Page 6

Tabitha

This was not her idea of fun.

Sitting in the living room of her former target’s hotel room, just a couple of doors down from Grit’s, Tabitha continued her staring match with the sleepy-eyed Little sucking quietly on her thumb.

Callie wore a panda onesie, the eared hood pulled up over her dark hair. Owlish gray eyes watched Tabitha’s every movement as though she might go postal and start hacking the nearest person to death with one of the crayons on the table between them.

That wasn’t her style, of course; she’d been taught better than that, other than if she needed to make a gory statement or make an example of someone. It was a rarity—she preferred the art of carving clean lines with a flourish—but ruthlessly utilizing a living body as an oversized pin cushion was on her resume.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been in this room, however briefly. A quick pass through to the bedroom, where she’d hidden and done recon on Elias when he’d been set firmly in her sights.

The amount of toys scattered around was slightly disturbing to her sense of self. Part of her wanted to pick up those crayons and lose herself in the monotony of filling random line drawings with color. The rest of her was just perturbed by the notion a woman—one her own age, no less—voluntarily regressed into her most vulnerable state.

Tabitha often faced this conundrum whenever she was in Alicia’s vicinity. Atticus’s wife fully encompassed the word Little despite being mother to a horde of children and a doting spouse to her husband.

From across the room, she felt the uneasy tension radiating from the two men talking with Grit. One was a giant Nordic-looking God; the other looked as though he permanently walked around with a stick lodged somewhere in his rectum.

Evander and Elias.

Evander—ridiculously tall, blond, and built—had welcomed her into his temporary home after a brief, intense study. His lips had quirked behind his beard as he took in her oversized shirt and the boxer shorts peeking out from under the hem, then her bare feet.

“I said comfortable,” he’d said to Grit with a chuckle, then waved them in.

She definitely wasn’t feeling comfortable. In fact, she was trying to decide if this was some sort of payback for taking the hit on Elias, or a ploy to let her guard down so they could drug her and ship her back to Arizona to her brother.

Grit would have already done it, she tried to reason with herself. He’d had enough opportunities to slip a needle under her skin when she was sleeping, or something into her drink. God, she’d left herself completely open to attack by surrendering to him.

The thumb popped out of Callie’s mouth. “Someone paid you to kill my Daddy?”

Hmm, as far as opening conversations went, she’d heard worse. At least they were skipping the inane small talk. “I don’t get paid until the job’s done.”

“Are you going to kill him?” There was hostility there, simmering under the childlike tone, revealing the adult beneath.

“No.”

Callie pulled her lip between her teeth, worrying it with her teeth for a moment. Her whole demeanor changed then, brightening as she leaned forward to push a coloring book across the table. “My Daddies let me play if I’m a good girl and take a nap without arguing. Does your Daddy make you nap?”

Her gaze flicked over to where Grit drank from a bottle, the cords in his neck standing out as he tipped his head back. “He’s not my Daddy. I’m not…”

“A Little?”

“Yeah.”

A crayon zipped toward her, almost shooting off the table. Callie giggled and picked up a yellow one, flipping open her book and getting to work. “That’s okay. Not everyone is. Daddy Vander was the first person ever who let me be me.”

“You’ve always been Little?”

“For ages and ages, but I had to hide. Daddy Eli says it’s my way of recovering, because my brain grew up too fast.” She smiled beautifully. “I don’t care though. I has two Daddies now, and they love me.”

Yes, that came across clearly during her recon, Tabitha mused, thinking of all the ways the two men had touched the girl. Not just physically—that elicited a shudder—but it was obvious there was a strong bond between the three of them, emotionally, psychologically.

It was one of the main reasons Tabitha hadn’t eliminated Elias when she had the chance… several times. His family was a triangle of strength and love; removing one of those points would have ruined the beauty of it.

She was partial to beautiful things.

She knew Callie’s history, or at least what she’d been able to find out with a quick search. Religious zealot for a father, limp dishcloth for a mother. She’d gotten herself tangled up with a sadistic pseudo-Dom who’d ended up dead as dead could be—shame, really, as Tabitha would’ve enjoyed spending some quality hands-on time with him.

Wishing Grit would change his mind and take her back to his room so she didn’t have to sit here thinking about monsters she couldn’t kill and social etiquette, she shot him a pleading glance.

Without pausing his conversation, he just shook his head slightly.

Asshole. Feeling a pout coming on, she snatched up the blue crayon and imagined shoving it up his nose. Instead, she idly began doodling in the book as Callie relaxed into her presence and started chattering away in that manic way Littles possessed—words tumbling over each other as she switched from one topic to another in the space of a breath.

“…has an idea!”

“Huh?” Startled out of a peaceful reverie, Tabitha lifted her head, blinking to bring her vision back into focus. She watched Callie scramble to her feet, almost tripping over them, and wondered what she’d missed.

“Daddy Vander!” Callie’s voice rose in demand as she ran to him, shimmying up his oversized body like a squirrel ascending a tree. She giggled when his hands cupped her bottom, supporting her, and whispered something in his ear.

Tabitha’s spine tingled in warning when Evander’s dark gaze landed on her, his mouth curving into a smirk. Those tingles became a cold, rigid spear of ice as he shifted slightly, leaning toward Grit to relay whatever hellish idea Callie had just put in his head.

