"I did something bad," I told Crystal.

"Did you fuck him?" she asked sounding far too excited.

Although the widower and I had only been in the house together two days since the incident, the elephant in the room grew larger each day that passed. "No. I sort of . . . grabbed him by the balls and told him he was being a shitty father."

She stared at me so long, I would have thought our connection froze if her hair wasn't blowing in the breeze. "You did what?!"

"I know," I press my palm to my forehead in shame. "I wasn't thinking."

"Babe! You can't dominate a dom! You know what'll happen!"

"Yeah, I know."

She let out a breath through pursed, smiling lips. "You want it to happen, don't you? You're just gonna keep pissing him off, hoping he'll blow up and give you exactly what you want. You kinky bitch."

"No!" I mean, maybe I've thought about it a little. "It wasn't like that. He pushed me and I snapped." Replaying it in my mind made it no better. "I expected him to fire me on the spot, but it was almost the opposite. Making him mad was the first time I got him to communicate and emote like a human." And nearly choked me, but I wouldn't tell her that. 

"He's probably been taught to repress his emotions like every other man. Anger may be the only way he knows how to communicate." That could be true. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen? We all know the way to a man's heart is through his penis and you've almost forgotten what one looks like, so . . ." She started to giggle.

"Seriously, Crystal . . ." I trailed off when a staff member started walking onto the veranda where I was sitting. When he walked through the door, I said, "Let me call you back."

"Ms. Nielson, there's a call from Matthew's school." He handed me the phone.

I took it from him and mouthed thank you. "Hello?"

"Hello. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Aubrey Nielson. I'm Matthew's, uh,"—I hated saying nanny—"guardian. Is something wrong?"

"Matthew has gotten himself into some trouble and needs to be picked up immediately."

Crap. "Okay. Yes, someone will be there shortly."

I closed my eyes and took a breath. I have to tell his dad.

I spewed every curse word in my vocabulary as I went inside and down the stairs.

My heart pounded nervously as I approached his office. The last time I was in there was less than comfortable, but it was either I tell him now or risk that he'd hear it from someone less aware of their temperamental relationship.

I knocked on the door but it didn't catch his attention. I took a few steps inside, and when he started rattling off in Italian, my hesitation faded to annoyance.

He glanced at me mid-sentence and his speech stumbled to a stop. He looked away from me and got back on track. I stood in front of his desk and waited for him to stop insisting whoever he was speaking with to stop "selling in a bear market." When he finished his lecture, he looked at me expectantly.

I took that as my cue to speak. "There's an issue at Matthew's school. I can handle it if you'd like."

He started to say something but looked away and started yelling into the phone once more. With a frustrated huff, he covered the speaker and looked at me once more. "Please."

He went back to aggressively conversing and that was the end of it.

. . .

It was a strange experience to take a boat to Matthew's school. The dock along the edge of the campus showed me it must be a common way to commute. That also meant the level of wealth there must have been staggering.

Matthew's school was as other-worldly as the castle. The gothic-style archways of the main hall looked like something you'd see in the great halls of Yale or Columbia.

Someone walked out of the office's door and held it open for me. I thanked them and then saw Matthew sitting a few steps away. He slouched in the chair with his arms crossed, the same look of annoyance and anger his father often had.

"Matthew," I called to him. He turned to me and I gasped. His left cheek was purpled, his eye slightly swollen. "What happened?!"

"Nothing," he said like a typical teenager. I gave him a don't mess with me look and he rephrased himself. "I got in a fight but it wasn't a big deal."

"It was a big deal," the administrator clarified. "Which is why he's suspended for three days."

"Three?" I gasped. His father was going to kill him. Or me. Whichever was easiest. "Is there something else we can do instead? He can't miss that much school this late in the semester."

"He said he would rather take the suspension than stay late the next two weeks for after-school detention."

Children, I swear. "No, let's go ahead and sign him up for that detention."

"Aubrey, no!" I shot him another look and he sat back in his chair.

. . .

When we left the school, I took him to a café up the river by the twin's school to give us an opportunity to talk. The waiter was kind enough to bring a bag of ice with our coffee and pastries.

I stared at Matthew over my latte as he leaned against the bag in his hand. Looking at his expression, his fear was muted beneath a thinly veiled layer of pride. As much as he denied it, I knew he craved his father's attention. The problem would come when Augustine ultimately denied him of it once more.

His eyes flickered up and found mine. I gave him a small smile but let him fill the space with whatever he wanted to say. "Why are you being nice to me?" he asked.

My brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't I be nice to you?"

"I don't know," he said with an exasperated shrug. "Because I'm a fuck up? Because I don't listen? Because dad just fired Mildred and now I'm ruining things for you, too?" Even if those were legitimate reasons, it still wouldn't be enough to make me chastise him. "Please, please don't tell my dad."

I sighed. "If you didn't want to get into trouble then why were you fighting, Matthew?" 

His gaze dropped from mine with a look of guilt. "There's a guy in my class who likes to talk shit and I was tired of it."

"What kind of shit does he talk?"

