Текст книги "Pretty When You Cry "

Автор книги: Skye Warren

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I take a step back, away from the fury in his voice. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s a fucking—I want you like this all the time. And I want you like this in my goddamn lap while I feed you from my plate and then put you to bed. I can’t help wanting it, little one. All I have to do is look at you, and I’m hurting with how much I want you.”

I was afraid of his spankings, of his humiliation. I’m still afraid, even though it turns me on. But taking care of me…that’s what I want too. He held himself back out of some twisted sense of honor, as if maybe kinky spankings were okay when tenderness was not. “Take care of me, Daddy.”

His eyes flash. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“That’s a naughty word.”

He reaches for me, hand tangling in my hair. “Daddies use naughty words sometimes. And they do naughty things, don’t they?”

“Yes,” I say meekly, knowing exactly where this is heading.

He steps forward again. I step back.

“Have you been naughty?” he breathes.

My eyes widen. I don’t want to tell him the truth. Not because I can’t take the physical pain of a spanking. No, I need that pain—yearn for it in the middle of the night. But I can’t take the pain of his coldness, bent over some hard surface while his body is far away, two feet of distance except for his hand against my ass.

I shake my head, lips pressed together.

“No?” he asks, drawing out the word. Another step forward.

Another step back. “I…I don’t…”

The backs of my legs hit the daybed, and then I’m falling backward. He’s right on top of me, kneeling over me, his presence a delicious shadow blocking out the light. I have a brief thought that the old bed might not support his weight, pure muscle, and so much of it—there’s an ominous creak. Then his mouth is on mine, his hands are pressing my wrists above my head, and all thought leaves me.

“Don’t hurt me,” I whimper.

“Only a little.” His voice is dark and seductive, promising I’ll like whatever he does. “You’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

“I wasn’t good.” I bite my lip, and tears fill my eyes. This is when it will change. This is when he will change. “I touched myself. Between my legs.”

His lids lower. He puts his free hand on my thigh, slipping between my legs through my skirt. “Here?”

My hands clench into fists. “Umm…a little higher.”

He pushes higher, bunching the fabric so it’s at the top of my legs. “Was it here?”

My cheeks are burning hot. “Kind of. And kind of… higher.”

“Ah,” he says gravely. “Did you touch yourself under your panties? Did you make yourself wet, little one?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I knew it was wrong, but I—”

“But you wanted to feel good.” His expression seems both sympathetic and severe. “Little girls just want to feel good, don’t they? Did you think I’d be mad?”

My eyes widen, and I nod.

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. “You didn’t have anyone else to make you feel good, but now I’m here. I’m going to be the only one to touch your pretty pussy. Right?”

My breath catches. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I’m going to be the only one to make you feel good.” He pushes my skirt up, and I press my legs together. He pries them apart. “Don’t be afraid.”

“It’s scary.” I don’t just mean him touching me or fucking me. I mean trusting him to be my Daddy. I mean letting myself be a little girl. The way he’s acting now, tender and open and even a little vulnerable—it feels like a dream. It was my dream for so long, and now it’s come true.

His face is solemn, gray eyes soft as snow. “I know, little one. You are the bravest little girl I’ve ever met. You taught me how to be brave too.”

Brave? All I’ve ever done is run away—from Harmony Hills, from the Grand. Ivan is the one who stands his ground, who makes an entire city yield to his demands. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

Gentle hands pull down my white panties. His eyes darken as he stares between my legs. My skirt is still on, just pushed up around my waist. I try to close my legs, but he’s holding them open.

“I was afraid of you,” he says softly. “Afraid of how much I wanted you. Afraid I’d corrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” I say because he needs to know. He tried to protect me in his house. I was the one who had to start working at the Grand, to reclaim some kind of power over my life.

He leans down and presses a kiss on my clit, almost chaste. “I did, but not because of who I am or what I do for a living. I corrupted you by giving you pain without the pleasure, by punishing you but never rewarding you. I thought it could keep you safe from my desires, but in the end it only made it worse.”

