Becoming His

Hi all! I've found myself with some time on my hands to attempt a second submission, which I will hopefully be able to continue in further installments. This part is on the longer side because it is mostly setup (no sexy bits between the two love interests), but I hope you will enjoy it. This story will be mostly age gap erotic romance with D/s and ddlg elements -- that's why I've categorized it as BDSM. This first section includes a minor bit of non-consensual sexual assault (female POV is drugged and groped at a party by a guy who isn't the main love interest, and it isn't very graphic), just in case that's a turn-off for anyone. I hope you will enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

***

Between her knees, beneath the edge of the table, Lila's phone buzzed, and then buzzed again.

She squeezed her fork, knuckles whitening, meatloaf sitting on the plate in front of her barely touched. It was a Friday night. Finals had ended that week, and prom was the coming Monday. Graduation looming, she'd gotten her first breath of freedom at the end of a hard-fought senior year. Her friends, the source of her phone's vibrations, were going on a year-end shopping spree.

She should have been with them. They'd had these plans for months.

But when her mother had sprung the "family" dinner on her a half hour before her stepdad got home from work, she hadn't had the heart to tell them she wouldn't be able to make it, knowing they'd only argue with her. They probably would've shown up on the street in Emily's Jeep, honking the horn before giving up and driving off into the night.

You're 18,

they would have texted.

An adult. Your life, your choices.

But that wasn't really true, because they didn't know her stepfather like she did. She was eighteen, but that only made life more dangerous for her. While she lived under Robert's roof, she had to obey his rules, or risk getting kicked out. All the more so now that she wouldn't even be in school next year, but taking a gap year while trying to persuade her mother to let her go to art school. How could her friends, with their normal, stable families, understand all of that? She wasn't interested in laying it out to them for the umpteenth time, and definitely not over text.

She looked down at her plate, resisting the urge to check her phone. No matter how surreptitious she thought she was being, Robert always noticed, and he always acted quickly, confiscating the device to the lock box of shame high on a shelf in his upstairs study. She would have excused herself to the bathroom, but she'd already done that twice during the meal so far, and her mother was probably keeping count. So she choked down a bite of meatloaf instead. It was dry. Her mother's cooking was always dry, not to mention tasteless.

At least these Friday night "family" dinners had become more interesting as of late, thanks to her stepfather's most recent choice of dinner guest. He had developed a habit of inviting coworkers to the table, which made it impossible for Lila to weasel out even with the best of excuses. He seemed to want to show off the sort of men and occasional woman he rubbed shoulders with in the high-powered world of finance. It was a show of force for Lila and her mother Miranda, to dine with him and his coworkers straight from the office, still in their smart business clothing, and to hear them talk about their expensive houses and fat paychecks and trophy wives and stays in five star hotels on business trips.

Lila thought they were all bores, every last one -- except this one, this most recent catch of Robert's. Pulled back to the present, she glanced across the table at him. His name was Cameron, but he'd been introduced to her as Mr. Winthrop, and even after the four or five dinnertime encounters they'd shared, he remained Mr. Winthrop to her.

Compared to the rest of Robert's coworkers, Mr. Winthrop had a few redeeming qualities. For one, she had listened to him and her stepfather talk enough shop to determine that he was smarter than Robert and all the other bores who had graced that table, at least by her humble estimation.

It wasn't her intelligence that had originally drawn her attention, though. Inadvertent heat crept across her cheeks as his stormy eyes seemed to flick momentarily in her direction. She ducked her head, crushing a piece of meatloaf beneath the tines of her fork. It wasn't

like

her to nurture a secret, inappropriate infatuation for an older man. She wasn't the type of girl to swoon, despite being a hopeless romantic on the inside. She'd never even had a real crush on a boy her age. Sure, Mr. Winthrop was painfully good looking, not to mention younger than Robert and most of the others he'd invited over. But he was still much too old for her.

All this was to say that her life was dull. So dull that this older man who paid her utterly no attention had become one of the more exciting fixtures of her week-to-week existence.

She dragged her eyes back up to glance at him, only for his to seemingly slide across her once more. She blushed and ducked her head again. It was pitiful, really. He probably had no idea the kind of effect he had on her.

Or maybe he did. That thought made her squirm. She stole glances at his plate instead. He didn't seem to be enjoying his meatloaf, either, and she could take a little solace in that. Her mother's cooking was an embarrassment, really. She didn't understand how Robert --

"Lila, are you driving yet?" came Mr. Winthrop's voice from across the table.

She blinked. He'd spoken to her. That was unexpected. When she raised her eyes, his met hers, a steely but sparkling stormy gray-blue. Her face burned.

"N-no, not really," she squeaked. "I've had my permit for a while, but Mom hasn't had time to teach me."

"I said we'd go once church volunteering ends on the weekends," said her mother, hackles raised.