Matthew's brow creased with sadness, but I watched him force it back into an angry scowl. "He likes to call me 'orphan.'"

I looked at him and felt my heart break. Kids never seemed to understand how they perpetuate their own pain by directing it at others. Only someone with an underdeveloped brain would think to joke about the death of his mother and the—what I now see is obvious—absence of his father. Fighting only worsens problems, but sometimes, people just deserve to be punched. "Did you make him bleed?" I asked.

Matthew looked up at me with hesitation. "Yeah, a little."

I looked him in the eyes and said, "Good."

A smile returned to his face.

I sat my coffee to the side. "Come here." I took Matthew by the chin and pulled his face closer to me. As I inspected his eye, I tried not to laugh at the breathless look of yearning on his face. "I'm not going to kiss you, dork, I'm going to hide that bruise."

His eyes fluttered away. "Oh."

I laughed at him. Digging into my bag, I found my concealer at the bottom—the lightest shade I used was still a bit too dark for him, but it was still lighter than purple. As I unscrewed the cap, he leaned away in protest. "Do you want to wear makeup or do you want your father to see your black eye?"

"If he even sees me today." That may have been true, but I wasn't about to agree with him.

I ran the stick beneath his bruise making him flinch when I hit a sore spot. I evened it out with my finger and brushed a layer of powder to set it. Though it was still noticeable, it was much less so than before. "There," I showed him.

"Wow! You can't even see it!" he said. "Wait . . . Does that mean you're hiding something, too?"

I laughed for reasons he didn't know. "Let's pick up the twins and go home."

. . .

At dinnertime, I sat alone with the kids the way I'd usually do when the widower was away. He was often late to dinner—if he even showed at all—so it felt no different. Tabitha sat next to me rather than beside her twin. I had watched in amusement as they looked at each other and spoke in their silent twin language the entire time, and enjoyed Matthew's smile when he realized he was going to get away with it. He'd feel different when detention started.

We were nearly done eating when the widower made his appearance. He was glued to his phone as he sat at the end of the table beside me. Only when he lifted the cloche from his plate did he look away, but his gaze returned to it right after.

Same as always, his avoidant silence made me want to strangle him. 

He grabbed his glass of red wine while his thumb flew over the keys creating that annoying sound. "You know what my dream is?" I began to quote. "It's to one day be on the other end of that phone." Augustine turned his head to glare at me in confusion. "It's a quote from Wallstreet." He didn't bat an eye. "It's a mov—never mind."

I returned my attention to my own glass of wine. When I glanced up, I found Matthew's shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "May I be excused?" he asked with a smile. "I have homework to finish."

Augustine finally looked up. Confusion creased his brow when he looked at his son. "Yes, of course."

"Thanks." He stood up and left the room before his father could say anything else. Augustine's puzzled glare followed him all the way out. He knew.

"We're all done, too," Tabby spoke for both of the twins. "Can we go play?"

Augustine's phone screen lit up, drawing his attention again. "Thirty minutes then it's off to bed," he said without looking her way.

"Okay, Daddy." Tabby held her hand out for Bastian and he took it. I watched the door close behind them, wondering if I should leave as well. I told my body to get up and walk away, but it didn't listen.

The silence stretched too long, the elephant trumpeting loudly in the corner of my imagination. "Mr. Montgomery," I spoke, my voice tighter than intended. His amused gaze bounced up to my eyes. "I've been meaning to apologize to you."

He smirked. "For what?" he asked disingenuously. "Having my balls in a vice grip?"

The way he pronounced "balls" was both comical and mortifying. The embarrassing memory made my cheeks warm. "Well . . . yes."

"You meant well. Besides, I'm quite fond of women who can put me in my place." He stared at me while taking a slow drink of wine.

"Oh?"

His phone buzzed against the table and he picked it up. When he started typing, I moved to leave but he stopped me by asking, "Was that makeup on my son's face?"

My mood dropped again. I turned back to him in my chair. "I think you know the answer to that."

A growly laugh rumbled in his chest. "And was that makeup covering a shiner?"

"I think you know the answer to that as well."

"This was the 'issue' you remedied?"

"It was." He took another sip of his wine and set it down to grab his silverware. I watched him continue to eat, looking as if he had no interest in learning more. "Do you care to know why your son got in a fight?"

He smirked. "Boys will be boys, as they say."

"They will if men continue to expect nothing more from them," I quipped. Augustine looked back at me with raised eyebrows. "If you think he did this simply because he is a male, you are tragically overlooking the real issue here."

"And what might that be?"

"That he was fighting because of you," I said.

He shot me a look of annoyance. "Brilliant. Tell me how I'm ruining my child this time?"

"A kid at school was calling him an orphan—making fun of him for the fact that both of his parents are gone." Augustine stared ahead, pulling the contents off his fork with his teeth. "He was fighting, but you have to see how bad you are hurting him."

He gives me a look that could kill. "Do not chastise me for situations you can't possibly understand."

"I can't know what you refuse to tell me. All I know is how Matthew feels and how little you seem to care."