He’s opening himself, making himself vulnerable to me, and it only makes me love him more. This is the Daddy I always wanted. This is the Daddy I need.

My sex is pulsing, and I want nothing more than his mouth on me. My legs are shaking where he’s holding me open. “So you’re not…you’re not going to punish me?”

His smile is knowing. “Oh, I’m sure I will. Little girls need to learn how to behave. But I think before that happens…I need to give you a reward.”

“You…you do?” I’m breathless now, halfway to begging.

Then his mouth is on me, licking me, teasing me, tying me up in knots. I hold the white iron bars of the daybed as if that can keep me grounded—but nothing can. I’m flying. Then his fingers slip inside me, and I’m falling. He follows me down, flicking his tongue against my clit while I cry out and beg for more, for him to never stop, for him to crash with me, come with me.

For the first time, he listens to me. He releases himself from his suit pants with rough, jerky movements, and then he’s inside me, his expression intense, almost pained.

“Don’t move.”

But I can’t help it. I’m rocking underneath him, writhing, my sex clenching around the invasion. “Please.”

He makes a low growling sound. “I said don’t. Fucking. Move.”

My eyes widen, and I grow very still. “I won’t.”

His gaze softens, even though the tension around his mouth doesn’t ease. “I don’t want to finish too soon. Not when I’ve been dreaming about being inside you.”

“You dream about me?” I whisper.

“Every damn night.” One thrust. Two. “Even before you left.”

His cock hits a spot inside me that makes me moan. “Before I…”

His smile is crooked and boyish—completely unlike the Ivan I knew but so much the man I love. This Ivan is letting me see him, all of him. “I tried to keep you safe from me, I really did.”

“And now?”

He thrusts in deeper than before, and I flinch. “Now there’s no going back.”

He opens his shirt, button by button, exposing just a sliver of his dark, broken skin. Then he pulls aside the sides of his shirt, and the full impact of his scars takes my breath away.

He places my hands on his chest. “Do you know what these mean?”

They mean pain. They mean secrets. “Someone hurt you.”

He shakes his head. “These were a wall. I was closed off from the world. And you, you kept opening me up. I fought you with everything I had, but in the end, you vanquished me. More than these marks ever did, more than anyone else ever could have.”

I make a low sound of sorrow, of grief as my hands move over his broad chest, his abs, feeling the rough texture of him, the marks that couldn’t break him.

“You asked me once what makes you different.” He holds my wrists still, keeping my hands tight to his body. “This is what makes you special, little one. Countless people have tried to hurt me, to kill me. You were the one to slay me.”

“Ivan,” I whisper. “Daddy.”

His eyes glow with a kind of silver power. He moves my hand so it’s directly over his heart, and I feel the thump of it against my palm. “You’re here, little one. Forever.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I know exactly what I’ll do with the Grand. Plans that have been forming for years, kept hidden even from myself, are bubbling to the surface. The VIP rooms will have to go, although actual VIP rooms, ones with swanky booths and quiet music, would be wonderful.

For the after-party, of course. There would only be one a night, not a steady stream of single girls onstage. And as for the dancing…let’s just say I see a lot more high kicks and bustiers in the show.

I do love the cottage, but it’s more like a good friend. The Grand is my forever love.

Like Ivan.

“Did you find Alex?” I ask, holding my breath. The last thing I want to do is have to tell Sarah Elizabeth that her brother has been killed.

Ivan shakes his head. “He’s in the wind.”

I sigh, one part relief, one part worry.

The only thing keeping me here is Sarah Elizabeth. She’s come a long way since leaving Harmony Hills, but I think she’s more suited to this cottage than to Tanglewood. And her baby is due in a few months. I can’t leave her here alone. Once the baby is born, she’ll need help, support. I don’t begrudge her that. I have never been able to shake the guilt over leaving her to Leader Allen, even knowing there was nothing a sixteen-year-old girl could do. And besides, we’ve become friends.

But every minute spent here is one where I’m not at the Grand. Where I’m not with Ivan.

