To my shock, Mac leans in to kiss my forehead before straightening and moving back to his camera. It’s set up with bland, generic art as the background, and Mac has put on a shirt and tie from his closet here.
“What are you recording?” I can’t help asking. I know we’re leaving soon to see if my dad is at his Manhattan place, and if I can get inside. My dad keeps more business stuff there than anywhere else.
“The show wants a clip from me to play about why I’m canceling live shows,” Mac explains, adjusting his hair using the image on the screen. “Plus, the more people who know about Di’s abduction, the easier it will be to find her.”
“You really care about her, don’t you?”
Mac’s eyes meet mine over the camera and he tilts his head. “Of course. I can’t continue with what I do if I don’t have her. Or it would be very difficult.”
While I’m not sure if I want him to say he cares about her a lot, or for him to say he cares about me more. Either way, if I want more emotion from him, I am going to keep being disappointed.
“Why don’t you go shower, pet,” Mac suggests, gesturing to the door leading to the only bedroom. “Try not to make random noises since I’m filming.”
His words sound like a suggestion, but I know he means for me to follow them as instructions. “Yes, Sir,” I reply with a salute, hopping up and kissing him on the cheek before he knows what’s coming.
Slipping into the bedroom and attached bath, I leave the door cracked open and turn on the tap. Before I get in, I hear Mac talking in a solemn tone.
“Hello, Murder Talk fans. I’m Owen MacKenzie, and today we have some sad news. My beloved assistant, Diana Peña, had her home broken into and she hasn’t been seen since. As an immigrant, and woman of color, she already faces so much discrimination, and I don’t know how to get by without her.”
Leaving the door, I step into the scalding water and bask in the feel of the water pressure pounding down on my shoulders. On one hand, it’s nice to hear Mac speak passionately about Di.
On the other hand, it’s almost scary how well he can fake it.
Using Mac’s bodywash, I see it’s the same brand as the one he has in the guest house. A clean, masculine scent I associate with the man. He must stock all places he might shower with the stuff. In Miami, I used the stuff they had on hand, but I like smelling like him again.
Humming to myself, I wash and condition my hair before stepping out to dry off. Except Mac is there with a towel, his tie removed. I jump and just keep myself from yelling in surprise.
“Oh, hi. Are you done, Sir?”
“Mm.” Mac nods and spreads the towel to indicate I should step in.
Letting him dry me from head to toe, I let out a yelp when he lifts me to sit on the counter. Grabbing a smaller piece of fabric from beside the sink, Mac steps between my legs to dry my hair.
“That feels good,” I tell him, letting my eyes close in contentment. Leaning into his touch when he pulls the towel away, Mac steps away and I hold in a whine.
“Time to get dressed. We’re across the park from your father’s place.”
Sighing, I hop down from the counter and follow Mac to the bedroom where he bypasses the bag with our clothes. Returning with a designer shopping bag that must have arrived while I was showering, he sets it on the bed and starts removing items. There’s a long-sleeved shirt, black cargo pants, underwear and socks.
“You don’t have to keep buying me clothes,” I tell him, reaching for the briefs, but he stills my hand.
“Look at me, pet.” I follow his command and find a serious look on his face. “You’re wearing my collar. I’m responsible for you, now. That means more than just food and sex. You understand that, right?”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply automatically, though I don’t truly believe him.
My dad often forgot to feed me or clothe me unless I was going to be seen by others. His collar is just a kink thing—one I don’t want to remove.
Mac narrows his eyes as if he can read my thoughts, but then he hands me the underwear to put on. When I have the briefs and socks on, Mac holds the shirt open. “Arms up, pet.”
Feeling like a child, but loving the attention, I hold my arms up so he can slip the top on me. He does the same with the cargo pants, going down on one knee so I can brace myself on his shoulders.
Maybe he has a dollification kink. I might be down, so long as he doesn’t expect me to sit quietly without moving. That would be real torture.
“Let’s go.”
Mac takes my hand and leads me out to the main space where he helps me into my jacket before checking his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs.
As we leave the building and cross the street towards Central Park, I look back at his building. “If you don’t have Di to cover your tracks, what will you say about being here and going for a walk close to midnight?”