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Smoke

“No! No! Please!”

Screams woke me from a deep sleep. I jumped from my bed, grabbed my gun, and rushed toward the sound. It took me far too long to realize that I was in my own home and the screams were coming from my stepsister’s room.

“Fuck,” I mumbled, putting the safety on my weapon and tucking it into my gray sweatpants.

Pushing open her door, I rushed into her room and sat on her bed. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re okay,” I soothed, trying to capture her failing arms.

“Hey, Ash, baby, it’s just a dream,” I tried again.

Slowly she started to come around. She struggled with the covers. I moved them and helped her sit up.

“You’re safe, baby. It was just a dream,” I promised, once I thought she could hear me over her panic.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her hair was a tangled mess. She scanned the room, her eyes still wide with terror before they locked on me.

“Dawson!” she cried out, flinging her arms around me.

“That’s right, I’m right here. It was just a dream.” I rocked her back and forth waiting for her to get her bearings.

She trembled in my arms and the familiar hollow pain filled my chest again, just like it did whenever her past haunted her through her dreams.

She pulled back and looked at her arm.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered to herself as she pulled her sleeve up and examined her arm. It was still marred with scarring and the hollow feeling was quickly replaced with anger.

“It was just a dream,” I reassured her again.

Hate for the son of a bitch who caused her so much physical and emotional pain consumed me down to my bones.

Seething rage filled every inch of my almost seven-foot body and every day that Ash struggled with her past, I longed to dig up the pile of bones I refused to call my father, and kill him all over again for his sins against her.

It made no difference that he was my blood.

It hadn’t when I put my gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger, and it didn’t at the moment.

Not that the traumatized woman in front of me would know I killed the bastard.

She didn’t need to know about the darker side of me.

Lying and saying he’d been killed in a shady drug deal was better for her tender heart.

When Ashley was fourteen, her addict of a mother married my dealer of a father.

I’d been in prison and hadn’t known about the marriage until months later, far too late to stop it.

When Ashley was fifteen, my father caused an explosion in the house they were living in due to a meth lab he had built in the basement.

Ashley had been the only other person home and she had suffered burns to thirty percent of her body.

It was a miracle he hadn’t killed her. She spent her sixteenth birthday in a burn unit, and her seventeenth testifying against my father.

She had been removed from her home and sent to live with her grandmother.

Guilt that I hadn’t been able to help her still ate at me.

I was ashamed to admit that was what it took to change me.

I’d loved her since the first time my father brought her to a visitation, even though I’d hated that she was exposed to such a traumatic thing like prison because of me.

Having her come into my life gave me a better outlook on life, having someone so pure being tainted by the drug world was a hard pill to swallow.

Then when I found out she’d been hurt, I channeled all the disgust and anger into becoming the brother she needed.

A few months ago her grandmother died, and Ashley’s mother came snooping for an inheritance she thought she was owed.

Ash called me, unable to deal with any more blows, and immediately I moved her to Strickland.

The baby just needed some peace. I hadn’t expected my feelings toward her to change so rapidly.

Long gone were the feelings of an almost-paternal love, now a deep sense of possession and even deeper romantic interest flowed.

It was getting harder and harder to control, but I would die before I shared my feelings with her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Ash. I’m just sorry you’re so scared.”

“My arm hurts and I thought…” She shook her head and studied her arm. “I think it fell asleep and I dreamed I was in the fire again.” Her left arm had been the worst of her injuries, though over forty percent of her bore the scars of his choices.

“Oh, honey, that sounds terrible.”

She nodded, wiped her eyes, and sat back in the bed.

“Does that happen a lot?” I knew she had nightmares, I heard her cry out through the monitor I’d hidden in her room, but I didn’t realize they could be triggered by pain in her arm.

She averted her eyes. “Sometimes.”

“Ash, look at me.” I waited until she met my eye before I cupped her chin in my hand. “How often is sometimes?”

“A couple of times a month. Like if my arm goes to sleep or something.”

“Oh, honey,” I soothed.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“Have you talked to your therapist about it?” I asked after releasing her chin.

“I did. She prescribed me some medicine to help me sleep at night, but it makes me so groggy the next day,” she said, shrugging.

“Does it help?”

“Yeah, usually.”

“Where’s it at? You can take some now, and we can work in a few naps for you tomorrow,” I said, calculating how I could work out a better schedule for her.

She’d gotten a stupid job at the fucking donut shop, but maybe I could use this as a reason to get her to quit.

I had more than enough money for her to stay home or go to college, or fucking anything other than work all the way across town.

Hell, her grandmother had left her more than enough money to do whatever she wanted, but she was a stubborn little brat with a remarkable work ethic. It was extremely annoying.

“I need to get it filled. I don’t have any more.”

Frowning, I asked, “How long have you been out?”

“A while.”

“Ashley Emery, how long is a while?”

“Before Granna died.”

Even in the dim room, I could see her face flush adorably.

It had always been a telltale sign of her being caught doing something naughty.

When she was a teen it was cute, as an adult it was fucking hot.

I would bet all of my money she’d make the prettiest picture as a freshly punished, very contrite Little girl.

My cock pressed against my sweatpants at the imagery, and I willed it to go down.

That was not what she needed right then or ever.

Ashley deserved a good man, one with an education and a future―one with a 401K and not a felony.

A man who hadn’t murdered his father, or dozens of other men for that matter.

