His Babygirl (Boston Doms Book 4) Read online

  Allie-girl. Something about that simple nickname made her heart stutter. No one had ever given her a nickname before. She’d always been Alice, sweet and wholesome and dependable. But Allie-girl… She sounded fun and lighthearted. Cared for. Loved.

  And then Alice stopped thinking because his fingers started moving with more deliberation, stroking up and down her slit in an almost teasing way, strumming around her clit without ever quite touching. She arched her back, pushing her fingers against his hand.

  “Yeah, like that, baby doll,” Slay encouraged. “Fuck, yes. Just like that. Take what you need from Daddy.”

  With a light, delicate touch that nearly made her lose her mind, he stroked her while she quivered and writhed, wordlessly begging him for more. She couldn’t believe how hearing him call himself Daddy was amping her up. The pleasure built and built until it became almost painful. She pushed herself to her tiptoes, trying to get more from him, desperate to come. And when she was sure she couldn’t take it even one second longer, he moved his finger in a single, firm flick and she exploded, her entire body pulsing with the force of her orgasm.

  She had never come so hard in her life, and he’d barely touched her.

  But even as she panted and struggled to bring her brain back online, she felt his breath on the back of her neck and knew she needed more from him, more connection, more pleasure, more, more, more.

  “Slay, please,” she begged, arching and writhing. This man stole her wits, stole her words.

  “You want Daddy’s fingers?” he taunted, plunging two fingers inside her. “Hmmm?”

  “Nooo! Sl—Daddy…” She was panting. God, it felt amazing. But still, she needed more.

  “Say it,” he demanded roughly, his own voice tight with need. “Tell me what you want. Tell me who you want.”

  “I want you. Please, Daddy!”

  She felt his fingers disappear and heard him release his zipper with a harsh groan that made her heart speed impossibly faster. She dimly heard the rustle of his jeans as they dropped to his ankles, the crinkle of the condom wrapper as he tore it open, but she couldn’t concentrate on any of it.

  “Hurry,” she begged.

  And just a second later, he was lined up against her, pulling her thong to one side, ready to push inside her.

  Just like she had earlier, right before he’d spanked her, she felt a burst of anticipation so keen it was nearly torture. But then it was replaced by a sensation of overwhelming rightness. Life would be forever divided into all the moments before this, and then all the moments after, and it was always meant to be so.

  And then Slay was pushing himself into her fully and she didn’t think anymore.

  Oh dear God.

  In practically every romance novel she’d ever snuck home from the library as a kid, the innocent virginal heroine looked down at the hero’s equipment with wide eyes and said something stupid like, “It’s so big! I don’t think it’ll fit.” Even as an inexperienced teenager, Alice had rolled her eyes because duh, biology! It was kinda made to fit. And as an experienced adult, she’d figured it was one more way that romance novels messed with a girl’s expectations.

  But apparently she hadn’t been hanging out with the right guys, because right now fitting was actually kind of a concern. An excellent, excellent concern. The best problem she’d ever had.

  “Shit,” Slay said. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so tight.” His voice was harsh, almost angry, but he reached his hand around to stroke her clit again, making her relax, helping her to take him more easily.

  The best response Alice could muster was, “Ungh.”

  “That’s it. That’s it, my girl. Daddy’s good girl” he whispered.

  Then she was arching, bending toward the wall, supporting herself with both forearms while Slay curled around her. While one of his hands was stroking her, the other was holding her hip as he moved against her, over and over and over again. Every stroke brought his pelvis against her, causing an answering ache in her sore bottom. He whispered filth and nonsense in her ear.

  “My Alice is so fucking sweet.”

  “Take it, Allie-girl. Take all of me. That’s it. Fuck, yeah, that’s it.”

  “I pictured us just like this, how your pussy would milk my cock while your sweet mouth called me Daddy.”

  It was all too much.

  Alice didn’t come, she splintered. Fractured. Her vision went black, her ears stopped hearing, her body went completely still.

  And when she came back to herself, minutes or hours or days later, her first thought was Holy shit. The novels were right about that, too.

