KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (15 page)

“Thanks, Whitt.” Dalton sounds so proud of me that I blush and look away.

“You know,” I speak to ignore the lump growing in my throat. “Regina was Hillbrook’s very first scholarship student. It’s proof that you can be someone different than you once were. You can be who you’re supposed to be and pay it forward.”

~Chapter Twelve~

“It’s gorgeous out. I’m glad we walked,” Dalton’s dreamy voice warms me more than the setting sun at my back. I’d walked the ten blocks to
Transcend from the Brownstone figuring he’d driven to work. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could, even if it was a short drive back to my car. I didn’t know the reception he’d give me after yesterday. I’d punched a wall and he’d punched me in the chest… Dalton could’ve tossed me from Transcend for all I knew.

“This is amazing,” I say just as dreamily as he had. “It’s our first walk.” I look t
o the side and smile down at Dalton in remembrance. “It reminds me of the park.”

Dalton’s tentative touch to my hand fills my heart with hope. I quickly snatch his hand and twine our fingers.

“I wanted to touch you back in the gym, but I didn’t know if you’d be okay with that.” I draw Dalton’s hand to my mouth and kiss his fingers. “I guess you were unsure about me, too.”

“I’d let you do anythi
ng to me.” Dalton’s French accent deepens from his emotions. “Anywhere,” he purrs, the sultry tone striking me like lighting to the gut. He holds my eyes and my breath hitches. “Anytime,” my eyelashes flutter from the sound of the invitation.

We don’t speak f
or the rest of the walk. There’s no need to. Any more words from his supple lips would get me worked up into a frenzy, and I doubt the invitation was meant in the literal sense. Dalton would punch me if I dragged him to the sidewalk.

The insane need to ask about Roman is suffocating me. I don’t know why jealousy hurts as badly as it does, but fuck… Family therapy was torture
, and not because of the heart wrenching bitter blood between my father and his sons. I had to sit with Roman and imagine the poetry in motion that a man of Native American descent and a French man would make.

I spent a good hour stuck in a perpetual state of seething arousal. What made it worse was that Niel was in rare form- speaking his mind
without a filter on his mouth. And I swear, every time I see Jamie, he is less and less like Grant.

Our session progressed like this: I scrutinized
Roman while he scrutinized us. Niel, in a calm and calculated fashion, interrogated our father, and Jamie gave it right back. Jamie no longer sits back and takes it. My father was so incensed that he mouthed the words while his hands flew. Niel, being a shit, would look away and talk at me, effectively cutting off Jamie’s communication. My father isn’t a big man, but he restrained his brawny son by sitting on him. Both hands held Niel’s face while he mouthed whatever he was trying to convey. Niel lost his composure, and the two screamed at each other- one voice soft and one voice silent. In the end, both were crying, because it was either that, or kill the other.

“I missed you,” I murmur to Dalton as he lets us into the Brownstone. “I… I miss being around you, but what I miss more is the opportunity to get to know you.” Ezra made me realize that I
know nothing of Dalton besides the basics and our mutual chemistry. Dalton only knows what everyone knows about me, because I don’t even know myself yet.

“I… I’m not
sure how to respond to that,” Dalton stammers, unsure of what I’d meant.

“Sit with me,” I pull him into Roman’s living room. “I want to talk
… and touch you.”

I sit in the middle of the sofa, and when Dalton t
ries to sit, I stay him with a hand to his wrist. “Sit with me,” I breathe, my tone filled with longing. “Sit astride me.” I want to talk face-to-face.

A funny expression crosses Dalton’s
face, but he places a knee on each side of my legs and settles on my thighs. I love that I hold his leash, to the point that I will kill Roman if he tries to take it away from me.

“I missed you,” I say again, no longer ma
sking my loneliness. “I need you.”

Dalton’s shaky hands find the edge of his t-shirt
and lift. His expression is guarded, and in an instant I know this is a crossroads. We can be about sex- lovers- or we can be partners. It’s my choice, because Dalton will deny me nothing- no one can.