And no matter how badly I wanted to Daddy the Little I was sure she was hiding inside of her, I wouldn’t, because she deserved someone better than me.

***

Ashley

“Hi, Ashley!” Eloise, one of the women who worked at Daddies Ink with Smoke, squealed when I walked through the shop doors. I wasn’t sure if she was actually glad to see me or if it was because I always brought donuts for her and the other Littles.

I wanna play! my own inner Little piped up, seeing the others.

Not now, baby. When we get home, okay?

“Hi, Eloise!” I set the box on the front desk. “How was your day?” I asked, trying to make conversation and soothe my sad Little.

“It was good. Uncle Smoke tattooed two boobies,” she said, reaching for her favorite raspberry donut.

I snorted at her report. She was so funny.

“On the same body or two different boobs on different people?”

“The same body!” She took a huge bite of her donut, smearing jam all over her face.

“They were the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen some boobs,” Rogue added, hopping up to sit on the front desk.

Her black tights must have been slick because she fell backward, knocking the keyboard off the desk.

Eloise caught her mid-fall. I rushed to help and struggled to help her sit upright.

One long black heel fell off as she frantically kicked her legs.

She laughed hysterically at her predicament. “Daddy! Help!” she yelled between giggles. I don’t know that I’d ever actually seen Rogue so carefree before. Loud thunderous footfalls filled the front office and numerous Daddies rushed to the rescue.

“All the Daddies,” Eloise mumbled, her eyes wide. She almost looked nervous. Uh-oh. That was usually a sign someone had been naughty.

“You didn’t specify which Daddy, baby,” Leland said, grabbing Rogue by the waist and helping her to her feet.

She stumbled into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her.

“Sugar, are you drunk?”

She hiccuped before dissolving into giggles. “Maybe.”

Blade studied Eloise, his Little one, closely.

“I’m not, Daddy,” she answered, raising her hands in defense.

Ah. Yes, someone had been naughty.

“Cause you’re a good girl.” Rogue giggled. “You never do anything naughty!”

“Rogue Mary Kay, what has gotten into you?” Leland asked, gripping Rogue by the upper arm.

She hiccuped again. “Wine.”

“Daddy?” Allyson moaned, walking into the reception area from the direction of the bathroom. She was holding her tummy. She was Bash’s Little one and judging from her wobbly steps and slightly green coloring, I thought maybe she wasn’t being a good girl either.

“Oh, Allybaby, what’s wrong?” Bash said, going into full protective mode.

“I don’t—” was all she got out before she vomited… well, everywhere.

Rogue giggled. “Lightweight.”

“Allyson, are you drunk too, Little girl?” Bash asked incredulously while trying to wipe her down with the baby wipes someone passed him.

Allyson burst into tears which brought on another fit of giggles from Rogue.

“This is not funny, Little girl. You two are in so much trouble,” Leland lectured.

“So much trouble,” Bash agreed.

“We will get this cleaned up. Why don’t you take them home?” Blade said.

“I can switch with Rogue tomorrow. She’s supposed to open, but I’m sure she won’t be feeling like it with a hangover,” Dawson said.

A warmth spread through my chest at his thoughtfulness. I was always so proud of him, but there were moments where I thought I might be consumed by the emotions that came with my pride.

Dawson’s family was complete shit. His mom was doing a life sentence in prison, his dad was dead from an overdose, and his other family had long since cut him off because of who his parents were.

Dawson had followed in their footsteps at first and was in prison by the time he was twenty, but while he was there, something changed.

He became harder. Calloused, but completely different.

He’d forced all of his anger into being a better man.

He’d gotten his GED, started attending meetings, and was released on good behavior two years later.

He’d done amazing while on parole and then probation.

He’d been clean and living a wonderful life since then. I was so proud of him.

“Yeah, it will be even worse working with a sore ass. Tell Uncle Smoke thank you, sugar.”

“Thank you, Uncle Smoke,” Rogue said, looking much more repentant.

Leland and Bash led their Little girls out the back while Eloise ran and gathered all their things.

“Do you think they’re really going to spank them?” I asked Dawson. Worry made my stomach hurt and I tried to rub the ache away. They had been naughty, but I still found myself feeling anxious for them.

“They will spank them, Ash, but it’s because that’s a part of their dynamic.

If the Little girls thought the punishment was unfair, they would use their safewords.

They are strong, confident women who have been taught well on DDLG relationships, honey.

If they were uncomfortable, they would call their Daddies on their bullshit. ”

I nodded.

“Any good Daddy or Mommy listens to their Little one, even about punishments. It’s a fifty-fifty partnership, not a dictatorship.”

I knew that. I had also been taught well at my club back home…

Well, Strickland was home now, but back before I moved.

Understanding the dynamic I was so drawn to had been my first goal and I was thankful for all the wise people at Ropes, my old BDSM club.

Punishments just still made me a tiny bit nervous.

“But you know that, don’t you, Little one?” Dawson said, studying me intensely.

“I’m not a Little.” I laughed and lied.

“I’m not sure about that, Ash.”

Grinning, I slapped him on the shoulder. “I am.”

I had been through so much already and that meant my Little had too.

She couldn’t handle another break so I kept her safely tucked inside of me, only allowing her out in the privacy of my bedroom closet and only when Dawson wasn’t home.

Protecting her from more heartbreak was the most important thing in my life and I would do anything to keep her safe, including never allowing her to meet who I thought might be the best Daddy of all Daddies―Dawson.