Now that we’re together, now that we’re equals, I don’t ever want to be apart.

Small sounds are coming from the back room, and I cock my head. What is she doing in there?

Ivan and I head for the door together, hands linked. The cottage is structured in a strange way, with the living quarters in the front and the kitchen in the back. Kind of like the old, grand houses where servants were common, although this place is too small and modest for those.

“Beth?” I call.

No answer. My heart picks up a rhythm.

Ivan’s expression hardens, and he pushes me behind him. He nudges the door, and it swings open—revealing Luca and Sarah Elizabeth in a lip-lock, both covered in flour. He’s got her backed against the wall, and she doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are under her ass, lifting her up. Her hands are in his hair, dusting the black strands with white.

Shock leaves me rooted to the spot, unable to speak.

Her belly isn’t exactly large, but it’s impossible to miss, a bump from her thin frame. It doesn’t seem to bother Luca in the slightest. He presses his big body against hers, rocking his hips in a blunt, insistent motion.

Ivan clears his throat, and Luca’s head lifts slightly. He carefully sets Sarah Elizabeth down before turning to face us. It doesn’t escape my notice that he blocks her from view, either to give her time to adjust her dress or to protect her from Ivan’s wrath.

Well, Ivan doesn’t seem mad exactly. More amused. “I told you to keep her occupied.”

Luca is unrepentant. “I did.”

Ivan turns back to me, his expression hesitant. “We’ll have to spend the night here.”

He doesn’t quite phrase it as a question, but I know this is his way of including me. Of letting me take the lead. Of giving me the option to invite him or push him away.

I step close and take his hand again. “We’ll make it work. There are some extra bedrolls in the attic.”

“And then tomorrow, we’ll fly back.” Another not question.

Worry tugs at my lips. “Well. I’m not sure I can leave Beth.”

She steps out from behind Luca. “I can come with you, if that’s what you want. You shouldn’t be trapped here because of me.”

“No,” Luca says. “I’ll stay with her.”

We all three turn to stare at him. Ivan seems the most shocked. Beth seems scandalized but pleased. As for me? This is the best thing to ever happen to me. Now I can go back to the Grand, back to Ivan, and know that Sarah Elizabeth is safe.

And plus, I’ll never let Luca live this down.

Beth recovers first. “No, it wouldn’t be…right.”

Pretty much everyone in the room can tell it’s a token protest, even Beth. Her cheeks turn red.

“Hmm,” I say, tugging Ivan back through the door. “I think we should give these two a chance to talk things out.”

Ivan still looks shocked, but he lets me lead him away. “I’m not sure there’ll be much talking,” he mutters.

It makes me giggle, and I feel exactly like the little girl—like his little girl—that I always wanted to be. Light and carefree. Hopeful. “Whatever they’re doing, it will probably take… oh, an hour or two. I could show you the orchard.”

His lips quirk. “The orchard?”

How does he make normal things sound dirty? “You know…trees, peaches. That orchard.”

“Right.” He smirks. “Lead the way.”

God. “I’m not joking. I’ve been tending it every day. It’s a lot of work, almost as tiring as dancing. There’s a certain time you have to pick them and—”

I have to stop because Ivan is full-on laughing now, a deep baritone sound that I’m not sure I’ve ever heard before. I want to be mad at him, but I can’t. It’s too wonderful seeing him like this, his suit rumpled from the drive, a smile on his face, and lust in his gray eyes. There’s nothing left to do but laugh with him while I show him my orchard and all the pretty peaches. I pick one that’s ripe and low, feeding it to him and then me, so that both our lips are stained sticky sweet. He lays me down in the shade of a tree, and we do our best to work grass and dirt stains into a ten-thousand-dollar suit.

All my life I’ve been running, and I’m not going to stop now. Only this time when I run, it’s not away from someplace or someone. I’m running to someplace, to someone. The Grand is my home, and Ivan is my heart. When I am near them, the running turns to dancing. And the dancing is like prayer.

