Chapter Seven
Ichoose you.
That’s what Saoirse had said.
I choose you. I choose you to take care of me, you to discipline me, you to help me. I choose you to trust, you to hand myself over to.
Arthur didn’t feel great about how he’d obtained this consent. It was dubious at best. Would never stand up in a court of law because there was no question that Saoirse was under duress. Her choices were being checked into rehab or him.
But something about her—her body language or her wide eyes or perhaps the way she hadn’t screamed at him that he was fucking insane and she was going to call the goddamn cops on his filthy old-man perverted ass—made him feel like perhaps this was a choice she’d just been waiting to have on offer. That she would’ve jumped at it before but this was the first time it’d come along.
There was something he should make sure of though.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yes,” she said, not hesitating or dissembling at all.
“How much?” he demanded, regretting the sharpness of his tone, but Saoirse didn’t blink.
“I met friends at seven. I had a glass of wine with dinner, and two cocktails while we were at the bar.”
Three drinks over seven hours. And she wasn’t a lightweight.
“Are you intoxicated? I won’t be mad if you say yes. We’ll simply repeat this discussion once you’ve had a chance to sleep it off.”
But instead of saying yes whether it was true or just because she wanted to punt this conversation until it was daylight, Saoirse rolled her lips between her teeth and shook her head.
“I mean, I can tell I’ve had something to drink, but I’m not drunk. Not even buzzed. Why, you want to give me a sobriety test?”
For the first time, Arthur allowed his nerves to betray him and shoved his glasses onto his forehead, rubbed the space between his brows, righting the black frames before he spoke. “If I thought you were inebriated, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I would’ve put you to bed already. You aren’t glassy-eyed, you haven’t stumbled, you aren’t slurring your words. But I suspect you’re quite the expert at hiding how much you’ve had to drink. I know you wouldn’t lie to me, though.”
Saoirse’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink but he was confident that was about him calling her on her drinking, not about her lying. Whatever else she might be, Saoirse had always been a shitty liar so she’d given up trying a long time ago. Hopefully she wasn’t planning to be a criminal defense attorney. He was glad someone did it, but Arthur was also glad it wasn’t him.
Saoirse shook her head. “I wouldn’t. Even if I could.”
“Good girl,” he said reflexively and her lips parted, bright blue eyes widening.
He was so totally screwed. Had he secretly been hoping she’d call him a sick fuck and run away from him so he wouldn’t have to grapple with what kind of man it made him to be lusting after his ex-wife’s daughter?
When he put it that way…ugh. But this didn’t have to be sexual. Sure, he wanted it to be. Wanted to see Saoirse naked, prone and spread eagle on this marble checkerboard foyer floor waiting to be fucked. Wanted to finger fuck her pussy while she was over his lap after he’d pinked up her backside. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her sweet pussy and inhaling the musky scent of her arousal. But he could control himself. He could offer her the discipline she clearly needed,craved, without letting his dick take over. Needs must.
And now? What the fuck was he supposed to do now? In some ways it felt completely natural. He didn’t usually go for all that hocus pocus mumbo jumbo woo woo nonsense, but he could swear he got a vibe from certain people.
It was a feeling that said they were on the same wavelength, and he felt that way now. Had felt a pale approximation of it since he’d known Saoirse as a teen. He’d figured then that he liked her; she was smart and clever and they both preferred to read in the library over attending parties. Whereas Renata would go out and socialize every night if she could, liked to be the belle of the ball.
Now it turned out that perhaps there had been more to it then. Or perhaps not. Who knows when Saoirse had realized these things about herself? Maybe she still hadn’t, not completely.
The caveman part of him beat his chest and wished to be her first, introduce her to this world where pain was pleasure and there could be so much pleasure it turned to pain. He wanted to show her the satisfaction that could be gleaned from handing yourself over to another person’s care. His higher reasoning knew it didn’t matter.As long as you’re her last, it whispered, because it was also an asshole.
And he was being one too, keeping the poor girl in suspense.
No, he had no regrets and he didn’t want her thinking he would take it back. Not if she was on the same page.
“Then I suppose it’s time for you to face the consequences of your actions.”