  Slay was breathing, panting in her ear. He’d paused, while she’d been turned inside out, and was stroking her back, waiting, still so, so hard inside her.

  She arched back against him, encouraging him to move again, wanting him to feel the same thing she’d just felt.

  He didn’t need any more encouragement. His hips drew back and then thrust forward in a way that had nothing to do with practiced technique, but was primal and rough and perfect. He splayed his own massive hand next to hers on the wall, bracing himself, bracing them both. Within seconds, he was roaring in her ear, and she could feel him pulsing inside her, leaning his weight against her for a moment, just a moment, and trusting her to take it. So she did.

  Then he was standing, dealing with the condom, pulling up his jeans, turning her around to face him, and sliding her skirt back into place.

  She’d just had the most mind-blowing orgasm, and the single greatest moment of sexual connection ever... and she hadn’t removed a single piece of her clothing.

  Before she could even recover her breath, he was pulling her to him and lifting her chin with one finger, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the corner of her mouth.

  “Listen to me, Allie-girl. If you didn’t get it when you walked in the room, you’d better get it now. Things have changed between us.” His voice was deep and soft and oh-so-sure. “You follow my rules now. They’re simple, but they are very, very serious. No risky behavior. No breaking Club rules. No lying or hiding shit from me. You do any of those things, I’ll bare your ass again and show you what a real spanking feels like. Got it?”

  “A real spanking?” she asked, feeling her eyes widen.

  “Yeah, babe. This was a warm up,” he scoffed. “Now tell me you get what I’m saying.”

  Once again, she wasn’t sure she got it at all. But she nodded anyway. No risky behavior? Yeah. Fine.

  He smirked and shook his head, and once again he replied, “You don’t. But you will.”

  “You weren’t even talking to me yesterday,” she muttered inanely.

  “Mmm,” he agreed, stroking a finger over her cheekbone. “Thought that was the best thing for both of us, me keeping an eye on you from a distance. Thought you’d be safer that way. But now I realize you need me to keep a closer eye on you.”

  At his words, her brain shifted back into gear with a nearly audible click, and launched her from her sated stupor into a full-scale freak out. Someone to keep an eye on her? Like a bodyguard? Like a babysitter? Who just also happened to have sex with her? Yeah, that wouldn’t be weird or confusing at all.

  And just how far did he think his power over her extended? It was fine for them to play a scene here or there—hell, she’d welcome it. Thanks to the spanking and the mind-blowing orgasm he’d given her, all the tension she’d been carrying for days had melted from her bones and she felt invigorated.

  But beyond The Club, she didn’t play the part of a submissive. She couldn’t afford to. She had a family, a son, she had to be strong for, and an image to uphold for their sakes. She could imagine what the rich PTA bitches at Charlie’s school would say if they knew she worked at The Club, let alone that she liked to play.

  No, she needed to do what she should have done before she walked into this room—set some ground rules and some hard limits.

  “I don’t need a keeper, Slay,” she protested, annoyed that her voice was still
breathless, damn it.

  Inside his pocket, his phone chirped.

  “Babe, you still smell like cigarette smoke,” he said wryly, as though this were all the explanation necessary.

  He fished the phone from his pocket, looked at the display, and frowned. “Shit. They need me on the first floor. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the bar.”

  Alice shook her head. “I need a minute,” she said, gesturing towards the little bathroom. “Gotta clean up.”

  Translation: Gotta process whatever the hell just happened.

  She’d wanted Slay. And she could admit that she’d maybe, maybe been unconsciously trying to get him to punish her tonight by acting out. In the moment, the daddy-thing had been hot. Kinky, yes, but in a way that felt natural and right.

  Now though, it all seemed off. The weight of her child, her parents, her jobs, her life, settled back on her shoulders, reminding her that she didn’t have time to play babygirl to a six-five tattooed bad boy. She had too many adult responsibilities to take care of.

  Slay watched her face intently. Then his phone chirped again and he sighed.