Chapter Thirty

I stand just outside the gates of the Grand, watching dusk set in. Streetlamps carve out sections of the street, flashing loose pavement like diamonds. The alleys are pitch black—anyone could be happening in them. Anything is happening in them. Men know better than to approach me. Ivan’s reputation—and my own—are well known. But I don’t fool myself that I’m safe in this city just because I love it. It’s like loving a volcano, knowing one day you’ll get burned.

A hand circles my wrist, and I jump.

When I turn, my heart thumps faster. Ivan. “You came.”

He leans in to place a kiss on my forehead, and I close my eyes. It feels so right—the faint heat of him, his breath. I shiver.

“Of course,” he says simply. This is a big night for the Grand. A big night for me. We’ve had a soft open for weeks now, but this is the official opening. Ivan has been incredibly busy growing his other businesses now that he isn’t spending all of his time at the Grand, but he makes sure to attend one show a week. And he swore he wouldn’t miss this one.

On impulse, I wrap my arms around him. “Thank you.”

He drops his chin on my hair. “You know you shouldn’t be out here without West.”

West is my new personal bodyguard. Now that Luca is with Sarah Elizabeth, he needed someone else to trust with me—and of course it’s the boy scout. “He’s helping inside,” I say, brushing over the fact that I ordered him to and then slipped away. He will not be pleased. “And besides, you’re here now.”

He raises one eyebrow, not amused. “Am I?”

Rhetorical questions mean I’m in trouble. To distract him I take a step back and finger the fine, blush-colored material of my dress. It’s constructed from layers that are like petals, and I twirl for maximum effect. It only blooms when I dance.

“What do you think?” I ask. One of the advantages of being a former stripper is that I can execute that move in sparkly gold Louboutin’s on cobblestone. “I look like a flower.”

He’s sufficiently distracted, eyes sweeping down to the floor. “A flower with incredible legs,” he mutters.

I bite my lip and step close. Some women seem to grow taller when their man appreciates them, gaining confidence—and that’s a beautiful thing. But me, I’m the opposite. I already have a surplus of confidence, of swagger. Only with Ivan can I let myself be small. I curl into him, just a little. Soon I’ll have to return to the crowd, to be the social butterfly, the hostess, but for now I let myself be his.

I play with the lapel of his jacket. “Are you going to take me down to the basement after?”

“Why? Have you been a bad girl?”

“Nooo,” I say, hoping he doesn’t ask for details, knowing he will. “I thought you could reward me for working so hard.”

“Ah,” he says in that short, knowing way of his. “Of course good girls should be rewarded. Tell me, little one. Did you eat dinner tonight?”

Shit. “Well… no. But I was thinking I could grab some hors d’ourves after I dance. My tummy is too twisted to eat anyway.”

“What about lunch?” he asks without missing a beat.

If I tell him the truth, he’ll be so mad. I could see him dragging me into the kitchens and standing over me until I ate something. “Yes,” I lie.

He studies me for a moment. Then he says, “All right. Go be beautiful and gracious and powerful. And when you are done, I will take you down to the basement.”

I shiver. “Please, Daddy.”

His mouth is next to my ear when he whispers, “I’ll have to punish you for that lie, little one.”

A squeak of alarm escapes me, but then West appears at the gate, looking haggard. Ivan sends him a disapproving look. Poor West. I do keep him on his toes. Speaking of which, I hope Sarah Elizabeth is keeping Luca on his toes. Now that I think about it, I’m sure she is.

We return to the courtyard where the crowd has gathered to watch the unveiling. The doors of the Grand are open, and people are packed all the way inside, looking out. They hold champagne flutes and martini glasses. The men are impeccable in their tuxes and slicked back hair—the same men who once frequented the Grand as a strip club. The women on their arms are dressed in Armani and Valentino, every shade of orange and pink and gold. They love to whisper about the salacious past of the Grand even while they drop a thousand dollars on a ticket.

In the center of it all is the fountain. It’s never worked the entire time I’ve been here. The statue at the top has been broken since I got here, and it’s gotten smashed even worse since then. The trough collects dry leaves and dirt.