Her captor covered his mouth, fingers stroking his bearded cheek contemplatively while his gaze roamed over her body. The amusement in his stare told her to stand up and leave right now.

“Little tiger,” he said a moment later, gesturing for her to go to him.

She refused to budge. There was a conspiracy forming beneath her nose; she wasn’t going to fall into anyone’s trap when she could see it closing around her. Folding her arms over her chest, she maintained eye contact, beaming fuck you vibes his way.

Damn him and his socializing bullshit. She didn’t need to make friends or expand her circle. Look at her brother—Jasper had gone from being a lone wolf, the scariest Dom in Avalon, to being a domesticated sadist with a submissive wife and two-point-five kids all because he’d made friends.

He’d invited danger and fear into his world, loving Anarchy so much that the loss of her would one day cripple him.

Tabitha refused to become him, as much as she admired his journey. The loss of herself, the child she’d once been and could barely remember now, was a gaping wound she couldn’t heal. She wasn’t going to open herself to more of the same by making herself accessible to other people.

“Tabitha.”

To her consternation, it wasn’t Grit who approached her this time. She felt her muscles tense when Elias walked over to where she sat, crouching down beside her. The blue of his eyes was so different to her own—darker, richer, warmer.

She’d often wondered if the artic blue of her family line was an indication of their nature. Her nature. She’d been selectively bred, after all, to be cold and emotionless, and painstakingly raised in a way that eradicated the natural inner beauty of a child.

Displays of love toward Dominic and Rita, the only people she’d had contact with until she was older, were ruthlessly squashed. Any desire to be held and comforted when nightmares ripped sleep to shreds or Rita’s experiments became so fucking painful it hurt to even think about taking another breath was, she’d learned quickly, simply unachievable.

When Dominic raped her the first time, she’d already been a master in the art of self-soothing. By the time he’d introduced others to his sick games, making her fight his chosen assailants while she was handicapped, she’d been so scarred—physically and mentally—that even self-soothing hadn’t been necessary.

She learned to take the hits, the pain, the beatings and rapes, and suck them down into the black hole where her heart once occupied her chest.

“We appreciate you coming today,” Elias told her in his smooth British accent. “Callie gets bored easily, as you can imagine. It’s good for her to meet new people while we’re stuck in this troubled time. And, I’m guessing, this is not your idea of a pleasant afternoon.”

Instinctively, Tabitha angled her shoulders to make herself more intimidating. “We can cut the bullshit, Elias. Grit set this up because he thinks I need an education in being human.”

“Astute. I expected nothing less from the woman who signed herself up to murder me.” A flicker of a smile ghosted his serious mouth. “Your humanity isn’t in question, I don’t believe. His concerns lie more in your lack of a social safety net.”

She rolled her eyes. “A net turns into a cage quickly. Your wife is cute, Elias. I’m pretty sure either you or Evander, probably both of you, had objections to inviting a psychopath into your home to interact with her.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning forward with devilment in her eyes. “My crazy rubs off on people, you know.”

To her shock, he laughed. Part of her quailed, unsure what to do when the threat of her insanity didn’t work. Usually, her patented crazy face and any mention of her nature was enough to make grown men whimper and scurry away with their tails between their legs.

“I can read people very efficiently,” Elias said slowly as his laugh died to a low chuckle. “Growing up the way I did, making the career choices to get to here, it’s a valuable skillset I developed over many years. Your crazy, as you call it, is your valuable skillset, carefully crafted to protect yourself from whatever hell you face each day. You and my Callie aren’t that different, Tabitha.”

A snort ripped down her nose, derisive and bitter.

“Truly. She spent most of her life being beaten—first by her father, who belted her every Sunday into a bloody mess, spouting religious verses as he tried to beat the devil out of a child who’d never put a foot wrong in her young life. Secondly, by a Dom who masqueraded as something he was not.” He dared—fucking dared—to set one big-palmed hand on her knee. “Being Little, for her, is a culmination of several things. Reclaiming a childhood she lost, protecting herself against anyone who might hurt her again. Some might say she’s crazy—those who don’t understand what she went through, how much bravery it took to not only recover from the physical and mental hell but to flourish despite it.”

“I’m not Little,” Tabitha pointed out, flashing him a savage grin. “I’m a killer.”

“A killer with a conscience.”

She bared her teeth at him. “One who murders for money. Where’s the conscience in that?”

That low, smoky chuckle again. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Fuck, he had her there. While she glowered at him, her sulking evident, she tried to come up with a suitable comeback that didn’t boil down to, “Fuck you.”

“Callie has a big heart. Big enough to love two men equally. She’s sweet and unassuming, always willing to sacrifice her own happiness to please those around her. Perhaps you didn’t notice, but that heart is open to you as well.” He squeezed her knee gently, inciting a need to take his hand and break his fingers—something he was apparently aware of if the look in his eyes was anything to judge. Brave man. Foolish, brave man. “She has a surprise for you, if you’ll accept it. Including people, particularly when they exclude themselves, is one of her gifts, because she understands what it feels like to be left out.”

Tabitha’s shoulders sagged slightly. She wished he’d been more Dom-like, snapping orders and demanding obedience. Sometimes she was a sucker for a polite request—she’d once refrained from snipping off a man’s fingers because he’d asked, ever so politely, not to be parted from his wedding ring.