  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Don’t overthink this, Allie-girl,” he told her gruffly. And then before she could protest, he shook his head and added, “I know you will, because you obsess about shit until down is up and right is left. But never mind. Daddy will sort you out.”

  Then with a wink—yes, Alex Slater could apparently wink—he turned and left the room, leaving Alice with wide eyes, a racing heart, and the feeling that, for a man so determined to keep her safe, Slay sure knew how to scare the crap out of her.

  Chapter 2

  Slay slammed the door of his massive black SUV and clicked the lock button on his key ring. The doors gave a satisfying click before he turned to his condo, gym bag slung over one shoulder and key ring in hand. His skin still glistened from the shower he’d taken after his workout as he took the steps three at a time. The adrenaline from his run and weight lifting was still pumping through him. It had nothing to do with what he’d done to Alice last night, right before he—nope. No, couldn’t go there. He was getting a hard-on again just thinking about it, and he had shit to do.

  “Why, if it isn’t Alexander Slater,” came a high, warbling voice as he opened the door to enter his building.

  “Evening, Betty,” he said, setting the gym bag down so he could snag the bag that teetered precariously in his elderly neighbor’s hands. He gently scolded, “Did you go shopping again without me? What’d I tell you about that?”

  “Oh, go on with you,” Betty said. Her hands shook as she jiggled her keys in hand, trying to open the door. He waited. He could open the door in less time with the bag tucked under his arm, but she needed to know she could still do this. “I got my hair done and thought I’d stop and get a few things. Go look through the bag. I picked up some cookies for you.”

  He shook his head as he took the double-stuffed Oreos from the bag. She primped her gray curls, and her blue eyes, framed with thin lashes and a pattern of laugh lines, smiled at him. Eighty-five years old and as many pounds soaking wet, Betty was fiercely independent and stubborn. Slay watched out for her when he was home, took her shopping when she allowed it.

  “Thanks, Betty,” Slay said, tearing open the cookies and shoving three in his mouth. “You need a ride this weekend?” he asked around the crumbs. She could apparently afford the studio condo in his complex, but relied on public transportation or taxis to get around.

  She shook her head. “Not this weekend. But if you come by later tomorrow night, I’m making lasagna.” Her blue eyes twinkled from behind her glasses.

  “Can’t, Betty,” he said. “Got a shift at The Club.” He wouldn’t tell her exactly what The Club stood for, and led her to believe he was just a bouncer. She didn’t need to know he was a flogger-wielding bouncer and a dominant, with a contractual obligation to make sure no one in The Club hurt one another beyond the bylaws Master Blake had in place.

  “One of these nights, you need to take me to The Club and buy me a drink,” Betty said, wagging a finger over her shoulder as she took out the half-size carton of eggs and quart of milk, placing them in the fridge.

  “You need help?” Slay asked, smothering a smile. “And I’ll think about The Club.”

  Betty’s head was deep in the fridge but he still heard her muffled voice before the door clicked shut. “I’m fine. I might be old, but I’m not dead! Buy me a drink!”

  Slay snorted. Like that would happen. “Later, Betty.”

  He went back to the entryway door, grabbed his stuff, and headed to his apartment. He regretted ever telling Betty he worked at a club, and didn’t want her asking questions. He kept his shit tight. He didn’t like the idea of all the little old ladies at the hair salon Betty visited speculating about what kind of club he worked for if Betty opened her mouth. No one needed to know. Matteo, his former Marine brother and fellow tattoo artist at Inked, was the only one who even knew that he was a dominant at The Club.

  When he opened the door to his apartment, he glanced appreciatively around. The cleaning lady had been by, and his place gleamed. He couldn’t be bothered to do shit like mop or clean bathrooms, but he was happy to pay someone to do it. A note on the counter awaited him.

