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“Absolutely,” I say. “We’ll grab take-out on the way.”
Grace says goodbye to Jen and Ethan, and I find a bench to sit on while the girls run backstage to change. After swapping their tutus for casual dresses, Grace and Jasmine follow me out to the car. It’s a warm night, which I’ve thoroughly embraced by taking the convertible out of storage.
Jasmine pets the side of my Benz before she hops in the back.
“Uncle Aidan’s got a fancy ride,” she says.
Grace shoots her friend a look. “He’s not my uncle.”
We pick up Thai food on our way to the spa where the nail technicians greet us warmly. As soon as we’re settled in, they get to work on the girls’ feet, soaking and scrubbing their calves and soles with sweet-smelling products.
Grace and Jasmine devour their dinners while regaling me with stories of past performances and blunders. I’ve never seen Grace look so relaxed. I force myself not to study her as openly as I would if we were at the house. Jasmine isn’t sure what to make of me, and I don’t know how much Grace has told her about our arrangement. If she’s referring to me as Uncle Aidan, I can only assume, not much.
The girls climb back into the convertible with softened heels and painted toenails. Pulling up in front of the dorm, I get out to open the door and fold the passenger’s seat forward so they can easily climb out the back.
Jasmine gets out first. Before my little one can slide off the seat, I say, “There’s one more thing I need to give you, Grace.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. She turns to Jasmine. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Jasmine glances between the two of us, thanks me for dinner and the pedicure, then heads inside the building. I slide into the seat she just vacated and shut the door.
“Did you have fun tonight, little one?” I ask her.
She floors me with one of her megawatt smiles. “Oh, yes. Everything was perfect. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” Sitting this close to her in a public place feels downright dangerous.
The high points of her face glow beneath the light from the nearby buildings. Her beauty is otherworldly. She crosses her legs in my direction, drawing my gaze to the smooth expanse of her thigh. “What did you need to give me?”
I swipe my finger across my lips. “I promised you a kiss, remember?”
Her eyes widen. She nods.
I’m aware that kissing her now would break every rule I’ve set for myself. But I made a promise, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.
Grasping her ankle, I draw her foot into my lap. She gasps as I slide her sandal off, baring her tender sole. I’m convinced I can hear her heart pounding from across the backseat, assuming it’s not the sound of my own heart rioting in my chest.
My cock swells. I’m not supposed to touch her, yet here she sits, her slim foot in my palm, a perfect representation of Grace herself. Tender delicacy and iron strength forged by pure will.
Closing my eyes, I cradle her sole, and press a gentle kiss to the top of her foot.
A whimper floats from her mouth like a feather.
I should pull away, but what I want is to pull her closer and kiss her harder. I want to paint a path with my tongue, from the inside of her ankle to her inner thigh. It takes every drop of my control to force my hands to move, wedging her foot back into her sandal, and lowering it to the floor.
Kissing her was probably a mistake. I seem to be making a lot of those lately, which should put me on my guard. The more time I spend in her world, and the deeper she slides into mine, and the more I want her, not just as a plaything. I want the girl, the dancer, the ray of sunshine on cracked concrete where daisies have managed to grow.
But that’s not how this works. If I want her as my submissive, I can’t take her as a lover. That’s how it’s been done for twenty years, and how it has to stay.
“Text me before you go to bed.” I reach for the doorhandle.
The click of the latch seems to shake her out of whatever trance she’s in.
“Can I come home tonight? It’s Friday.”
“It is Friday,” I say. “But graduation’s next month. You should cherish the time you have left with your friends.”
I step out of the car and hold the door open for her.
“But graduation’s so far away.” She climbs out of the car with a sigh. A handful of weeks is all that stands between Grace and the end of this chapter of her life. Less than a month from now, she’ll move into my house full-time. And shortly after that, comes an even more momentous date.
June third, her eighteenth birthday.
“It’ll be here before you know it,” I say.