She’d still taken his life, but his commitment to his wife remained unbroken when his heart stopped beating.

That was why, twenty minutes later, she trudged out of the bedroom with Callie skipping by her side, dressed in a unicorn onesie.

“Doesn’t she look fabulous?” Callie sang as the men rose from the couch.

What she looked like, Tabitha thought grumpily, was a pink horse covered in fucking sparkles and glitter. The hood had ears, a shiny gold horn, and a floppy fringe of rainbow-colored hair. Padded slippers on her feet resembled golden hooves, and there was another rainbow sprouting from her ass in the form of a tail.

If anyone laughed, she was going to stick the horn where the sun didn’t shine.

“Fabulous,” Elias agreed, not a trace of amusement on his face.

Indeed.” The faintest smirk on Evander’s mouth gave him away.

Her gaze flashed to Grit, pinning him with a dare to make fun of her, but to his credit, he just took quiet stock of her attire, gave her a wink, and said, “My little tiger evolved into a beautiful unicorn. Not the kind of tail I imagined for you, but it does give me ideas.”

Callie clapped her hands in delight; Tabitha’s mouth dropped open.

“We’ve decided it might be fun to watch a movie,” Elias commented before she could blow the hood off her onesie with temper. “Little one, why don’t you come with me and get the snacks while Van gathers the supplies for a fort?”

The ensuing squeal of happiness almost perforated every eardrum in the room. “Ohmigosh, Daddy Eli, this is the best day ever! Snacks and a fort?”

“Mmm-hmm, someone’s a lucky girl.”

“Me! I’m the lucky girl!”

Running to him, Callie snagged his hand and started dragging him toward the kitchen, babbling all the while.

“That’s my cue,” Evander murmured, taking the long way around the couch.

His cue for what? Pony races around the coffee table, slapping her ass to make her run faster? Some slap and tickle, giddy up kind of crap?

Grit set his beer bottle down on said table with a dull thump of glass on wood, then approached her with measured caution. The first thing he did was slide a hand beneath the stupid hood and capture her neck in that way she almost loved, almost hated. The one where his fingers put pressure on a place that urged her to tilt her head to the side, expose the vulnerable length of her throat, and fall away into his protection.

Before she could dig that ridiculous notion from her head, roots and all, he bent and skimmed his lips over her cheek. “Thank you for doing this, Tabitha. I know this kind of costume isn’t your usual disguise, but you’ve made Callie happy.”

She scowled at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I dragged you over here and I’m so mean, forcing you to socialize with a Little.” He chuckled, then ran his free hand over her fluffy ass, gently fondling the swinging tail sewn into the back. “I’m not one for animal onesies, but I sure as fuck intend on getting you a butt plug tail for future use. Something I can wrap around my hand and tug while my cock fills your pussy.”

The image he conjured with his words materialized in her brain, sending her back a step. Her on all fours, cheek pressed to the covers, with Grit on his knees behind her. One big hand yanking on a plug, the other pinning her down by her shoulders.

Showing him her full rack of teeth, she shook her head in denial.

“I’ve decided I’m going to be more forthright about my intentions where you’re concerned,” he continued as though she wasn’t sending him silent death threats. “You’re not a virgin, Tabitha, but you have a similar mindset. Rather than being afraid of the unknown, you’re scared of what you’re familiar with. Understandably,” he added when she hissed a protest. “So, you and I are going to reprogram some of those triggers—mainly the verbal ones.”

Punching him in the throat would solve that issue here and now. Talking required breathing, and he’d lose that privilege when she thumped him in his Adam’s apple.

Puffing herself up into fighting mode, she levelled him with a cold, deadly stare. If she heard any of the horrible, debasing shit her father had drowned her in on a regular basis coming from Grit’s mouth, in his voice?

She wouldn’t, couldn’t, be held responsible for what she did.

Hands fisting, she ground out, “How slowly do you want to die, Rory?”

“Oh, I’ve hit a nerve. You only call me Rory when I ruffle your emotions.” Resting his forehead against hers, he confronted her threat with calm authority, not nearly enough wariness in his gaze for her liking. “Growl all you want, little tiger. Sink those claws into me if you feel the need. I’ll still be standing here, ready to hold you when you’re done.”

Goddamn him. The roots of her obsession with him throbbed and extended, stretching their reach out for a firmer hold. At some point, she was going to have to sever them, brutally, if she had any hope of surviving him.

Somehow, it was like he no longer saw her as one of the top contract killers in the country, but simply as a woman. Something she had trouble recognizing half the damn time.

Probably because she didn’t feel like one. From her earliest memory, she hadn’t been treated like anything but an asset. A star pupil, advancing in all her classes through her will to live, even though that had wavered more than once, especially when she developed her female attributes in a more obvious fashion.

No one had given her a sense of being a woman until Grit.

“We’re going to watch a movie, Tabby. My attention isn’t going to be on the screen. It’s going to be on you while you sit on my lap, my cock hard under your ass, with my hands petting you until the shy little pussy hiding between your legs is wet and aching.”

Her breath hitched. “I told you, that only happens with drugs.”