  Much thanks for the big tip, Mr. Slay. His lips quirked a smile before he wadded the note up into a ball and tossed it into the trash. He hadn’t seen his cleaning lady Carmela, a petite, middle-aged Filipino woman, in weeks. Carmela was a single mom with two college-aged kids, a hard worker who didn’t ask questions. Those were essential qualities in someone who worked for Slay. He tipped her well. His only rule was that she not touch the locked spare room. The room was off limits. He explained to Carmela when she first started working for him that it was his “office,” and “the work I do is highly confidential.” His office was locked to most people, especially his younger sister Elena and his housecleaner. It was where he did his “work” ...of a certain type... and his work was totally confidential. Still, even though he trusted Carmela, he checked the spare room every time she’d been there.

  He took his key ring from his pocket and slid it into the keyhole. It clicked open. He turned the doorknob, and entered. It was dark in the room, the shades pulled intentionally. He flicked on the light switch.

  A dark wooden spanking bench gleamed in the overhead light, padded, with thick leather straps that would fit around the slender wrists he couldn’t get out of his mind. The wrists he’d taken and pinned above her head as he’d spanked her ass as she’d called him Daddy.

  Alexander Slater was an experienced dominant. He'd spent years as a guard at Club Black Box, but after shit went down there, had recently taken on a full-time position as dungeon master at The Club. He liked Blake, and he sure as hell liked the people who worked at The Club. He’d seen it all and thought he’d experienced it all. But up until Alice, he’d only ever fantasized about any girl calling him Daddy. Hearing the words come out of Alice’s mouth was unlike anything he’d ever fucking imagined.

  He shook his head. Had to clear his mind. Walking over to the bench, he ran a hand along the polished finish, inhaling the scent. The mere smell of leather got him going, and his pants tightened, his cock straining as he envisioned Alice stretched across that bench. It was custom made, crafted from the highest quality cherry wood by one of Matteo’s friends.

  But Slay had never used it, nor any of the equipment currently in the room. He’d been waiting for Alice.

  He'd been patient. He'd been waiting for the right woman, the one willing to play along with his kink and call him Daddy. He'd spent months watching her, testing her, seeing if she had the mettle to deal with his brand of kink. Now, he was taking off the gloves. Now he fucking itched to play with the toys he’d been handpicking.

  To the right, he’d installed a post with pegs, perfect for tying the ends of the light restraints he favored. And next to that lay the chest which housed a
small handful of implements—a thick leather strap, a thinner but wicked leather tawse, and a riding crop, among other things. He’d owned a wooden paddle and on occasion applied it with the last girl he’d dated, but she hadn’t been into the way he liked to do things. She’d laughed at him when he’d finally told her his daddy fantasy, and he’d spanked her for her disrespect. But he didn’t get through to her, partly because he hadn’t felt comfortable spanking for disrespect, when clearly, the daddy thing wasn’t her deal. They’d moved on, and he hadn’t brought it up with any other girl because it never felt quite right. He fingered the new leather paddle that had a good heft to it. It would be sensual but pack a lasting bite. Lifting the strap, he stroked the smooth leather in his hand, imagining what it would be like to tie Alice’s pretty little wrists to the pole, and stripe that gorgeous ass while she begged him.

  Please, Daddy.

  Yes, Daddy!

  I’m sorry, Daddy!

  He closed his eyes briefly, growing heady with excitement at the possibility. She’d give him oh so many reasons to spank her. He swallowed, placing the strap back down.

  His eyes glanced to the other side of the room, where another locked door led to a walk-in closet that housed another secret, another aspect of his life. Even Alice wouldn’t be allowed in there.

  He’d been watching Alice for a good long time now, and she didn’t even know it. He’d put her to the test, and time and again, she’d passed those tests she didn’t know she was taking. It was better that way.

  Could she really obey? Was she able to withstand being denied what she wanted?

  Was she in it for the kink or did she want something more?

  Some would argue it hadn’t been fair, what he’d done. He’d had his reasons. Entering into a full-time Dominant/submissive relationship with a woman was something he would never do blindly ever again. It took planning and forethought.

  Alexander Slater was a patient man. He could wait for years for what he wanted.

  But he was tenacious, a veritable pitbull. Once he bit, he didn’t let go.