When I reach the source of the music, I find the door standing open. Ms. Fraser’s back is to me. I’m not surprised because the sleek black grand piano is facing the wall of windows that lead out to the gardens.

  What I’m witnessing behind the house can only be described as such—gardens. It’s not an ordinary backyard. It’s well groomed and filled with mature trees, shrubbery, and flowers. There’s even a fountain. No wonder she has positioned the piano facing that view. I might have been inclined to purchase the home for that aspect alone.

  I spend only seconds admiring the view before I turn my attention to the most splendid focal point in the room—Carolina Fraser. She’s like a thing of art sitting on the piano bench with perfect posture. Her hands are flying back and forth across the keys, flawlessly.

  She looks comfortable and relaxed as the musical piece eases from a fast-paced rhythm to a new section that is slower and romantic.

  I’m mesmerized. I can’t move from the doorway. I don’t want to disturb her. I’m rather surprised Ms. Simone even suggested such a thing.

  Ms. Fraser’s hair hangs in long waves down her back, thick and dark. It looks perfectly styled as if she spent hours this morning curling it, but I get the impression it’s natural.

  The only thing that seems out of place is that one would expect to step into this room to find a pianist in a long black dress and heels. That’s not the case. And why should it be? This is Ms. Fraser’s home. She’s not on stage. She’s practicing in her home on a Thursday morning.

  This woman is wearing faded jeans and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt. She also has on pink tennis shoes, which makes me smile for some reason.

  I inch into the room just a few steps. I don’t want to risk a floorboard creaking or a sneeze sneaking up on me. What if I clear my throat? I breathe slow and easy to prevent such a thing.

  As the piece progresses, I can’t take my eyes off Ms. Fraser. Her skill is undeniable and so beautiful, both the sounds and her movements. It’s art. The most splendid form of art.

  When the piece comes to an end, I feel oddly sad—the feeling I get when I finish a really good book and there are no more chapters. I want more. I want another chapter. I’m drained and shaking.

  In my forty years, I’ve seen and heard thousands of performances both on stage and in my studio. None ever moved me as much as this heavenly experience.

  I must have been holding my breath because suddenly I suck in oxygen, startling Ms. Fraser who spins around on her piano bench to face me.

  I blink. Confusion consumes me. My brain feels like it’s broken as two worlds collide. This can’t be. I try to make sense of what I’m seeing—who I’m seeing. “Hannah?” I breathe the word out almost too softly for my own ears.

  Before I finish processing, she jumps to her feet, rubbing her hands together. “Zane…” She licks her lips and glances toward the door before looking back at me. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” Her voice creaks. She looks like she’s going to faint. Panic causes her to take a step back, nearly falling on her ass as her legs hit the bench.

  Ms. Simone’s voice suddenly fills the room as she rushes in to join us. “I heard the music end. Did I miss introductions? Carolina, this is Kingston Slade from Slade Studios. He’s here to assess the acoustics in this room and—”

  She stops talking and steps closer, lining herself up between the two of us, glancing back and forth. “What’s wrong?”

  Hannah starts shaking her head. Actually, all of her is shaking. “You’re Kingston Slade?” she mutters.

  I wince. “Yes.” There’s no need pointing out who she is. My head is spinning. What are the chances?

  Ms. Simone speaks again. “I’m confused. What did I miss? Do you two know each other?”

  Hannah rubs her temples. “You can’t be here,” she whispers.

  “Caro?” Ms. Simone says, rushing closer to Hannah. She glances back at me. “What’s going on?”

  I shake myself out of my shock, recognizing that Hannah, Carolina, is in full panic mode. And I know why. I need some time with her to calm her down and reassure her. I need Ms. Simone to leave the room.

  “Ms. Simone—”

  “Audrey. Please call me Audrey.” She glances at me but turns her attention back to Hannah.

  Hannah’s face is white and she lowers herself so she’s sitting on the piano bench.

  “Caro?” Audrey repeats.

  Hannah finally lifts her gaze to face Audrey. “I know him from Surrender.”

  Audrey sucks in a breath and looks back and forth between us. “Shit.” Her face turns about as white as Hannah’s and she starts trembling.

  I’m taken aback at what Hannah has said. Apparently Audrey is aware of her membership to Surrender. I don’t know what else Hannah’s manager knows, but that’s a lot.

  I clear my throat and step closer. “Hannah… I mean, Ms. Fraser… I would never…”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t call me that.”

  I flinch. Hannah?

  “Don’t call me Ms. Fraser. It sounds absurd coming from you.”

  I glance at Audrey, who has a protective hand on Hannah’s shoulder. I want her to disappear. I want that hand to be mine. It’s irrational. I know it. But I can’t shake the overwhelmingly protective instinct that’s kicking into high gear.

  This is Hannah. The sassy, sometimes bratty Little I’ve known for two years. I’m trying to reconcile the fact that she’s also Carolina Fraser, the famous pianist.

  Right now she’s Hannah, and she needs something I can’t give her in front of Audrey.

  I turn toward Audrey as I approach. “Could you please give us a minute alone?”