My hands find his and pull his shirt back into place. “No,” I shake my head. “Not sex. I just need to be with you.”

Dalton sags in relief and I know I’ve made the correct choice. Ezra’s assignment of ‘take Dalton on a date’ makes perfect sense now.

“I… I want to be your friend. I want to know the real you, Dalt
on. Knowing that kissing your throat makes you moan isn’t good enough. What are your favorite foods- colors? How close are you to Itsy? What is it about Sebastian that made you want to protect him? Did you love your father? I want us to be real because when shit hits the fan, we need a foundation to use as a shelter from the storm. Right now, we’ll have no foundation- no history, no present, and no future, if we don’t learn each other.”

Staring at our hands
with downcast eyes, all I hear is his labored breath. The warm weight on my thighs is as welcome as an embrace. Dalton says nothing and I rush to fill the void. “This thing with Regina… It could’ve torn us apart. If I’d given you distance, we never would’ve reconnected. You never would’ve come to me. I could feel it. You’d let me fuck you, but it would be emotionless.”

I gaze into Dalton’s
guileless eyes. His face is blank, showing no emotion. “There is more to us than chemistry. I want to know you,” the sincerity in my voice makes him quiver.

“Thank you,” Dalton
whispers, saying no more. This is all me- my fuckup, my fix.

“I did something stupid with Regina that I can’t take back,” I admit, self-disgust lacing my voice. “I talked to someone- Ezra,” his name rolls off my tongue as hope. “I’m going to keep ta
lking to him. Ezra made me realize how I was living was wrong. I… I… Regina and I are divorcing.”

Dalton’s
surprised gasp is the first crack in his emotional control. I use it to my advantage- as sick as it is, I’ll do anything I can to get what I want. It’s an innate part of me, like breathing.

“I don’t like this,” I playfully say, tugging at his hair, using it as an excuse to touch him.

Catching on that I didn’t mean it as an insult, Dalton smirks at me. “Oh, yeah… why not?”

“It’s not you,” I murmur, fingers working on the hair tie. When it’s free, I lean forward
, running my fingers through Dalton’s black as midnight, silky hair. It falls, framing his face. Dalton looks at me with green eyes that are fringed in the blackest lashes I’ve ever seen. Ezra was picking, but it was still truth. Dalton’s eyes always look outlined in eyeliner. His lips are always red, making you think about passionate kisses. Shadows lurk beneath his eyes, luring you to love the pain from his soul.

The rough, passionate kiss against the study door this morning was an intense flash fire. This intimate moment with Dalton is a
smoldering banked fire. One burns brightly and quickly snuffs out, the other only lasts as long as you tend it. I will tend this fire with Dalton for the rest of our lives, if he’ll allow.

“There’s the boyfriend I know and love,” I murmur, holding his face between my palms. His lips part in an invitation- he wants a kiss.

“Not yet,” I answer the question in Dalton’s eyes when I don’t attack his lips. “If we start down that road, we won’t talk.”

“I think my cock hates you right now,” he laughs. “What do you want to know? Hurry, though, I know how you misfire. I don’t want to miss out because we talked to death.”

“Asshole,” I say with affection. “Favorite color?”

Stunning eyes roll with impatience. “Black,” he says in a
duh
voice. “Yours?”

“Blue.” My hands slide up Dalton’s
back, beneath his shirt. Soft skin warms my palms, but beneath that is proof of Dalton’s painful past and present. Scars emboss his skin- marks of torture, from the hands of others and his own. “Did you love your father?” I ask of the mob boss, Anthony Marconi, that sired him, not the loyal man that raised him.

“Yes, even when he was hurting me. I’m g
lad that my father admitted he loved me before he died,” Dalton thoughtfully says. “What about you?”

Thoughts fill my head. Did Tony want to hurt his son, or did someone make him?
Maybe he was a puppet or was he a puppet’s pawn. Dalton hated his grandfather to the point that he killed him to save them all. I know Pierre Fontaine was in play. Was Tony? Or was Tony his mark?

