“I hope my dad wasn’t too much of a ball buster,” I said with a small smile.
He chuckled. “He just asked what a guy had to do to score tickets to the Superbowl.”
“The Superbowl, huh? Sounds serious.”
He took a sip of his beer. “I could stand here and bore you with football talk for the rest of the night, or you could just go ahead and agree to go to dinner with me.”
I blew a long breath through pursed lips. “Man. That’s a tough one.” I fake-hesitated then smiled. “Dinner it is.”
Yeah. I was definitely living in the moment.
***
One month later, I walked into my dance studio in the city and flipped on the lights.Mydance studio. Man, that felt good.
I was dating a nice guy. My parents had let me move into the Hampton house. My father gave me this studio. And I hadn’t woken up crying over Lyric in weeks. Life was good.
And then I saw it.
Sitting in the middle of the floor was a solid white rectangular box with a bright red ribbon tied around it.
My heartbeat faltered.
There was no way this was another one of Caspian’s gifts. No one had access to this studio other than my parents and me.Maybe it was from my parents.
I tossed my keys onto the table by the door then walked over to grab the box. The ribbon slid off with ease as I pulled on it, then lifted the box top and removed a layer of white tissue paper.
Underneath the tissue was a thick, flesh-colored dildo inside a clear package labeledClone a Cock.
This was clearlynotfrom my parents.
Taped to the bottom of the dildo was a note—in the same pristine handwriting as the one I’d seen on a breakfast tray once upon a time.
Just a friendly reminder that the only dick that belongs inside you is mine. By the way, congratulations, Little Troublemaker. You made it.
My stomach dropped. A familiar heat began to simmer inside me as I looked down at the gift, at the intricate detail of it, the thickness and length, the full head and all the veins, then back at the label.Clone a Cock.Then back at the note.The only dick that belongs inside you is mine.
I should have known.
Until now, all his gifts had been thoughtful—well, as thoughtful as Caspian Donahue could be—nothing more than nice gestures reminding me he was still here, even though he wasn’t. This was not agesture. This was different. This was territorial. This was him pissing on his tree.
Why now? And whythis, of all things?
Unless he knew about Brady.
Of course, he knew about Brady. Somehow Caspian knew everything.Like the fact that I’d be at the studio this morning and how to get this box inside a locked door.
So what? Who cared if he knew I had a date? Caspian had no power over me. I owed him nothing, and I wasnota tree.
I brought the package to my desk and cut through the thick plastic with a pair of scissors. My fingers wrapped around the thickness as I pulled it from the package. Oh my God. It felt so smooth, so silky, sorealin my hand. My lips parted as I wrapped my fingers around the dildo and imagined the body that went with it. I wondered what he looked like now, how he smelled, how he felt. I was too young and inexperienced to really soak in everything that happened the night I lost my virginity, but now… knowing what I knew now and seeing this, knowing that this was a reflection ofhim, as close to the real thing as it got… dear, sweet baby Jesus. My own fingers wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me anymore.
I thought I was free of him. Now here I was, core throbbing, lips parted, breath erratic, and I knew I would never escape Caspian Donahue.
You didn’t escape someone after you’d given them your soul.