Now it’s covered by yards and yards of black silk.

“Thank you all for coming,” I tell everyone. “The Grand has been my dream, my home. It’s been my deepest desire, and I’m thrilled tonight to share it with you all.”

The eyes of the crowd shine with lust. The men want my body. Some of the women want it too. They’re covetous and cruel and absolutely beautiful.

“Without further delay, please let me present to you all an incredible artist and lovely young woman.”

Clara stands up, looking nervous and brave. She gives a speech about this commission—her first major piece to be in public. Her sister, Honor, is in the audience. Her dark eyes shine with pride as she watches her younger sister speak. Honor is wearing a black sheath and simple gold string necklace. She looks sophisticated and demure. No one would guess from looking at her that she had the most flawless pole technique I’ve ever seen.

Lola is beside her, with Blue’s arms wrapped around her waist. He doesn’t leave her side when he can help it, and especially not here, when Sarah Elizabeth’s brother, Alex, has never been caught. He hasn’t struck again either, so we’re hoping he gave up his horrible crusade and went somewhere far away—away from Harmony Hills and away from us.

When Clara is finished speaking, she nods to the men on either side of the fountain. They’re bouncers. High class bouncers, and they fill out their tuxes so nicely. They reach down and pull the black silk away, unveiling the new statue atop the fountain.

An angel stands on top of the fountain. Her wings are spread wide, strong and capable of carrying her anywhere. One wing is slightly crooked, like a bird who’s injured her wing. But she still stands tall, chin held high. Her hair falls in loose waves, the kind of texture you get after being out at sea, salt and water spray leaving its mark. And her eyes—the angels eyes are what you remember most. They’re strong and fierce, so determined. This isn’t an angel to pray or bless you. This is a warrior, one who knows the evils of the world and fight them every day.

The crowd gasps, torn between genuine appreciation and their jaded addiction to criticism. They applaud Clara and demand, simply demand, that she create custom pieces for them all. She’ll be very busy, assuming she wants to create ego centerpieces for cunning rich people.

Ivan squeezes my hand. “It’s lovely.”

I give him a wink. “Wait until you see the show.”

Those lovely gray eyes widen. I don’t dance very often, not onstage, focusing instead on the choreography, the staging, and the front of the house. Not to mention the number crunching on the backend. It keeps me busy, but I wanted to be part of this night, of this show. I wanted this to be a true transition from what the Grand had been to what it has become. That means never forgetting where it came from, just like I can never forget. There are scars on the Grand, in the walls themselves. Just like there are scars on Ivan’s body. They tell a story about where it’s been—and about where it’s going.

*     *     *

It’s a rush out onstage again, the lights, the feeling of flying. I dance with the other girls in formation through our opening act and then wait backstage for a few of the sets.

Then it’s my turn.

My dance is a blend of stripper moves and burlesque, both crude and sultry, both fierce and whimsical. It’s an ode to the past, this song. And hope for the future. When I’m done, I’m breathless, weightless.

I’m almost euphoric as I head down the familiar hallway and into the dressing room. It had to be expanded to accommodate the full company of dancers. They’re bustling about, getting ready for the show. Some of them give me a hug and kiss, congratulating me on my performance, but I’m careful not to smudge their makeup.

Then I see Honor at my vanity, with Lola at her side. Blue is there, looking severe.

My heart drops. All I can think about is Alex. Did he do something else? Leave more blood? Hurt someone?

“What’s wrong?” I manage to ask over the knot in my throat.

“It’s Clara,” Honor says. “She was supposed to sit with us, but when we all took our seats, she wasn’t there. She isn’t anywhere.”

Oh God. There’s a steel band around my chest, and I can’t breathe. If anything happened to Clara, I don’t know what I would do. She’s too sweet for this place. Too innocent. Why did I ever ask her to make a sculpture for us?

