Page 41 of Lesson In Honesty
“You’re taking the weekend off, babygirl.”
Her brow slammed into an angry furrow. “Am not.”
“You are, or I’m tying you to the bed for the day.”
She almost choked on her gasp of outrage. “Bad Daddy!”
“There’s two options, Sierra. Have a fun day with Mack or spend the day being bored, restrained, with a butt plug for company.” An edge of steel underlined his next, single word. “Choose.”
Instinctively, she looked to Mack for support, but the Dom was tactfullynotreturning her stare, his mouth flickering with a barely restrained smile. Maybe she needed to rethink heryesif he wasn’t going to be a useful ally.
She blew a raspberry at him.
“Choose, minx, or I’ll do it for you.” Though Liam bent close to her ear, he didn’t bother whispering. “I found a new plug in the club’s arsenal. It’s got bobbles, little girl. An hour with that up your ass and you’ll be crying for an orgasm, laying in a puddle of your own juices, and I’ll still make you wait until my shift is done before you get any relief.”
“Sadist,” she hissed. “Sadist Daddy!”
“It vibrates too.”
Sierra stomped her foot under the table. Bobblesandvibration? She was doomed to hours of torture. Knowing Liam wouldn’t leave her alone, tied up and helpless, meant he’d draft someone to babysit her—with orders to let her suffer through her punishment.
The likely choice for draftee was now Mack, and she was sure he wouldn’t be swayed by her arsenal of pleas, begging, or threats.
Damn it.
Outnumbered.
Pouting, she huffed dramatically. Daring Liam was akin to yanking on the proverbial tiger’s tail—it never ended well. “Me and my stuffies will co’perate under d’ress.”
“A smart yet disappointing choice,” he commented, sighing heavily. “Oh well, I’m sure I’ll find another use for the plug sometime soon.” Sliding his thumb down the side of her neck, hitting every sensitive erogenous zone under the skin, he bent and rubbed his beard against her cheek. “I need to get back to work, minx. Shift’s nearly over, so I’ll leave you with Mack. Behave, babygirl.”
When he gave her shoulders one last squeeze and strolled back to the bar, Sierra’s scowl deepened. Like she’d be able to do anythingbutbehave with that infernal plug hanging over her head, waiting to drop like a carnal guillotine blade.
Maybe it was time for her weekly check in with her girls at Avalon—Anarchy and Alicia in particular—and to beg for advice on what brats and Littles did to their Daddy Doms for revenge.
Mack
Insanity.
How else could he describe the day so far? It turned out Sierra was a lot of fun to be around whether she was Little or not, but apparently it was dangerous to let her spend two hours on the phone with a woman called Archie, and another named Lisha.
From what he gathered from the whispers, the three of them were conspiring to create mischief, with Liam at the center of whatever chaos they were plotting. The voices coming through the phone speakers had been markedly different—Archie’s was normal, melodic, with an undertone of the devil; Lisha’s was one hundred percent Little—but the glee in both was identical.
Trouble was brewing, and the pixie was heading it.
After she said goodbye, Sierra turned into a toddler amped up on sugar, bouncing around the cabin until Mack finally caved and took her hyperactive ass down to the Nursery to burn off some of that energy.
Accomplishing that was no easy feat, he discovered. Forty-five minutes on the jungle gym, twenty in the sand pit, and finally a slowing down period of nearly an hour of coloring rendered her exhausted enough to settle down for a snack, a glass of water, and eventually a nap.
Christ, he felt like he needed one himself.
When she woke, he planned to escort her over to the bar, check in with Liam, then have lunch in the restaurant while getting to know her more. What she’d already told him, what he’d unearthed himself, was fascinating.
He liked it when things caught his attention, made him think, encouraged him to dig and explore for the tiny kernels of gold buried in every mystery.
Keeping one eye on Sierra as she chased dreams in the quaintly namedNappingNook—a cozy corner stacked with blankets, pillows, and a few stuffies—Mack sipped from his glass of orange juice, because of course, no alcohol was allowed in the Nursery.
He answered his phone absently when it vibrated in his pocket, lowering his voice so he didn’t disturb Sierra or the three other Littles curling, sprawling, and snoring around her. “Morehead.”