“And I’m telling you, by the time I’m done, you won’t need drugs. You’ll get wet from the sound of my voice or the lightest brush of my skin on yours.” The underside of her jaw prickled beneath his stubble as he kissed her throat. “Maybe one day, you’ll be excited at the thought of me touching you, little tiger.”

She wanted to pat his head and pity his hopeful tone. Didn’t he know she was too broken for one days? Broken and afraid, mired in the thick shell of her protective shield, there weren’t any one days beckoning her forward.

Luckily for her, Evander returned before she answered Grit without thinking through her reply properly. Strong arms laden with blankets and pillows and God only knew what else, he shot her a smile as he walked past.

Actively avoiding Grit’s eyes, she took a step back from him, away from the skim of his beard and the reassuring caress of his hands. The more he touched, the more he petted her, the harder it was to calculate a successful escape plan.

Tiny fragments of her soul seemed to preen under his care, humming in delight whenever he lavished his attention on her. They were shards of the child she’d been, she assumed. The lonely, traumatized young soul who’d never really lived.

Souvenirs of what could have been.

Reminders of what was.

Who she was.

Tabitha watched their host set out the pillows and drag the furniture around—with one hand—to construct the foundation for Callie’s eagerly awaited fort.

It wasn’t in her nature to sit back and let others handle her problems; after all, wasn’t that what Ashford had accused her of so blatantly, using her brothers to get her out of the shit?

Thiswas not the Tabitha Fairfax the world knew and feared. Christ, her peers would piss themselves laughing if they saw her dressed in a unicorn onesie, hanging out with a woman who embraced her inner child fully, watching some animated movie from a pillow fort.

Ireland was calling her name. It was what she needed—space away from her obsession, time to recalibrate her true self, a fucking good hunt for the asshole who thought he could put a hit out on her and not expect retaliation.

Besides, it wasn’t only her ass she was covering, she told herself. Elias might be temporarily off the radar, but it wouldn’t be long until he was back in the crosshairs. She didn’t know if it was a lack of funds postponing his contract, or whether the client wanted her dead and unable to protect Elias first.

She suspected the latter.

Regardless, she was wasting time. The mission always came first. A few weeks hunting down and casing the fucker who was causing so much trouble should alleviate her of this unnatural attraction to Rory McCabe. If she wasn’t careful, he’d lure her into giving him everything she had… including her body.

Callie bounced over from the kitchen, her arms full of enough snacks and drinks to last a week. Beaming, her lips reddened and slightly swollen, she dumped the whole lot enthusiastically on the table and skipped to Evander, who paused in the act of throwing a blanket roof over the framework of his fort.

They kissed without hesitation, Evander bending low to capture his wife’s already kiss-marked mouth with a hum of pleasure. A long, lush kiss that turned Tabitha’s stomach even as she wondered how it might feel to be in Callie’s place, one of Grit’s powerful arms hooking around her back to keep her safe.

And that right there was why she couldn’t afford to be here too much longer. Her sense of self, her independence, her kick ass and take no prisoners attitude were… changing. Softening in the face of Grit’s patience and dominance, acquiescing to a firm voice and an iron will as strong as her own.

She didn’t belong here.

She didn’t belong to him.

“All right, looks like we’re set. Snacks, drinks, fort, friends… what are we missing, sweetness?” The way Evander looked at his wife brought a clutch to Tabitha’s throat; his entire world was in front of him. Wife, husband, world. What more could any man want?

“Movie!” Callie exclaimed. “Can we watch The Dark Crystal, Daddy?”

“That’s not a movie, Callie. I think we should let our guests choose, don’t you?” Eli’s voice held a low note of reprimand, as though reminding her to remember her manners.

Callie huffed softly, then turned and beamed at Tabitha. “You choose first!”

Taken aback by the sudden demand, Tabitha just blinked. A gentle nudge from Grit loosened her useless tongue. “Oh no, I can’t. I’m not really a movie person, honestly. The ones I watch if I have time are… not something you’d enjoy.”

“Callie quite enjoys watching porn,” Evander said nonchalantly, wearing a brutal poker face even Tabitha struggled to decipher.

A shocked gasp, childlike outrage. “Daddy!”

“It’s true,” Elias chimed in. “Our kinky minx.”

Tabitha’s stomach felt hollow. Nausea simmered, threatening to rise up her throat. Skin flashing hot and cold, she took an unsteady step back, her knees almost buckling.

Elias noticed her distress immediately. “We’re only joking, Tabitha. Just teasing.”

Grit’s chest pushed against her back, his arm securing her across the hips. “Tabitha doesn’t have a good relationship with sex. Maybe we should watch something with more blow-‘em-up action than fornication.”

Understanding flickered in the other Doms’ eyes. Awareness.

Hating the fact her biggest weakness, her most hated secret, was on the verge of exposure, Tabitha yanked on her big girl panties, steeled her spine, and did what she did best: put on a performance.

Almost choking on a viciously forced laugh, she dug her nails into Grit’s bare arm and rolled her eyes. “I think that’s on the dramatic side, Grit. Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m averse to sex. I’ve just been too busy doing more important things.”

The room seemed to darken as tension thrummed—firstly from the big body guarding her back, then the answering call from the two men in front of her. Apparently, the three Doms were in tune with each other enough to communicate without speaking, because their whole stance changed.

