Page 7 of Barron

“Yeah, yeah. So, how was the meeting with Weaver? Anything new?” He instantly regretted asking the question. Blade’s expression told him he wasn’t going to be happy with the answer.

“Funny you ask.” Blade’s reply was so slow, Barron squirmed deeper into his chair, bracing for impact. He was fucked. Weaver had another mission for him, even though he’d returned from LaFayette twenty-four hours ago, not long enough to recover. There were plenty of guys in the club savvy enough to follow questionable targets. Why couldn’t someone else go instead?

“Where is he sending me now?” he asked. Why delay the inevitable?

“Sending you?” Blade’s expression went from confused to understanding. “Oh, I get it. You think he has another assignment for you.”

“Doesn’t he?”

Blade’s grin gave him the shivers.

“What’s with the sneaky smile?” Barron couldn’t be more uncomfortable.

“I thought you’d want to know. She’s back home.”

Blade’s blue-eyed stare pinned him to the chair. It was impossible for Barron to escape his president’s probing gaze. The “she” in question had to be Yoanni Sanz. The most beautiful woman he’d ever known. The dream girl he would adore until the end of his days, and the one he’d allowed, no, encouraged, to run away from him because he feared hurting her with his Dominant kind of love.

He found himself unable to utter a single word. His mouth was as dry as sand. The best thing to do at a moment like this was to get the fuck out. He pushed to his feet.

“Don’t you fucking move,” Blade snarled.

Barron sat back down.

“What happened between you two? You were made for each other,” Blade pressed.

“Have you lost it?” Barron snapped. “Yoanni and I couldn’t be more different. Look, it’s better this way…for everyone. Especially her. She gave me the boot.”

“Different, you say? How do you ride around town without getting killed or hitting other people? You can’t see an inch in front of your nose. Wake the fuck up. She’s your match. The Little made in heaven for you, asshole. I ain’t lost it, brother. You have.”

Barron tried to force a swallow, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating. Each one of Blade’s words felt like hands slapping his face. His brain roiled. Yoanni was a Little? Seriously? Quickly, he flashed to their few moments of casual age play. She’d gone along, almost like it was a game. He hadn’t noticed anything significant.

Is that right? Did you take the time to look?

Had he searched past his Dominant stubbornness and preconceived ideas?

“I don’t know what to say.” He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Yoanni and I fell into each other. It was nice and smooth, but… I had to know if she had the backbone to take a Dominant like me. So I tested her by presenting my dominance, and boy, did she balk. She pushed back like you wouldn’t believe.”

Blade gathered his eyebrows. “In other words, you tested her without any warning or preparation, and she gave you hell. Right?”

He nodded.

“Was she frightened? Did she run away screaming?”

“Well…no.”

“Got news for you, bud. Littles are sweet, lovely, and so very precious. I married one, so I know. They bring out the best in Daddy Doms. But they’re not wimps. They’re feisty and bratty and will push your buttons day in and day out. That’s part of the age-play dynamic. Seems to me that Miss Yoanni Sanz has plenty enough backbone to handle you. The question is, can you handle her?”

CHAPTER TWO

The Plaza Diner, a block away from the station, served the best home-cooked food in the area and with the lowest prices. The entire police department frequented the place, and Margie, the owner, was treated by everyone as family.

Yoanni could hardly contain her excitement. She could taste the first bite of a crispy, crunchy, delicious fried chicken morsel melting in her mouth. Pushing the door in, she gestured at Betty to hurry up. It was one fifteen in the afternoon and her stomach had been rumbling since she finished entering data into the station’s computers. As if reading her mind, Betty had shyly suggested going for lunch, and she’d agreed on the spot. It was curious, though, when she’d mentioned the diner, Betty had given her a blank look.

“Are you kidding me?” Yoanni asked, wide-eyed. “You haven’t tried Margie’s fried chicken yet? And you’ve been working here for how long? Get your purse,” she’d ordered without allowing a bewildered Betty to answer. Hooking the strap of her bag on her shoulder, Yoanni pointed at the station’s exit sign and sped out.

Now, as Yoanni and Betty walked past the counter, a tall Blackwoman with a powerful physique rushed out from somewhere inside the kitchen. Her ebon hair was pulled into a high bun, and she wore an incongruously white apron for someone who owned a diner and was intimately involved in the operation of her business.

“You’re back. I’ve missed you, child.” Margie wrapped Yoanni in a bear hug, and she went with it. “How’re your parents, darlin’? I didn’t think you’d come back to us.”

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