Chapter Two
Was standing here listening to Jethro Del Bosque talk on the phone to someone he clearly liked more or less torturous than being at the first of her parents’ two annual holiday parties?
Tall, rugged, salt-and-pepper-haired, square-jawed, good-humored, and kind Jethro Del Bosque. Like every Daddy fantasy she’d ever had come to life.
Less torturous, Sable decided, but barely. Too bad she was going to have to make an appearance at that affair tonight as well.
She’d made sure to volunteer for clean-up duty so she’d have to spend as little time as possible there making small talk with all the people she was supposed to like but who she actually despised. And with her parents who would no doubt have something to say about…well, everything. That’s just how they were.
Duncan and Deirdre Hollingsford had opinions on everything, as well as that rock solid certainty of wildly rich people that their opinions were the only ones that mattered. That gene had not gotten passed onto Sable. At least they wouldn’t be able to complain that she was late; she’d been doing charity work and even her parents couldn’t find fault with that.
Who was she kidding? They were experts at nit-picking. Freakishly talented at criticism. Especially of her.
She sighed and threw the last of the wipes in the trash. Jethro was sweeping the floor and there was nothing left to do. Unless she wanted to mop. She could mop. But then she’d have to be near him for longer and…
It was hard to look at the man. No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it was hard to look away once she’d started and she couldn’t be caught staring because then he’d say something nice or funny and she would die. Definitely not, say, respond like a normal person would.
Sable had long ago given up being normal but she hadn’t given up her pride.
She was about to go look for a mop and a bucket despite her reservations when her phone buzzed in her pocket. When she took it out, there was a text from Hudson. Hudson who was her Dominant-for-hire she’d been having extremely private sessions with every other week for the past three years. He almost never texted unless it was to reschedule one of their assignations.
Pocketful, Are you busy? I need a favor, big time. I need an elf to help hand out presents at the party tonight and I think I remember you saying something about helping out at charity Christmas events? I know you don’t do public stuff at the club, but the proceeds from the party tickets ARE for charity, and I would be forever in your debt if you could do this for me. You can wear a mask if you don’t want people to see your pretty face and we’ll come up with an elf name. And to sweeten the deal, I’ll do a session with you that lasts the same amount of time you spend here, gratis. Pretty please?
Sable reread the message twice.
And still felt like she was going to puke. It wasn’t the three cupcakes she’d snagged and bolted during the five minute break she’d taken from elf duty an hour ago. Probably.
Damn right she never went to the club aside from private sessions with Hudson. And there was a reason for that. More like ten thousand reasons. So, no. Definitely no. Absolutely not. Except…
It would get her out of more time at her parents’ party. Maybe they’d finish so late she wouldn’t have to go at all. And hadn’t she always wanted to see what the club looked like, sounded like,feltlike with people in it besides her and Hudson?
Plus she knew it was a littles’ party. Had seen the signs around the club for weeks and weeks. Had stared at them longingly. Forlornly. The poster said there would be cookie decorating, holiday crafts, and presents handed out by Santa himself. It sounded like fun.
Yes, she’d done some age play with Hudson but not a lot because it seemed silly to waste their limited time together doing things she could do alone like coloring. Except she couldn’t do those things alone, not really. Not the same way it felt to do them with Hudson anyway.
No one would blink an eye at a goddamn elf decorating cookies or making construction paper wreaths or listening to someone read a holiday picture book. If she got the chance. She’d probably be busy handing out presents to the lucky littles who were at the party as guests instead of volunteers.
But still, it could be fun, right? Or it could make her more miserable. Would it really turn the dial much, though? How bad would a little more misery be? She already worked in a pit of despair, came home to a wasteland of despondency.
She wasn’t by nature a risk-taker but she felt like the possibility of an ounce of joy Hudson was dangling over her like mistletoe was worth a shot. If nothing else, she could get one of his giant, all-consuming hugs and a free session out of the deal. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford them, but her parents had access to her accounts and it was difficult to squirrel away the money so they wouldn’t know, or god forbid,askwhat those very regular payments were for.
Oh, nothing, Mom and Dad. Just paying a pro top to tie me up, beat me, and do all sorts of other kinky shit with. You know, the usual.
Yeah, that’d go over like a ton of bricks. It was decided then.
I’ll be there in half-an-hour.
Her phone vibrated in her hand with his response within seconds.
You’re truly the very best girl, Pocketful. I’ll see you soon.
Hudson’s response made her feel all warm and fuzzy, and she knew it was only a fraction of how good it would feel when he praised and petted her in person.
Sable took one last look around the room and had the urge to leave without saying anything to Jethro. If he were on the other side of the room, she might. But she wasn’t a coward, precisely, and she didn’t want him to think she was that rude or odd. So she shook the softness from her expression and posture and marched over to where he was squatting and sweeping a pile of dirt and detritus into a dust pan.
The man’s thighs were out of control. Thick and strong and…thick. Did he haul and plant everything at his garden center himself? Wouldn’t surprise her. Not with those ridiculous biceps and and perfectly shaped glutes and Jesus Christ, it ought to be criminal the way his sweat-soaked white t-shirt clung to the muscles of his back and broad shoulders.
She cleared her throat to get his attention and give herself time to marshal her thoughts into a semblance of intelligent sentences. Something about him scrambled her brain. Okay, lots of things about him. Not the least of which were the dark brown eyes gazing up at her from under thick, black brows.