“Callie, sweetness, why don’t you get settled in the fort with some snacks? We’ll be right with you.” Evander urged his wife along with a hand spanning the small of her back. He gave Grit a warning look. “No belts. Callie’s reactive.”

“I don’t need my belt for this.” Grit’s voice was dark, ominous.

Tabitha had an oh shit moment, resisting as he walked her toward the back of the couch, his bulk not giving her an inch. Her hips bumped the furniture; a hand on the back of her neck bent her over, restraining her effectively.

“I warned you honesty was essential,” he said gruffly. “I told you what liars get, and that, my proud little tiger, was most definitely a fucking lie.”

Blood rushed into the top of her head, the tip of the idiotic horn on the hood scraping the cushions beneath her. The hoof-shaped slippers battered uselessly against his legs. She flailed her arms, more as a distraction as she tried to find the right angle to kick his balls high enough into his throat he’d turn into a soprano.

His feet shifted to the inside of hers, lightly nudging them wider and wider apart until her attempts were almost painful. His grip on her neck was firm, so firm she felt his fingertips biting to the point of bruising, but he didn’t really hurt her.

A tug on the rear of the onesie, the soft whirr of a zipper, brought her head up sharply. “What the hell?”

“It’s a butt flap,” Elias explained helpfully, his tone flat and cold in support of Grit’s decision. “It comes in handy for naughty subs.”

Air brushed over her exposed cheeks, over the flesh between them. Goddamn it, she’d landed herself in another predicament, one she wasn’t going to wriggle out of lightly; that was why Elias stood in front of her, to hold her down if necessary.

Growling in frustration, in anger, Tabitha tried to roll. Her legs tangled with Grit’s, but her efforts to take his feet out from under him failed. “This is a big mistake, Grit. The biggest you will ever make in your sorry—”

Thwack.

Her teeth snicked together mid-sentence. She was not going to forgive him for this, not one bit. Remembering how he’d spanked her previously, how she’d reacted so pathetically, she clenched her jaw until the joints ached and pain ricocheted into spikes through her head.

There wasn’t going to be snot and tears and sniveling apologies.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Threatening me is rude, little tiger. Lying to me is rude—and foolish, because if anyone knows the truth about how you feel about sex, it’s me.” Thwack, thwack, thwack. “If you can’t admit the truth, the truth will admit itself when you least expect it.”

The sharp stings of his palm on her ass blossomed into fire. It sank into her flesh, burning beneath the skin, penetrating into the muscles beneath. The blows came hard and fast, not giving the pain a chance to abate before the next fell.

Feeling her eyes prick with tears, Tabitha squeezed them shut. Fingernails scraping over the couch cushions, she found a precarious hold in the fabric, and—in the way she’d taught herself as a child whenever Dominic’s training became too much to bear—let herself fall into the pain.

Instead of resisting it, she opened herself to it, becoming one with it. Drifting away, down, down, down until it consumed her fully. Once she was entwined with it, she could control it.

The thump of Grit’s hand reverberated through her, inconsequential now. She heard the rhythmic clap, felt the pressure on her neck where his other hand pinned her down.

Even when the pressure released and the spanking stopped, she continued to float in the heat. Away from the inanity of small talk and onesies and any notion that she could be normal.

Her obsession with Grit had led her here, but this wasn’t her life. She wasn’t designed for cozy afternoons with friends, watching movies, and dabbling in the BDSM lifestyle. There was no place for her here, no future with this man or the people he associated with on all fronts of his life.

Blood and death were her calling. From the moment she was born, she’d been forced to conform to Dominic’s rules. Being normal wasn’t one of those rules—being exceptional was, and by God, she was exceptional in the art of murder.

“…passed out?”

“No, this is different.” Someone peeled her eyelid open, blinding her peaceful world with ugly light. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Fingers probed the side of her neck. “Pulse is fine, maybe a little fast. Skin’s warm, slightly damp. Pupils are reacting normally.”

Oh, there was that word again. Nothing about her was normal, didn’t they get that? They were sheltering a wolf in their midst, one who couldn’t be tamed, and just because she was wearing the damn unicorn onesie, they seemed to have forgotten she possessed both teeth and claws.

“Disassociation?”

“Is she prone to that?”

“I found her in the bathtub, not dissimilar to this.”

“Hmm.” Elias’s dry accent became clearer, even with the noncommittal grunt. “Tell me what you need.”

“A quiet corner of the couch, some chocolate, a soda. Last time, she was communicative, but this… she just needs to feel safe.”

Her belly lurched as she was swung up into a strong pair of arms. Her brain confused the motion with her drifting state. She found herself on her stomach, stretched out, with her head and shoulders braced on hard thighs.

“Oh shit, is she dead?”

Tabitha almost snorted at Callie’s question; she was all woman now, not a trace of Little in her tone.

“No, minx, she’s not dead. Grit spanked her and her brain... shorted out.”

“Oh.” The drawn out sound was full of understanding.

Bippity boppity boop, the cat sat on the stoop. She washed her paws and spread her claws, and pounced on the mouse under the house.

Goddamn it, bippity and blipped weren’t even rhyming, she thought in despair, yet her mind didn’t see any problem with using their vague resemblance to come up with a load of nonsense.

