The Dom With the Perfect Brats (6 page)

When the dishes were done and put away, he went to the frail older man and kissed the top of his head, careful not to get tangled up in his canes. “Love you. Gotta go. I have a date.”

His father grinned at him. “Careful you don’t knock her up unless you mean to.”

Cross smothered a laugh and headed out onto the porch.

His mother was waiting. Maureen Cross sa
t in a wicker chair, an ashtray full of butts at her elbow.

“Can I empty that for you, Mother?” he asked politely, gesturing to the ashtray.

“Keep your hands off of it. I’m going to roll butts later. Wouldn’t have to if you brought us some money once in awhile, you little ingrate.”

“I brought you groceries and paid your rent again. I’m sorry, but I don’t have extra money to give you. Besides, you’d blow it all on pills anyway then complain you were still out of cigarettes. I’m not rich.”

She stabbed him with her bleary gaze. “If Sheppard was here, he’d give me money. He’s always kinder to me than you are. You’ve been a selfish boy since the day you were born.” She paused dramatically. “I don’t know why God gave you to me. You’re such a trial.”

He briefly imagined himself as a plague of locusts and fought down a laugh. Sheppard couldn’t hold down a job. Where she thought he’d get money to give her was a mystery. “Yes, I know you wish that it had been me that moved away, Mother. Maybe he’ll come back to visit soon.”
And maybe he will have grown up and not mooch off of you and Dad the whole time
.

“He
is
coming. He called and said next week or maybe the week after. He can give you a talking to about how to treat your mother right.”

“A talking to”
was the Cross family code for a whuppin’. Like that was going to happen. The last time Sheppard dared to lay a hand on him, he’d cold-cocked him. That was about five years ago and Sheppard had mostly avoided him since then.

“If he touches me
, I’ll lay him out. I’m not a boy anymore.”

With shocking agility, she leapt to her feet and slapped him across the face. He recoiled and averted his gaze.

“Don’t you talk smart to me, boy. I raised you up and I can push you down.”

He seriously doubted that, considering the fact that she was
five-foot-two and about a hundred and ten pounds, but if he pissed her off he knew she’d take it out on Henry. Or she’d do her best to literally push Cross down a set of stairs, like she had when he was twelve. But then, that had been his fault for hiding her cold medication – or so he’d explained to the doctor days later when the school had sent him to get his arm checked. It had been broken. The doctors hadn’t liked that answer any more than child protective services had. Workers had visited for a while, but his mother was a sublime actor when she chose to be, and eventually they stopped coming. The incident had just reinforced that Godfrey was The One Who Made Trouble in their family.

She took a drag at her stub of cigarette and looked both angry and thoughtful. “What did I ever do to deserve a child that walks so close to evil?”

Cross winced, continuing to avoid her gaze as he turned away. He had no answer for her – he never had. As he walked down the porch stairs he heard the telltale flick. Today she lucked out and her cigarette butt singed his arm just above the elbow.
Love you too, Mother
.

*
**

Cross had to admit it was the first time he’d ever showered just to go into the store to reorganize. But then, it was also the first time he’d invited two sexy women to keep him company while he did it.

Almost ten at night.

His new tattoo itched a little, reminding him of Gemma. He hoped they both showed up.
If they did, it meant they were interested. The growling in his mind started up again then became deafening when he thought about the girls together. Not just in the same location, but together, together. Naked limbs entwined – soft and beautiful in his bed. First he thought of tying them up then he fantasized about teaching them kneeling positions. For the millionth time today his imagination gave him a raging hard-on.

There was a knock on the door just as he realized he’d tidied the same stack of t-shirts twice. Which one would it be? To his surprise both girls stood there
– Gemma looking friendly – if slightly bored. Izzy looking mischievous and still wearing the tight t-shirt that proudly proclaimed that she worked at Kafehaus.

Cross smiled and let them in. “I’m just doing some cleaning and reorganizing. Can I get you a drink?” He walked into the back room and rummaged around in the bar fridge. “Beer,
hard cider, soda?”

Both girls opted for cider. He grabbed two and headed back into the storefront. “I hope bottles are okay. I don’t have glasses down here.”

“Scandalous.” Gemma smirked as he opened the drinks and gave them out.

“I know
. I’m uncivilized. I’m not even a gentleman.” He looked Gemma in the eye, holding her gaze until she dropped it. She seemed a little flustered. Cross took an involuntary step forward then stopped himself from moving closer to menace her a little with his size. Dom habits were hard to mask, considering his attraction to her.

Izzy raised a dark brow in mock disapproval. “Oooh, not a gentleman? I could teach you manners.
” She flashed him an appraising look.

At his chuckle her little smile went shaky.

To Cross’s ear, her accent made her sound like she’d stepped out of a movie. Cross shifted his attention to Gemma as he leaned back on a display table. He folded his arms.

Gemma snorted. “Don’t look at me. I’m not into teaching grown men manners. Not my kink.”

Did the delectable Gemma just say kink? Very interesting. “Good. I prefer to do the training anyway.” He pushed off of the display and turned to pick up a few more t-shirts that had been rifled through earlier in the day. To avoid seeming too eager, he focused on refolding them then straightening the pile.

T
he girls headed for the clothes racks, drinks in hand.

Izzy
casually said, “Training people to do what?” Her pretty gray eyes smiled. Was the girl teasing?

“
What do you think?” Under his gaze, her cheeks glowed. He kept his expression neutral. “Training bratty girls to behave.”
Be direct?
“I find spanking works well.”

Izzy swallowed hard and looked away.

From his right, Gemma made a strange noise. When he looked at her, she jerked her gaze away from his hand and went back to browsing PVC dresses.