  Audrey flinches, shaking her head. “That seems like a bad idea.”

  Hannah tips her head back to look at her manager. “It’s okay. He’s…” She draws in a breath. “Safe.”

  Audrey hesitates while we all stand in silence. “Are you sure?”

  Hannah nods. She still looks like she’s going to faint though. Like all the life has drained out of her. One moment she was the most alive person on earth playing her heart out. The next, life slid from her to pool on the floor.

  I hate this. I hate that I’m the reason for her unease.

  “I’ll be right outside,” Audrey whispers. She shoots me a warning look.

  I nod in response and wait for her to shut the door to the room before closing the distance and squatting down in front of Hannah. I don’t touch her, but I want to be lower than her. I wish I could pick her up, settle her on my lap, and hold her tight. But that’s not in the cards right now.

  “Look at me, Hannah.”

  She’s trembling violently as she does so.

  “First, let me say, I would never, ever reveal you to anyone. Never.”

  She gives a slight nod. “I never should have joined the club,” she murmurs. “It was too risky.”

  “I hate that you feel that way. Surrender and other fetish clubs exist for people to explore their preferences without judgment. There’s a code of honor that must be respected.”

  She chews on her bottom lip. Her eyes are watering. “I do not mix my real life with my kinky side.”

  I nod. “I understand. Most people don’t. Your secret will go to the grave with me, Hannah.”

  She flinches.

  “I should call you Carolina. I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “It sounds odd coming from you.” Her hands are shaking violently as she lifts them to cover her face.

  I physically hurt for her. She’s scared out of her mind and freaking out. I’m not even sure what to say or not say to make this better, but I have to try. “You hold the power here, Hannah,” I inform her. “I hate seeing you so distraught. There’s no need. I swear on my life I will keep your secret. If you want me to leave right now, I’ll do it. We can pretend we never saw each other. If you want me to do what I came here for, I can do that too. I’m professional. I can assess your music room and make a recommendation and disappear. I know you’re scheduled to record in my studio. If you’d like to cancel and make arrangements with someone else, I’ll understand. If you’d like me to not be there when you’re recording, that’s also your prerogative.”

  I feel like I’ve laid it all out there.

  She ignores everything I’ve said and changes the subject. “I’m not the same person outside the club,” she murmurs.

  “I get that. You’re not alone. That’s true for many people, especially submissives.”

  She lowers her hands and looks at me hard for the first time. “It’s not true for you.”

  I furrow my brow and draw in a breath. “You’re right. It’s different for me. I should have made that distinction. I’m a Dominant whether or not I’m at the club. However, I don’t run around telling people I’m a Daddy Dom in vanilla society. I keep that to myself.”

  “I can feel your power.”

  I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I’m kind of glad. “I’m feeling extremely helpless right now, Hannah. My instinct is to gather you up in my arms and reassure you that nothing has to change just because we accidentally met in real life.”

  “My instinct is to let you, but that scares me to death.”

  I nod and then tentatively reach out to slowly clasp her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold. I bet they weren’t cold while she was playing the piano. I stroke her knuckles with my thumb when she doesn’t pull away.

  She’s breathing heavily. “I’m not Little in my real life.”

  She’s wrong, but I don’t point that out. She’s so Little right now that it’s thick in the air.

  “Or maybe you’re not a pianist in your real life,” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

  She gasps, her eyes wide, mouth falling open.

  I’ve struck a nerve.

  She jerks her gaze down.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She shakes her head. “No. You’re right. I’ve thought that many times in the past few years. It’s just shocking to hear someone say it out loud.”

  I need strength to handle this carefully. “I understand now why you’re so private at the club and why you turned me down when I suggested we go out.”

  “I never should have joined the club. It was too risky. This is exactly what I feared.”

  I squeeze her hand. “Hey, I know you’re shocked and panicking, but nothing has changed.”

  She jerks her gaze to mine again. “Everything has changed. Do you have any idea how I’m feeling right now?” Luckily she continues without needing a response. “My worlds have collided.”

  I suck in a breath. Those are the exact words I thought when I first saw her face.

  “People expect things from me. I have a public persona to uphold. I can’t be seen as weak. I can’t be Little.”

  “Nothing about you is weak, Hannah, and I feel sad that you obviously work so hard to deny yourself something you crave just to appease other people.”

  She glares at me. “You don’t understand. How could you?”

  She’s right.

  She jerks her hand out of my grasp, scoots the bench back, and rises.

  I want to drop my forehead down onto the bench seat as soon as she steps away. I hate the distance she puts between us. I rise but don’t move from my spot as I watch her hurry over to the windows. I doubt she’s seeing anything outside. I know I’m not.

  My focus is on her and how she’s wrapped her arms around herself. How her hair is still lying down her back in perfect waves. I’ve stroked that hair before in a parallel universe. I’ve spanked the curved bottom I’m seeing. I’ve felt her heat even though I’ve never reached between her legs.

  I’ve held her down when she has squirmed across my knees. I’ve experienced the swell of her breasts on my thighs. I know the scent of her arousal. I know the color of her favorite panties.