“I believe your father loved you, too. I think he
was protecting you from Pierre,” I sincerely murmur. Dalton cups my cheek in a tender gesture, and then drops his hand to our laps.

“I love my father. Grant
was my whole world until Regina came along. He was my solace against Grandfather. Subconsciously I knew he was my dad, and I think it was the same for him. I was ruined when he died. I lost them both that night. I didn’t speak for six months- not one word to anyone but Niel. I’ve been given the best gift- a miracle. All I can do is feel hatred towards Jamie because of all the pain I felt during that time. Jamie caused me to experience the agony of mourning. Even when I punch him, I fear he’ll leave me again. I can tell myself I don’t love him, but it’s bullshit. I’ll be devastated if he dies on me. The worst is knowing that he may just walk away from me again and never look back.”

“Jamie
talks about you, you know. He asks about you and tells me stories.” Dalton grins when I groan. Lord knows how embarrassed I’d be if I knew what Jamie’s told him. “I know how you feel about Niel. It’s how I feel about Itsy Bitsy, so no need to ask how I feel about her. What I mean is, you’re Jamie’s son- his real son. I think it’s stronger than what we feel for our siblings. It’s the only thought that keeps me sane. If I love Itsy, then our parents must have cherished her- even Tony loved her, tried to protect her in his own way. So if they could love her, then maybe they loved me too.”

“Olivia loves you… who could resist?” I br
ush my lips against his, not allowing a full kiss. I don’t dare tempt myself. My fingers tighten in Dalton’s hair, pulling his neck in a long line. I flutter kisses up the column of his sleek, long neck. Dalton’s moan has my lips curving into a smile against his skin.

“See, you love it when I kiss your neck,” I tease. “Guaranteed moan territory.
Favorite food?” I ask to lessen my arousal. This conversation is two-fold: get to know Dalton and covertly collect information to use later. I feel badly, like I’m using our intimate conversation- tainting it. But if it saves countless people from the agony of dealing with the elders, so be it. Dalton knows something, he just doesn’t realize it. I’ll ask for his help when I figure some of this out.

“Energy drinks- any brand, any flavor,” he replies without thought.

“That’s not food,” I tease. “How many of those do you drink a day, anyway?”

“Too many,” he chuckles. “It’s food to me.”

I skim my hands along his back, massaging. “Why don’t you like to eat?”

Dalton
cocks his head to the side, thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t like to eat. If I eat and my memories haunt me, I end up praying to the porcelain god. The energy drinks don’t hurt coming back up. I use protein shakes, too. I need the energy and nutrients.”

“Dalton,” I whimper, wrapping my arms around him. “Is it getting any better?”

Dalton nods his head, hair skimming his jawline. “It is… the food isn’t just about that. Control. When I feel lost or powerless, I use food to gain it back. I control what I put into my body.”

“I’ve never looked at it like that,” I mumble, s
hocked at the depth of his pain.

“Everything is a choice we make. Usually the choice is out of our hands. This is one that I find easiest to control. I know it’s not quite normal, but I’m not normal… Sebastian,” he grins whe
n I grimace from jealousy. “Sebby was my playmate. One of the whores got pregnant and Olivia allowed her to keep him at Kink. I think she saw in him what I did and wanted to profit from it. I’m not sure.”

Yeah, I’m sure that’s it
I want to say. It couldn’t possibly be that Sebastian was one of her rich client’s illegitimate kids. Probably some task she was given.

“I don’t know why I wanted to protect him.” He shrugs. “We fit. I wanted to tell him what to do, and he wanted to listen. Olivia wanted us together for some reason, and even though Tony bitched about it, he never touched him. It was Pierre that tried to use him against me. I don’t know…” he trails off.

But I do know. Olivia protects Sebastian and Pierre puts him into the line of fire. Same orders, Olivia was being merciful and Pierre was being ruthless. I need to know who is her foundation and who the hell Sebastian really is.

“Tell me about Bianca,” I ask, bordering on interrogation.