“She probably just got a ride with some friends,” Lola says, but her big brown eyes are filled with worry. We all know that Clara is careful, thoughtful. She would have at least told her sister she was leaving.

Kip appears, looking out of breath. “We searched the perimeter of the Grand, but we’re going to go wider.”

In other words, he hasn’t found her.

I squeeze Honor’s hand. “I’m sure she’ll turn up just fine, and then you’ll be able to ground her for life.”

Honor gives me a wan smile. “She’s eighteen now. I can’t ground her at all.”

A grown woman. She’s seen so much, but it never changed her. It never hardened her. Which means she doesn’t have any defenses against the dark side of Tanglewood. Definitely none against Alex and the perverted teachings of Harmony Hills. Now I understand Ivan’s murderous rage. If he hurt one silky blonde hair on her head…

My phone lights up on my vanity, and suspicion makes my eyes narrow. I manage to keep a blank expression as I grab it from the small table and move aside. They’ll think I’m only checking my messages or maybe calling her. Presumably they’ve tried and gone to voicemail.

Sure enough, there’s a text. Sorry, it says.

Where are you?? Honor is freaking out.

Don’t tell her I talked to you. Pls.

Umm… why? She’s going to have a heart attack.

You owe me.

Crap, she’s right. I do owe her after she helped me out that night. I hate having to keep Honor in the dark though. I hate being in the dark, because I don’t know what’s happening either. At least, wherever she is, she has her phone and the presence of mind to text me.

I type again. Are you safe?

For now.

I think I’m going to strangle that girl. Only after Honor has a go of it, of course. But maybe every girl needs a little rebellion. She might need it more than most, the way Honor has protected her—overprotected her. After their rough beginning, it’s understandable that her older sister wanted to hold her tightly. Maybe a little too tight.

At least she isn’t taking a gray bus out of town, never to be heard from again. Well, I’m pretty sure she’s not doing that.

Stay that way or I’ll hurt you, I type before shutting off the screen.

My mind is racing, trying to think of how I can keep Honor calm without actually telling her anything. Okay, that is pretty impossible.

Ivan appears in the door, where I’ve seen him so many times. He doesn’t come inside, just gestures for me to come out. I can tell by his dire expression that he’s heard Clara is missing. In the hallway, I burrow myself into his side, needing to feel his solidity, his strength.

“Do you know where she is?” he asks, so softly I barely can hear him.

I shake my head without looking at him. “But she said she’s okay.”

He gives a faint nod. “That’s enough for now.”

Enough for now. Yes. I can trust her that much. God knows, she trusted me much more than that. I have to hope she knows what she’s doing, because I love her like a sister.

I love Honor like a sister. Lola too. I have an entire family here, built with every swing of the pole, every rough customer thrown out. For so long after I left Harmony Hills, I felt the loneliness like physical pain. But these girls are my family.

The Grand is my home, just like I told a crowd full of beautiful strangers tonight.

And this man is my heart.

Ivan watches me with quicksilver eyes. “To the basement, little one.”

He calls to me, and I follow him down, into the heat of him, the depths of him, burned and made new again. He takes my desire and turns it around, turns it into sweetness. He takes my kindness, my love, and warps it into lust. And each time he twists me, I’m bound a little closer to him, tied a little tighter. There is nothing that could break us now.

Every love story is a knot, and ours is threaded with steel.

He follows me down the metal stairs, and I whirl in the dank grey space, a flash of color, a bloom. “Where do you want me, Daddy?”

He sits at the high-back chair and pats his lap. I start to climb onto him, but he shakes his head. “Bend over, little one.”

I drape myself over him instead. His thighs are warm and unyielding against my front, caressing my breasts. He pushes up my skirt, and I hear his breath catch at what he sees.

My lace panties are torn away. They land on the concrete, a pile of pink scraps.

He found me lost, alone, and helpless—and gave me a place to call mine. This basement, this building. The space where he watches me, both of us held by our own dark desires, in these moments before he gives me my reward.

We are made of the same thing, he and I. Of sin and hope, of power and pleasure.

We were made to dream.