  My chest is tight. My God, I’ve wanted her for a long time. If I could just…

  “What do you think of the room?” she asks in a different voice. “The acoustics suck. I know it needs insulation or panels or something. Maybe a lower ceiling. I hate to lose these windows if I can help it. The view is amazing.”

  I close the distance she’s put between us because I can’t stop myself, and I don’t want to. “Hannah…”

  She glances at me when I step next to her. “You can’t call me that either. It sucks me into Little space. I can’t be her when I’m not at the club.”

  I nod. “Would you like me to call you Carolina?”

  She searches my face with the most serious expression. “I don’t know what I want.” At least she’s honest. “I can’t think.”

  “What does Audrey know?” I need to understand this before she barges back into the room.

  “Everything.”

  Okay. That’s surprising and it helps.

  “It was her idea. That I join Surrender, I mean. She thought it would be good for me.”

  I furrow my brow. “She knew you were Little?”

  Hannah, Lordy, Carolina nods. “She’s like a mother to me. I’ve known her my entire life. I was never like other kids. I didn’t have friends. I had my piano and my music teachers. Audrey was my friend. My champion. She’s the one I went to when I started my period. She’s the one who read to me at night. She’s my everything.”

  “She sounds amazing.”

  “She is.”

  “How did she find out you were Little?”

  Carolina—I need to engrain this name in my brain and learn to toggle it. It feels important. She looks out the window again. “I tried to keep it private. I only let myself be real in my bedroom. My grandfather never knew. But Audrey knew. She knew for a long time before she confronted me. She researched age play thoroughly before she came to me.”

  “That must have been scary.”

  “Oh, I freaked out. I wanted to die. But we talked about it for hours, long into the night. She helped me understand that I wasn’t a freak, that there are others like me. She had already found Surrender, visited it, and spoken to Master Roman.”

  I wince. I might have lost my shit if someone did all that behind my back. “Did this make you mad?”

  She shrugs. “At first. But she only wants what’s best for me.” She looks down and wrings her hands together. “She’s the only family I have. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

  I wonder how much of Carolina’s life is managed by Audrey. Perhaps more than just her business.

  “I’m out of sorts,” Carolina whispers.

  I turn and step between her and the window, facing her. I slowly lift my hand to her chin, making sure she’s well aware I’m going to touch her.

  She inhales sharply at the contact, her eyes wide as she meets my gaze. I’m six-two. She’s about five-five. I tower over her. I don’t want to intimidate her, but I do want her to pay attention to what I’m going to say. “I need to know something.”

  She licks her lips.

  “When I’ve asked you out in the past, did you turn me down because you weren’t interested in me?”

  She shudders. “No, Sir,” she whispers.

  My God. She’s submitting to me. She’s brave enough not to lower her gaze too. “Did you turn me down because you made a vow to yourself not to ever let your personal life mix with your preferred kink?”

  Her voice is even softer when she murmurs, “Yes, Sir.”

  “In a perfect world, would you want a relationship with me?” My heart is racing.

  She blinks. “We don’t live in a perfect world.”

  I step closer. “Answer my question.”

  Her breath hitches. “Yes.” She immediately steps back, breaking contact with me and putting several feet between us.

  Her sudden distance doesn’t change the admissions she’s made.

  As I stand here, watching her every move, I know one thing for certain.

  She is mine.

  Chapter 3

  Hannah

  * * *

  I can’t think straight. I have no idea why I’ve admitted those things to Zane. Or I guess his real name is Kingston Slade. Zane is a club name. Just like Hannah.

  I backpedal. “None of that matters, Zane.” I need to stop calling him Sir. “I’m a public figure. If anyone ever found out…”

  “I already did, Little one,” he says gently.

  The way he calls me Little one sends a shiver down my spine. He hasn’t Daddied me until now. I’m slipping. I feel like I’m on a long metal slide. So long I can’t see the bottom. It’s covered with oil. I can’t brace myself to keep from slowly sliding downward.

  I take another step back. It’s not helping. I can’t get enough distance from him to clear my head. He’s filling the entire room. He’s got such a strong presence. There isn’t enough oxygen for both of us, and he’s hogging it all.

  I need him to leave. If I remain in his presence… I shudder and meet his gaze again. I need to be brave. “I can’t be with you, Zane.”

  His brows furrow slightly as if he’s trying not to react but can’t stop himself. “Okay. That’s a very broad statement, Hannah.”

  Touché. I’ve called him Zane. He would naturally call me Hannah.

  “Do you mean you’d like me to leave and come back later so you can have some time?” He takes a step closer to me and continues, “Because it sounds to me like you’re talking about something much larger than that. It sounds like you recognize there’s something between us, and you’re fighting it because you don’t know what to do with it.”

  My inhalation is ragged. Why must he be so insightful? I take another step back, grateful that this room is large and there’s currently only one piece of furniture in it. The piano.

  I look down again. I hate showing my weakness. I hate being vulnerable. I wish I was strong like Hannah. But I’m not Hannah. I’m Carolina. Right?

 

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