Page 72 of For Her Own Good

Jade circles her arms around Starla and holds her for long seconds, rendering me utterly superfluous. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. What am I here for, anyhow? Starla doesn’t need a chaperone, and these two are obviously capable of taking care of themselves. Each other. But that’s not the point. The point is for me to learn, to see what it might be like to do all of these things with Starla without so much fumbling first. I should be grateful I’ve been invited at all, and I am.

When their embrace has finally ended, Starla steps back and takes my hand again.

“Jade, this is Lowry. Lowry, this is Jade.”

Jade holds out an elegant hand; slender fingers meant to play the piano or harp, though large enough to span more than an octave. I give her a firm, but not hard, shake. I am in no way trying to compete with this woman. I have no right to. After all, she’s been here for Starla after I abandoned her. Which, if Jade chose to play that card, it’s one I can’t beat. I do my best to look at pleasant and open as possible as I dip my chin in greeting.

“Pleasure. Starla’s told me a lot about you.”

Jade eyes me in an assessing way, and I suspect she’s well-practiced at taking the measure of people with naught but a glance. I can’t tell from her expression whether she finds me wanting.

“And I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Doctor Campbell.”

Oof. Not Lowry, not even Mr. Campbell. If she’s trying to remind me that she knows exactly who I am and precisely how I met Starla, she’s done a bang-up job. Yes, I know very well and my conscience reminds me of it frequently. She needn’t worry about me forgetting.

“Be nice, please.”

Starla’s soft request turns both our heads, and Jade releases my hand. “I did promise, didn’t I?”

Starla nods and Jade responds with a huff and a pouty roll of her eyes. “Fine, then. But only for you.”

I help Starla with her coat and nearly choke when I see what she’s had on under it. Not overalls, because it’s got a skirt on the bottom. A jumper? Is that what Americans call it? It’s got the suspender type things that frame her breasts and a skirt I didn’t notice was so short because it was under her coat. And the little ankle boots she’s got on make her legs look long, like way too much of them is showing between the hem of the skirt and her ankles. It’s nearly obscene, even though she’s completely dressed. Her shirt has a rounded collar and buttons shaped like…are those paws? Christ.

When I can breathe again, I notice both the women are watching me. Starla with a wide-eyed, slightly terrified, hope-in-the-throat type expression, and Jade with a look that tells me if I’m an arsehole about this, I should prepare to have my throat slit. Probably with one of the spiked heels she’s wearing.

But I’m not going to be an arse. At least, not in the way Starla’s likely concerned about, why she’s waiting with bated breath for me to say something, do something, react in any way whatsoever. No, the issue is that I like it.

Too much.

Way too goddamn much.

When I saw Starla as my patient, she was mostly in jeans and a sweater or a T-shirt. Sometimes a dress if it was summer. On occasion, she’d be in my office straight after school and she wouldn’t have had time to change and I would see her in the uniform that posh institution insisted upon. No matter what she wore, she never looked as…childish, innocent as she does right now. And fuck me, because it’s got my engines revving so very hard, and while my cock is sure this is the best thing to have ever happened in the history of things happening, my heart is equally enthusiastic.

My brain is somewhat more conflicted. The professional part of me that’s studied kink and fetishes insists this is a completely normal and healthy part of human sexuality and experience. Be that as it may, there is also a part of my brain that is bellowing at me. Not just unkind things, but downright vile things. That I’m a pervert, a pedophile. Abuser. Someone who would take advantage of vulnerable people. People I have power over. Children. That I have more in common than the shade of my hair with my Uncle Sean.

But Starla is not a child. She is a grown, intelligent, independent woman. There is nothing I can do about our history aside from stay away from her, and I’ve seen how that turns out. Selfish though it may be, I’m not willing to do it again unless she tells me to go. This was not a thing I asked her for. This wasn’t even something I knew about, not really, nor ever would expect.

There’s a jab in my ribcage that makes the breath I’ve been holding come out in a flood. I’ll be lucky if I haven’t been staring, slack-jawed, drooling all over the floor.

Jade is glaring at me in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t think I’m all that bright, and I had best say something before she tosses me out on my arse and goes about her evening with Starla just the pair of them.

“Ye…ye look brilliant, lass. Truly.”

I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women in my life. Hell, I was married to a beautiful woman. But never in my time on earth have I been so enchanted by a creature as I am by Starla at this very second. Makes my bollocks ache.

Starla smiles, shy, and turns a knee in, her foot pivoting on the toe of her boot. There is something different about her, as she said there would be, but I didn’t think it would be so striking. It is, that—striking. It’s as though I’m being struck in the chest, and not an elbow to the ribs like I got from Jade.

“Manners, kitten.”

The admonishment from Jade comes as a shock to me, but not to Starla who merely turns a slightly deeper shade of pink—verging on red—and says to me, “Thank you.”

“Right, then. Would you two like to stand here all day making eyes at each other or shall we get started?”

It’s meant to be a rhetorical question, I’m sure, but to be perfectly honest, standing here and letting my gaze roam hot over every inch of Starla’s body doesn’t seem like a terrible use of my time. But I suspect if I can stop my gawping, I might get to touch her, and that would probably be better than looking at her. Maybe too much better and my head will explode. Probably worth a shot to find out, though.

Jade makes a gesture to Starla who then follows her, grasping Jade’s hand, and I’m left to trail behind them. Which is fine. Gives me a chance to look at Starla’s short skirt swinging a few inches below her deliciously round arse. And Jesus, are those…

Yes, she’s wearing stockings. Not tights. Stockings, and it’s one of those bizarre man things. Really, what is it about stockings that renders a man’s brain scrambled eggs? They do, and never more so for me than when part of an outfit that can’t decide whether it’s sexy or innocent, apparently. I nearly trip over my own two feet when I start to wonder what her panties might look like.

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