"I know. I wasn't trying to call you out or anything."

Mr. Winthrop raised his eyebrows, draining what wine remained in his glass.

"Well, you know, I've got a brand new car and plenty of time to waste," he said, mostly to Robert. "I'd be happy to take her for a spin in some parking lot after dinner. That way you two can get some quiet, and she can get a little outing on a Friday. I mean, you know kids this age."

Lila's mother let out a nervous laugh.

"I mean, I'm sure you don't want to let a new driver anywhere near your new car..."

"Have some faith, she'll steer just fine." Mr. Winthrop grinned across the table at Lila. "But it's up to you, Robert."

"It's up to her, actually," Robert said, draining his glass. He had finished his meatloaf, and he let out a contented burp. "Excuse me. What do you say, girlie? Want a head start on that driving practice? It's about time you got behind the wheel."

Lila flushed. She hated when he called her girlie, but she knew better than to rebuke him for it -- that would only land her in her room for the night. Besides, she mostly agreed with him, and would've said yes in a heartbeat if yes hadn't entailed enduring time alone with Mr. Winthrop, a virtual stranger with whom she'd become hopelessly infatuated. At best, it would be painfully awkward. At worst, she might crash his new car! Her gaze darted over at him. He was looking at her. So was Robert. Her mother just looked nervous.

"Yeah, sure," she said, swallowing her hesitation. "Thanks, Mr. Winthrop. I'll just go up and get my permit."

When he smiled at her, her heart skipped a beat.

"You're welcome. And it's Cameron, Lila."

If anything, she could count it as an excuse to get away from the rest of her helping of meatloaf. On the way upstairs, she paused on the landing, her heartbeat running away from her. She was so

lame.

Why couldn't she crush on someone her age, someone safe and attainable who might have liked her back? Why this man? Why not anyone else?

The fluttery feeling in her stomach reminded her of the kiddie crush she'd had on a teacher back in middle school. She'd never really gotten over that, and only the end of the school year had saved her from whatever she'd seen in him. But she was older now. More mature. Surely she could get over this.

In her room, she could hear the adults talking downstairs. She snagged her permit, which lay folded on her dresser. Her eyes stared back at her, wide and hazel, from her vanity mirror. She grabbed a tube of lipgloss and rolled on a coat before smearing it back off on her sleeve. Jesus. What was wrong with her? He wasn't hers to impress. Besides, she might find him attractive, but she didn't want to

be

with him, let alone give him any ideas. Her girlfriends probably would've counseled her against going out driving with him in the first place, which meant she'd already set one foot well across the imaginary line that governed girldom.

"Get a grip," she whispered to herself.

Mr. Winthrop -- Cameron, that was -- was waiting for her in the hall. He stood over six feet, dwarfing her five foot three frame. She could hear her mother and Robert in the kitchen, clearing up and talking in low voices. Were they arguing? It sounded like they might have been. She swallowed, her tongue darting nervously between her lips and lapping up the last traces of strawberry-flavored lipgloss.

"I'm ready," she said to Cameron.

He opened the door for her, and they went out into the pleasant late May evening, the sun smoldering at the center of a shockingly pink and orange sunset in the west. At the end of the drive, Lila found found that his new car wasn't just any new car -- it was a shining white Mercedes. When he opened the passenger side door for her, the smell of the fresh, gorgeous red leather seats came wafting out.

"Are you sure about this?" she squeaked. "I wouldn't want to scratch it."

"I'm sure. Scratches don't matter to me."

She got in. He sounded too assured to question. Of course -- he probably had more than enough money in the bank to cover a scratch. Maybe he even had enough to buy a whole new car. Or maybe he already had multiple cars like this one! Lila's imagination ran wild, and as he got into the driver's seat and piloted the Mercedes away from the curb, she conducted a careful inventory of things about him she hadn't cataloged before. The big shiny silver wristwatch on his arm. His perfectly tailored clothing and polished leather shoes. The scent of his cologne, something subtle yet alarmingly heady under the circumstances. His choice of music on the radio, soft jazz that spilled easily from the speakers.

But something else began consuming her thoughts as soon as he had pulled into an empty parking lot off the main road, adjoining some tall, dark office buildings. She squeezed her hands together in her lap, but they still trembled. It had been over ten years since her father, her real father, had died in a car accident. It had been twelve years, to be exact, almost to the day. And if she was honest with herself, this was the only way she was going to learn to drive, because she didn't think her mother was ever going to teach her. Since Robert had come into the picture, Mom had hardly driven.

The totaled wreck flashed before her eyes, twisted, smoldering metal. Her father lying in his coffin. At first, she hadn't understood, and she'd waited every evening for him to come home from work. He'd never come. Her mother had brought home a new car from the dealership. Lila had refused to get in willingly for months.

Cameron's voice jerked her back to the present.