“Is she going to be okay?” Callie’s voice came closer, and fingers that weren’t Grit’s by any stretch of the imagination stroked delicately over Tabitha’s hair. “Is she hurting?”

“I don’t think so, Callie. It wasn’t a hard spanking. Sometimes when she gets overwhelmed, Tabitha switches herself off. There are a lot of memories and issues that tangle her up.” Grit sighed, his knuckles skimming over Tabitha’s cheek. “She’ll snap out of it when she’s ready. There’s no need to worry.”

The scent of popcorn wafted under her nose.

“Maybe if you tell her we have snacks, she’ll be ready?” The Little crept back into her voice. It was fascinating to listen to; the subtle nuances, the childlike hopefulness. “And she can watch whatever she wants. Even if it’s icky.”

Three low, rumbling chuckles told Callie what the Doms thought of her generosity. The woman was pretty much a piece of candy dipped in honey and coated in extra sugar, she was so fucking sweet.

Another nail of truth slammed into Tabitha’s chest. She had no right to be here, breathing the same air as someone so adorably innocent, sullying her just by being in her presence.

“You and I will pick a movie while we wait for Tabitha to feel better,” Evander said lightly. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“The Dark Crystal?” Callie suggested immediately.

“Sure, sweetness. Do you need to hide Higgledy-Piggledy before we start?”

What the fuck was a Higgledy-Piggledy? Despite herself, Tabitha was curious enough to crack her eyes open and resurface—only to groan softly as she watched Callie snatch up a stuffed silver elephant and some kind of pig stuffie.

“Can’t forget, can’t forget,” she babbled, hurrying from the room with her friends clutched to her chest. “Higgledy-Piggledy hates the Skeksis! Maybe they’ll eat him all up!”

When the chatty Little was out of earshot, Tabitha groaned again and tried to push herself up. No way was she laying here like an exhausted toddler, on her belly with her ass exposed. Remembering the godforsaken flap, she patted the fluffy onesie to see if her essentials were still on show.

She froze when lips touched the crown of her head.

“Easy, little tiger. You checked out on me for a while.” Long fingers stroked through her hair—probably the same ones that had curved around the underside of her ass cheeks when he spanked her. “Back with me now, all the way?”

“Is my ass on display?” she fired back, weaker than she liked.

“No, your ass is perfect and pink and all covered up.”

“Doesn’t feel pink.” More like crimson and purple and blue.

“Trust me, it’s a beautiful color. Did you know you were going to disconnect that way, Tabitha?”

There was no point evading the question. She knew from experience with Jasper and his buddies how dogged Doms became, how relentless they could be when they demanded an answer. Acting blasé, she exhaled heavily. “It’s my party trick, okay? Self-taught. My way out when…”

Oddly, she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“When some asshole pushes you too far too fast?” Grit’s voice tensed.

She managed to smile against his thigh. “I’m not fragile, Grit. Fairfaxes are made of steel—we don’t bend, we don’t break, and we do any job required of us. For the right price, of course,” she added dryly. “It’s a defense mechanism, okay? Something I learned in case I was captured and tortured or… other things.”

“Hmm. Did you learn it while your father was doing these other things?”

Her throat clogged. “It seemed necessary.”

“I agree. All right, we’ll leave it at that for now.” Of course, he wouldn’t push her, not now he knew why. Not when there was an audience listening in. “Do you need anything?”

Surprisingly, she was happy exactly where she was. His fingers were magical, seeking out all the spots on her scalp that needed attention. “I’m good. I’m good, I’m good, it’s all good in the hood.” A tired giggle bubbled loose. “A goose fucked a moose because of the blackberry juice.”

Chuckling, Grit just patted her head. “Eli, throw me that blanket please?”

Extra weight and warmth settled over her from the shoulders down before he eased her head up and slid a pillow beneath her.

Callie came rushing back in, stuffie free, and squealed, “You’re awake!”

Barely. The combination of the blanket, Grit’s scent, and his ministrations were encouraging her to fall back into that drifting state, this time safely anchored to him. “Mmm-hmm.”

Suddenly, her half-lidded vision was consumed by a pair of huge, earnest gray eyes; Callie was on her knees, her nose almost touching Tabitha’s. Voice a whisper, she said, “Do you mind if we watch The Dark Crystal? Daddy said you choose ‘cause you’re the guest, but yous all sleepy now.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Another squeal almost ripped loose, but Callie caught herself and silently clapped her hands together. With a disturbingly cute parting kiss to Tabitha’s nose, she scrambled away and bounced over to Evander.

“Hope you’re ready for this, Grit,” Elias muttered as he wandered over to turn off the lights and draw blackout blinds across the view of the city. “This is some of the weirdest shit you’ll ever watch in your life.”

Grit’s laugh was wicked. “Weirder than fruit porn?”

Elias stopped in his tracks, then turned slowly. One dark eyebrow arched high. “I really don’t want to know.”

The giant screen came alive, controlled by the remote in Callie’s hands. As her men settled into their seats in the semi-darkness and she hunkered down in her fort, music burst from the speakers.

Blearily, Tabitha tried to give the strange puppet-like things her attention. The heat in her ass was distracting for all the wrong reasons; it no longer flared with the burn, but simply hummed beneath her skin like some built-in heat pad. The onesie fabric felt rough and scratchy against her abused flesh.

