets quiet, withdrawn.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

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