Chapter 8: Looking Outward

22

It was Saturday afternoon, the time that Erica and her father spent together every week. Hypothetically, anyway. Almost an hour had passed since they were meant to start, and Erica was still alone on the couch, staring at a paused screen.

She sighed and flounced her way to the upstairs office. “Daddyyyy.”

The room looked like a tornado had hit it. Hurricane Patrick. She found him on his knees, shuffling back and forth as he searched through drawers and filing cabinets. Every so often, he lifted his spectacles and mopped the nervous sweat from his brow and his blue eyes.

Erica didn’t worship him, not like she used to as a kid. But he was still the cutest dork she knew. Especially when he looked up at her, his hands clasped in apology, and his specs dropped back down onto his nose. “I know, princess, I know. I’m sorry. I need to find this file, then I’ll be right down.”

“Do you have to find it now?” she asked. “It’s Saturday!”

“And I need to get some work done tonight, and I need the file for that. I promise, princess, I’ll make it up—”

The doorbell rang. When her father peeked out of the window, he gasped like a drowning man handed a lifeline. He rushed downstairs so fast, Erica had to hurry to keep up.

The front door swung open to reveal a woman barely older than Erica. A woman with long, jet-black hair contrasting pale white skin. She wore the kind of big sunglasses that discouraged eye contact in favour of her black lace choker, tight black crop top, and tiny grey skirt. She showed more skin than some swimsuits.

And she held out a little manila envelope. “You forgot this at the office, boss.”

He plucked it from her with a delicate touch. “You are an absolute life-saver, Allison. I swear, I’ll forget my head next time.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Allison said. “You can get that from me any time.” And she licked her black-painted lips pointedly enough to make the innuendo obvious.

It still took Patrick a second to get it. He blushed, he laughed, but he did nothing to dissuade her from the thought.

Jealousy flashed into Erica’s chest. “Who’s this, Daddy?”

That was the first time the stranger noticed her existence. Peeking over her sunglasses, she gave Erica the quick up-and-down glance of assessing a threat. Green eyes, she noticed.

“Oh, introductions!” Her father made the gestures. “This is Allison, the office assistant from work. A total life-saver. I must say, it’s strange seeing you ... out of office clothes.” His eyes strayed.

Allison preened. Her smile said that if he wanted her out of clothes, he just had to ask.

Patrick put a hand on Erica’s back. “And this is Erica, my daughter. Most patient girl in the world.”

Erica preened harder and leaned back into the touch Allison wasn’t getting.

“And, um.” Patrick cleared his throat. “I hate to be rude, but we were actually about to watch a movie together.”

“Ooh.” Allison stepped forward. “What movie? I like movies.”

Erica moved to block the doorway. “Hotel Transylvania 3. So if you haven’t seen the first two...”

“And—” Patrick kept his hand on Erica, moving it to her shoulder. “It’s kind of a father-daughter thing, Saturdays. Maybe another time.”

Allison glared at Erica for just long enough that she noticed, then smiled oh so sweetly at her father. “Maybe next time, it’ll be you visiting me,” she said. “And you can come inside.” The words gave her deniability, but the husk in her tone made it less plausible.

Patrick didn’t seem to notice. They said their goodbyes, they returned to the couch, they finally watched their silly family comedy about vampires on vacation.

Erica struggled to focus. Her thoughts kept circling back to that ... wannabe home-wrecker in the crop top.

How could she ... how could she flaunt herself like that in front of a married man? How could she flirt so aggressively with someone who had a family? How could she wear a top like that?

Seriously, did she paint it on? Where’d she get it? Did they carry Erica’s size?

23

As time passed and the breakup was left farther behind them, Mary still kept closer contact with her sister. It was out of concern at first, but Denise showed it wasn’t necessary; soon, Mary kept contact just because it was so good to see her sister happy.

She swung by to visit one Saturday afternoon. If you could call it ‘swinging by’ when Denise insisted on at least an hour of warning, which was honestly fair.

Denise was ready. Jimmy and Stacey had visited in the morning, but she’d had time to clean up. She’d showered before they even left. She was fully clothed. She was ready to greet her sister and pretend she didn’t have a load of her nephew’s cum still warm inside her.

She flung the door wide, smiling. “Mary, come on in!”

The enthusiasm made Mary smile as she stepped forward. She took it in: the apartment looking so much more lived-in, Denise with that brightness to her demeanour.

But her eyes gravitated to the one thing Denise had forgotten.

She was still wearing the collar. Fuck. The smile froze on her face as she closed the door and turned to the kitchenette. “S-So, um, something to drink? Tea, maybe? Or—”

It all made sense, all at once. How happy Denise had been. The graceful way she moved, her hips so light and relaxed — you didn’t get that if you were pent up. Even then and there, the way she was fresh from the shower.

Mary didn’t even remember what her sister had asked. There was something much more pressing on her mind. “You’ve ... you’ve found someone.” Not just a boyfriend, but someone she trusted with a collar.