The TV show moved from one episode to another, and her vulnerable mental state—laid open by the spanking and Grit’s tenderness—began to shift as the villainous creatures triggered something down in the recesses of her soul.

The tired fog clouding her brain cleared slowly, making room for the anxiety building in her chest. Whimpering softly, she squirmed closer to Grit, not quite understanding why puppets—however evil they might be—were eliciting this feeling inside her.

“Are you in pain?” Grit whispered, his fingers stilling.

She shook her head, burying her face in his lap, but the nasty cackle from the screen chilled her down to the bone.

It sounded like Dominic—ominous and malevolent.

Quickly, Grit removed her blanket, then scooped her up, agilely shifting her around until her sensitive rear was cradled by his thighs, his arm around her back. The blanket came around her again. “Little tiger, you know they’re not real, right? It’s all mechanics and puppetry.”

“I don’t like the voices. The noise.” They were like fingernails down a chalkboard to her ears.

“Do you want me to take you back to our room?”

Oh hell, now she just sounded pathetic. A grown woman, one with countless amounts of blood on her hands, unable to stand an animatronic creature because she had daddy issues.

Besides, if they returned to Grit’s room, she’d have to spend the next few hours before they went to bed with him, alone. As soon as he was asleep… well, she was going to miss watching him slumber.

“No,” she muttered.

“Everything okay?” Elias’s voice cut through the dimness, low and concerned.

“It’s fine,” Grit assured him in the same volume. “The Skeksis are freaking her out. I’ve got her.”

“They gave Callie nightmares for a week the first time she watched it.” Evander joined in the hushed conversation. “Now it’s all she wants to watch.”

From the fort, Callie chimed in, “Shush, Daddies, this is a good bit!”

“Sorry, minx. We’ll be quiet.”

A soft huff answered him, followed by the rustle of a candy wrapper.

Humming thoughtfully under his breath, Grit pressed a kiss to her head through the onesie hood, then proceeded to shift her yet again. This time with her sore bottom directly on his thighs, her ass tucked against his erection, and her eyes facing the screen. The blanket draped over her front.

The hood was tugged off as she squirmed uncomfortably.

“Sit still, little tiger. I don’t need you to give me ideas now, do I?” His mouth touched the shell of her ear, his words little more than a waft of warm breath. “Be a good girl and let me distract you from the scary beasts.”

She supposed he couldn’t do too much to her here. The light from the screen illuminated the room subtly, occasionally darkening to shadows as the story continued. Elias was close enough to see them, and Evander was on just the other side of him.

Being naked in front of them wasn’t problematic—hell, if she’d given herself the green light on Eli’s contract, she’d have crawled into bed with him long enough to get the job done if needed—but allowing them to see her at her most vulnerable, trapped in a panic attack, giving them inside knowledge to her triggers…

No.

Grit nuzzled a spot beneath her ear that made her hips twitch, then nibbled his way down her neck. “Unzip the onesie, Tabitha. All the way down, if you please.”

“I—”

“Ah-ah,” he admonished, quickly cutting off her protest. “We don’t want to make the Little mad, do we? My name—my real name—is your safeword. Remember it?”

“R-Rory.” Tabitha swallowed hard.

“Good girl. Now, unzip the onesie as I asked, and take it off to the waist. I’ll keep the blanket in place.”

The trembles started first. Though he waited patiently, she felt his command like a hand fisting around her stomach. She reached for the zipper hidden at the base of her throat and gently eased it along the tracks, wincing when the noise seemed thunderous. Between her breasts, down her belly, until it jarred to a halt near her pubic mound.

Ever the gentleman, one hand keeping the blanket in front of her as promised, Grit used his other to help peel the material over her shoulders, her arms, until she sat on his lap, bared to the waist, with only a thin shield of fabric between her and the room.

“So obedient. Such a good girl. Lean back against me, little tiger, and take the blanket.”

The screen on the wall lit with a daylight scene.

Elias glanced over at them, curiosity flashing in his eyes before awareness took over. A small smile curved his mouth when he shot her a wink, then he returned his attention to the television.

Grit’s shirt felt soft on her skin, the heat of him searing into her back from her tense shoulders to where the onesie bunched up around her waist. He was so big in a lot of ways—not in size like Evander but the breadth of his shoulders, the width of his chest. The thickness of his thighs beneath her, the sheer power in his arms.

Surrounded by all that strength, all that power, she felt safe.

Maybe she really was insane, she mused, inhaling slowly and fisting the blanket in both hands, bringing them under her chin. Trusting him this way, permitting him to do things she’d never dream of even discussing with a different man.

Hah, any other man, she’d have skinned and scalped by now.

Her breathing sounded ridiculously loud, the hitch in its rhythm too obvious when Grit’s hands slid under the blanket and rested, one above the other, on her belly. The warmth of their touch felt like a brand, burning deep into her muscles.

“Relax and watch the show, Tabby.” His stubbled chin dropped to her shoulder. “I won’t let the monsters get you. Can you feel me breathe, little tiger? Match yours to mine. Slow. Easy. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

Eyes blindly fixed on the screen, she obeyed. Despite her rebellion against her father, her stepmother, the world in general, Tabitha knew that the habit to comply was so deeply ingrained in her, it might as well be carved into her bones. She could fight it, and she did, every day of her life, but there were some men who—like her brother and his ilk—possessed an innate talent that could override her carefully crafted guards.