He set his fork down with a bit too much force. I had angered the beast. Just like I wanted.

"Even when you're here you aren't really here. You're on your phone, jumping between meetings, or planning to leave again. It isn't fair to him. It isn't fair to any of them."

"I am trying, Aubrey."

"Then try harder."

I pushed myself from the table and turned to leave. He caught me by the wrist. "Bloody prat," he seethed. He stood and pulled me closer. "Do you want me to fire you?"

"And what would you do without me?" I threatened him. "Take time away from work to raise your own kids? How horrible."

I tried to pull my arm away and leave but he pulled me to him. He turned me and pressed my back against the wall. I reached with my other hand but he grabbed my other wrist and pinned both against the wall by my head.

His body so close to mine, his grip tight and rough . . . My mind went hazy with my sudden arousal. Shit.

He leaned in closer, his snarled lips a mere breath from mine. My eyes bounced between his lips and his intent gaze.

"There are things about me that you do not understand," he said. My breathing shallowed. The heat between my thighs became harder to ignore. "I have every intention of doing what is best for my children, but I am not as in control as I seem."

I laughed at the irony. "That's bullshit and you know it."

I tried to pull my wrist from his grasp but he only tightened his grip. The added pressure spurred a longing between my thighs that made my skin sing. I dug my teeth into my lip to keep from moaning.

This was my favorite game—this infliction of pain with the hidden promise of pleasure.

He seemed to catch himself. The anger that stitched his face calmed as he looked down his nose at me. "Are you trying to make me mad?" his question was an accusation.  My teeth in my lip failed to pin my smile. "Why?" He stepped closer and pressed his body against mine.  "Do you find some sort of enjoyment in it?"

I pushed my hips forward, feeling his building erection throb against me. I looked him in the eyes. "Don't you?"

A quiet growl rumbled in his chest. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against mine. My lips parted when his heavy breath tickled against them.

In one swift move, he pulled me from the wall, bent me over, and slammed my chest down onto the table. The force made my glass of wine fall over, dribbling the last sip against the wood a few inches from my face. I stared in shock. My heart raced when my mind registered his hands still wrapped around my wrist and flat against my back, pinning me down.

His aggression scared me, but more unfortunately, it turned me on.

He stepped closer and pressed himself against me. I wriggled my backside against him, feeling his hard cock at my seam. His hand traced slowly down my spine then left to grip my hip and stop my movements. I whimpered to suppress a moan.

Drunk on ecstasy, lack of personal gratification caught up to me. My resolve languished in my helpless position. I had been longing for a man to take me, roughly and mercilessly. And there he was, the embodiment of all my darkest desires, bending me over a fucking table.

I looked him in the eyes. As our heavy breaths filled the otherwise silent room, I saw my thoughts reflected in his look of shame and lust. We stared as if waiting for the other to stop it, for one of us to make sense of the situation and behave justly.  

But neither of us did. 

He cursed under his breath. His hand left my wrist and went to his fly. As he unfastened it, I reached down and began to pull up my skirt. 

"Daddy? Aubrey?" Tabitha called from up the hall. He let go of me and we quickly moved away from each other. "Daddy, where are you?"

He resituated his pants while I did the same to my skirt. "In here, my love," he called to her, sitting down in his seat again. He shot me a look a second before she skipped into the room.

"Aubrey!" she smiled when she saw me. "Will you read us Le Petit Prince?"

Still flustered, I crouched down to her level and took the book from her hand. "Yes, of course," I answered. 

She took my hand and led me out of the room with her. Augustine looked at me from the corner of his eye as we left. 

I walked with Tabby, happy she pulled me from a mistake I was more than willing to make. Fuck my stupid, lizard brain for being attracted to men I know will do nothing but hurt me.

. . .

After reading to the twins for over an hour, they finally drifted off to sleep. I turned off the lights and left the door cracked when I left.

As I meandered down the hall to my bed, but my body was still buzzing with desire. I couldn't wait to ease the painful ache.

I glanced over the railing. The hallway that led to the widower's office was as dark as my desires. My body stirred, my mind flooded with erotic scenes I knew were too reckless to reprise. Tearing myself from my thoughts, I went up the hallway to my room and the company of my chest of secrets.

As I rounded the corner, I stopped in my tracks. Augustine was nearing the top of the grand staircase, about to begin his descent. I stopped when my heel clicked loudly against the wood floor. He looked over his shoulder and caught sight of me.

He turned to face me and leaned against the stair's banister, his delicious body twisting in a way that made my mouth go dry. I watched his eyes scan me from head to toe, his tongue wetting his lips as he did.

We stared for a moment, neither of us moving an inch, neither of us capable of walking away from what was lying at our feet. Finally, he made his move, stalking over with the slow, deliberate pace of a dom who knows he's already in control. 

"Ms. Nielson." He walked closer to me, but he didn't touch. As I stood breathless, he peered down at me with a dark gaze. "Come to my room with me," he said.

_____

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to vote, comment, and add to your library if you want more!