“I think this is the tidiest goth store I’ve ever been in
.” Gemma grinned. “It looks like you measure the spaces between things with a ruler.”

“There’s no r
eason for sloppiness.” He moved a few t-shirts from one rack to another, spacing the hangers at even intervals. The girls were whispering.

They separated and went to different sections. “You sell pet stuff, too?” Izzy asked, peering down into the glass case by the
register. Her brown hair fell in front of her eyes. “That collar would look smart on my mom’s beagle. Oh, and there’s a matching leash! Cute.”

Cross fought down a smile. “Those are people collars, not dog collars. Although some people like being treated like pets.” He shifted his gaze to Gemma and caught her moving her hands back from a stack of t-shirts he’d just fixed – except now the whole stack was slightly askew, like she’d rotated it in place a quarter of an inch. She looked at him and arched a brow, her smile smug.

Brat.

He gritted his teeth. A vision of Gemma shoved down over the display table, pants down, begging for his forgiveness
made his jeans a little tight.

“You looking for trouble, Miss Gemma?”

“Whaaat? What’d I do?” She smirked.

His palm itched to connect with her ass.
Shh
, he told his instincts.
Vanilla girl. Think vanilla.
He tried to think of what a vanilla guy would do in this situation, but he drew a blank. He hadn’t been that way in a long time – if he ever had been. “You might want to watch your step with me, girl.”

“Girl?” She laughed. “Well you
r statement is anatomically correct, even if your banter is sadly lacking.”

Cross grunted at her and grabbed a package of zip ties off of the counter. “If you’re looking for someone glib to have verbal fencing matches with, you’ve come to the wrong place.” He set about reinforcing a display that had fallen apart on him earlier in the day.

“Glib?” Izzy’s mouth twisted. “I like odd words, but you talk like my grandad.”

He struggled with several different responses to her, but opted for silence. Had things been this awkward for Jude in the beginning? How exactly did one bring up what they wanted in this situation without sounding crass? Q would be laughing at him about now. At the club this would be easy. But here? Two little vanilla girls had him outmanned.

Gemma came to the rescue. “How long have you had your store?”

“About five years? I bought the building with the money my grandmother left me when I graduated from business school. I never would
’ve been able to do it otherwise.” He fiddled with the display, trying to draw the eye away from the zip ties by stocking it with some bright PVC pants.

“You live in the flat above?” Izzy asked. She blushed. “Your
ute is in the car park too much for you to live somewhere else. Um, I mean pickup truck. What you call a truck, we call a ute.”

She’d been watching him? “Yes, I have a loft upstairs. It’s nice and quiet once Malachi’s shop closes for the night. I’m glad he’s not open late on weekends.” His place was quiet unless he was entertaining. Then it was only quiet if a gag was involved. Not the sort of thing one said
to innocent young girls. “You sound like you haven’t been living here long, Izzy. Is that your full name or is it short for something?”

She grimaced. “
Isadora, but no one uses it. And I try to sound American, but between my accent and the slang I doubt I’ll ever sound like I was born here. I’m from Australia. My dad is American, though. I spent a few summers here after my parents separated.”

“Don’t try to change your accent, Izzy. It’s adorable.”
Gemma smiled. She gestured at Cross to ask what to do with her bottle, and he took it from her and headed to the back room. He grabbed both girls another cider and ditched the empty. He’d drive them home or call them a taxi.

As he returned, he spotted Izzy slyly shifting a stack of jeans to the left about an inch. Ah, messing with him had become a team sport, apparently.

“So you have a degree in literature, you said yesterday?” Gemma asked, making the other girl jump guiltily as she drew her hand back from the clothing she’d moved.

“Yes. Hasn’t been
much bloody use for finding work though. I have an interview at the newspaper next week and I’m...” She looked sheepish. “Well, like half of the girls I know, I’m writing a novel. A romance. One day I’ll have to let someone else read it.”

Cross
nodde
d
.
“If you want a guy’s opinion, I’ll read it.” He’d never actually read a romance, but if you could tell anything about a woman by what she read, reading what she wrote might be interesting.

“You might regret saying that.” Izzy smiled crookedly.

He put the pants Izzy had moved back where they’d been originally, frowning at her slightly. She stared at her toes, but didn’t look very sorry. “You two try things on, if you want. Oh, and if I catch you moving anything else on purpose, just to mess with me, I’ll tie you together with these.” He brandished the bag of zip ties.

B
oth girls grinned, reinforcing his notion that they’d planned the sabotage. So they thought they could get away with it? Or maybe they wanted to see what he’d do.

Laughing, the two of them started to pick out clothing for themselves and each other. Soon they were both loaded down with armfuls of Lycra, PVC and rubber.
He threw random accessories on top of their finds and shooed them into the fitting rooms at the back. His hope that they’d share one fitting room like Q and Sabrina had once was quickly dashed.

He watched them as he tidied. Intermittently, they’d pop out of their respective
fitting rooms to show off something they’d tried on. They zipped and adjusted each other, re-accessorized, traded shoes. In all, they were getting along famously. And, every time they innocently touched each other, he had to force his cock to behave.

After their fifth or sixth wardrobe change, Gemma whispered something in Izzy’s ear. The only part of it he caught was the word “
funny.” Both glanced subtly his way then went to change again.

They gave him such different urges, these two. His reaction to them swung wildly between wanting to train them to be good and almost daring them to brat so he could strap them. He had a much broader definition of bratting than Jude did.
He hadn’t been seriously attracted to a vanilla girl since highschool – being interested in two at the same time was like an aligning of the planets. Most of the time, when things got to this point, the girl already knew plenty about kink and it was all about whether her kinks were compatible with his. This was a whole other dimension.