Page 75 of Daddy's Lesson

“Okay. So please can we just go? We’ve already put them out enough. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

She was sincere, I knew she was, but I also didn’t want her to do anything she didn’t want to or wasn’t ready for just because she thought it was the right thing.

“Let’s go.”

Before I could reassure her one more time that she could still back out, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door.

Zoe

Was I nervous as hell? I sure was, but I was also filled with peace. When I was just an older unmarried professor the club had been a scary place, one where I didn’t belong.

But it was different now, because I was with Lennon. And despite everything last night, his friends had my back as much as they could while we were still strangers. I owed this to them, and to him, and to myself.

We took an Uber to the club and rode the elevator up to the penthouse level, where the club was. Pausing outside the door, I stopped short. “Wait.”

“What?” Lennon looked at me with wide eyes and I could tell he thought I was going to back out.

“While we’re here, I want you to have a drink.” It was hard to say the words, but I’d been thinking about it all day.

His reaction was strong and swift as he shook his head from side to side, denying my request. “No.”

“Lennon… Daddy… please. Just one. A shot, or a single, or even the weakest beer you offer. But I need you to. I want you to. I need to not have a fear reaction when it comes to you and alcohol. I still don’t want it in the house. I still won’t drink it myself, and I appreciate greatly the compromises you made regarding my limits. But The Penthouse is one of your safe places to do that, and I don’t want you to change that just because I’m here.”

He opened his mouth to protest and I shushed him with a look. “I’ll be okay. And if I’m not, I will tell you. But we are here because I know I can trust you. Not just with my body, but with every part of me. And that includes my broken old baggage.”

He looked like he was going to protest again, but he just shook his head and sighed, pulling the door open.

This time we bypassed Eve and Zeke at the check-in point. I had no phone or wallet, so we skipped the lockers, too, and I walked with my heart pounding and my head held high on Lennon’s arm to the back of the club, where he pulled open another door and guided me into a private little bar area. His friends were already there, and I could see the polite questions and cautious optimism on their faces as we entered.

For a moment I wanted to turn tail and run, but instead I smiled and led Lennon to the bar. Thank god Archer was the one behind it.

“Something to drink?” he asked me with a furrowed brow.

“Lemon water, please.”

Lennon leveled me with a side-eye, as if checking in once more before going ahead.

I smiled at him, and he nodded before turning to Archer. “Single scotch on the rocks, please.”

If Archer thought the request was strange he gave no reaction, and quickly filled it. Lennon led me over to a private corner away from the prying, curious eyes of his friends.

“We need to talk about your limits for this scene.”

“You already know my limits.”

“I know your limits for a private, intimate scene between the two of us. Not a public one with my friends and a bunch of strangers watching.”

“My limits are my limits,” I quickly reassured him. “They haven’t changed.” I took his hand and placed it over my heart. “I trust you, and myself. More than I have in a really long time. I want to do this. And I don’t want to go through this scene with a fine-tooth comb before it happens. I think if we did that, I might be tempted to chicken out. I need to not have the control here. It’s good for me.”

His mouth opened, then snapped shut. “Okay, fine.” He took three sips of the scotch Archer had poured, meeting my gaze with each one.

I jerked, but kept my eyes steady on his, sipping my own water, matching him sip for sip. Yes, I felt my blood pressure rising. Yes, my fight-or-flight response was screaming for a reaction. I tamed it, reminding myself that Lennon was nothing like my father or my ex, and that alcohol was just a beverage in the hands of the right person.

And the anxiety eased by his fourth sip. When he drained the glass, all I felt was relief that we could soon begin, and that finally, afterward, we could truly put this behind us and move on.

He set it on the table and took my hand. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not backing out. I’m ready.”