As Grit’s chest rose and pressed fully into her back, she forced herself to suck in a breath. When it fell away again, she exhaled slowly, not quite managing to match the pace. It turned into a kind of game; how many seconds he breathed in for, how many he breathed out. Trying to keep the same rhythm.

Beneath her breast, her heart kicked against her ribs every time one of the weird things on the TV spoke in their odd voices, merging into her father’s without encouragement.

Her belly jerked when Grit’s topmost hand moved, nothing more than his thumb making sweeping strokes over her skin. She’d almost forgotten they were there.

His voice rumbled through her. “Doing good, little tiger. Keep those claws sheathed, okay, and focus on the breathing.”

Both of those heavy, calloused hands skimmed up her body, over her breasts, to cover her upper chest. The slight ridges on his palms and fingers from working undercover on the construction crew sensitized her skin, shooting sparks through her nervous system, all arrowing between her legs.

TV forgotten, breathing abandoned, Tabitha went rigid. Braced for pain, for his demeanor to change, she clenched her jaw tight.

“Not much trust here today,” he said with a disappointed tsk. “Thought we were making better headway than this. Nothing I’m going to do will hurt you, Tabitha.”

Her lips parted, poised to speak, but he began stroking her with only his fingertips, gliding back and forth along her collarbones, tracing the bony ridges under her skin. The balls of her shoulders, the contours of her biceps, the points of her elbows.

When she fully relaxed, he kissed the side of her neck again, right where it made her knees weak. “Heading further south now. You know your safeword.”

How far south? Was he talking Titsville or crossing over the border to the great state of Sexington? Even as she shook her head, her dry mouth trying to form the words to tell him to wait, her breasts—small and nowhere near attractive in her opinion—were engulfed by his hands.

Swallowed up, enveloped, captured… whatever word she thought of, it fit her situation.

She cursed hoarsely under her breath, embarrassed by the tightening of her nipples as they budded into his touch. He held her breasts reverently, supporting their slight weight as he caged them in his grasp.

She swore his fingerprints were burning into her skin, marking her as his.

“Tabby, relax. Am I hurting you?”

He wasn’t, but then he knew that. A man like him was aware of what he was doing at all times, and the reactions he caused. Even if he made a mistake, miscalculated, he just took responsibility, apologized, and recalculated his next move.

Take now, for instance. Somehow he’d mapped her body, stuck pins in it where her known triggers were, and was carefully navigating where to set his hands without sending her into a meltdown. He was learning how much pressure he could funnel through his palms, how hard he could stroke and press and pinch.

He knew all that because he kept pushing her, guiding her, bringing her up onto her toes to face the hell of her past and see through it to a future.

“P-Please,” she whispered.

“Answer me,” he demanded quietly. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Am I scaring you?”

Fuck, she hated that question. Worse, she hated the answer. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Her gaze flicked over to Elias first, who was steadfastly watching the entertainment on the screen instead of the unfolding scene beside him, and then to the fort. Any minute now, she expected Callie to pop out of the entrance in a shower of popcorn to tell them to shush!

Grit’s thumbs skimmed her nipples, encouraging them to achieve their full potential. Each time the pads scraped lightly over the tips, strumming back and forth, something echoed between her legs. “Does getting wet scare you?”

“I can’t get wet,” she insisted through clenched teeth.

“We’ll see.”

Asshole. He was such a big, goofy, dumb asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer because his pride was as big, goofy, and dumb as the rest of him.

Without warning, he pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, tightening his grip until her back arched, the blanket sliding down several dangerous inches.

Whimpers caught in her throat.

“Be my good girl and drop the blanket, Tabby.” The hard edge to his voice was absolute. When she obeyed, vibrating from the ends of her hair down to her toes, he nuzzled the curve of her shoulder gently. “Is Elias watching?”

“N-No.”

“Perfect. You’re going to do everything you can to make sure that doesn’t change. I’m asking a lot of you, I know, but I’m about to ask for more.” Grit softened his voice, crooning his next words so smoothly, it took her several seconds to decipher them. “Touch your pussy, Tabby. Give it a nice, gentle stroke.”

Revulsion filled her. Her shoulder muscles seized to cramping point.

“Match your breathing to mine,” he reminded her. “In and out, little tiger. Gonna have to teach you how to fucking breathe when you’re terrified.” He waited until she choked in air, released it. “Give me your hand. Whatever you believe, it won’t hurt.”

He kept saying that, but how could he know? He didn’t have a vagina, a place inside him that was vulnerable to the whims of men, did he? No, his cock was on the outside, some virile symbol of masculinity swinging around like—judging by the feel of it under her tender butt—a mighty club.

The only way he’d ever feel her kind of pain was if she set her particular skills on him, and even then, it wouldn’t come close to the reality of it.

Being raped by Dominic under the influence of Rita’s drugs had been one extraordinary hell, but it was nothing compared to the times before, when she’d been scared and innocent and dry.

“Trust me, little tiger.” Grit rested the back of his hand on her flat belly, palm up, silently asking for hers.

Reluctantly, she offered her right hand.