"All right," he said. He switched the engine off with a flick of the key and pushed his door open. "Let's switch places."

Lila reached for her door handle and was surprised to find the door locked. He, having gone around the front of the car, opened it for her. She supposed that made him a gentleman. Outside, the wind rustled through her hair, accompanied by the distant hum of cars on the highway in her ears. It was a warm night. On the other side of the car, she found the front seat much too far back for her, and she struggled to adjust it.

"Here, let me." Cameron reached across her and hit a button on a panel she hadn't noticed, and the seat slid forward. He grinned at her. "Don't worry, that's the hardest part. Now get your seatbelt on and start her up."

She strapped herself in, her skin tingling where he'd brushed against her. A harmless, meaningless touch, she was sure. She couldn't think it

meant

anything. Her fingers were clumsy on the key, but she managed to turn it in the ignition, and the car came to life. She gripped the wheel, her knuckles whitening.

"There's something I should probably tell you," she blurted out.

"Relax. What do you need to tell me?"

Her teeth sunk into the side of her cheek until she tasted blood, sharp and acrid on her tongue. She drew a deep breath.

"My father. My real one, not Robert. He died in a car accident when I was six."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cameron said. His voice was low. "It's a good thing you told me. We'll take it very slow. Would you like to keep going?"

She nodded, another breath whistling between her teeth.

"Good. Good girl. Tell me if you need to stop. Now, the big pedal is the brake, small one the gas. First thing you got to do is take it out of park. Right here." Cameron reached over and took her hand and set it on the shift in the middle and gave it a squeeze before letting go. "Put your foot down on the brake first."

"All the way down?" Lila asked. Her voice came out high-pitched.

"All the way down. Easy does it. Then shift. To the side and down. You want D -- that's for drive. That's a girl."

She sucked in her breath. The car was in drive, headlights lighting up the asphalt in front of her.

"Now ease up on the brake. She'll start to move by herself, be prepared. I want you to let her roll five yards and then stop us nice and easy. There you go."

Lila let her foot up a little, her hands trembling on the wheel. The car began to inch forward, and she became aware of the power beneath her, an almost magical feeling that made her want to laugh. Cameron was quiet next to her, and suddenly she was very glad she'd gone with him. Robert would have been barking orders nonstop, and her mother would have been an anxious wreck, if not in tears. This man, on the other hand, was a good teacher, patient and calm.

"Okay," she said. "So now I brake."

"That's right. Go ahead."

She brought her foot down, and the car lurched to a halt, much too abruptly. The jolt loosed a nervous giggle from her throat, and she waited for Cameron's reprimand.

Instead he was laughing.

"Don't worry, happens to everyone the first time. You'll get the hang of it soon enough. Remember, easy does it. Swing her around to the right this time."

She smiled, lifting her foot with less trepidation. He had set her at ease. She wheeled the car in a slow circle and brought it to a much more acceptable halt near the center of the lot.

"That's it," he said from the passenger side, his voice low. He slung his arm behind the back of her headrest. "I told you you had nothing to worry about. You're a natural, baby."

Baby? She gripped the wheel, heat spilling across her cheeks. She was glad it was dark, so he couldn't see her blushing. God, why was she such a hopeless romantic? He seemed as caught up in her initial success as she was. Following his instructions, she took the car on a series of spins around the lot, her turns smoothing out with each go around. When at last he directed her to shut off the engine, she did and sat in the dark for a moment, exhilarated.

"Thank you," she said, looking across at him. "That went way better than I expected. I wasn't looking forward to my mom teaching me, to be honest. That's if she ever would've."

"Well, we can do it again." He reached across her to push open her door. "Switch places."

She let out a nervous giggle, hopping around the car and through the passenger side door, which he'd left open. Doors shut, they sat in the darkness for a few more moments while he stared straight ahead, seemingly deep in thought. She found she didn't want to interrupt him.

"There's one more thing I want to attend to," he said at last, turning back toward her. "You're skin and bones, and you barely touched your dinner. Not that I blame you."

She stared across at him, not sure if she was supposed to register skin and bones as an insult. She knew she was skinny, skinny enough that the doctor had mandated monthly checkups and handed down standing orders to put on weight. But skin and bones? And what could he mean to do about it?

He pulled the car out of the lot and made a U-turn before pulling up outside a burger shop across the street. Then she understood.

"Oh, no, it's okay," she said, squeezing her arms across her chest. "Mom and Robert wouldn't want you spending money on me. You've already done enough."

"Nonsense," he said. "You look famished. I can't leave you like this. Besides, what your mother and Robert don't know won't hurt them."

He got out. She sat still, thinking about refusing him. But when he came around and opened her door, the smell of burgers and fries came wafting in, and her growling stomach couldn't resist. She followed him into the restaurant and stood awkwardly behind him while he ordered for both of them. His credit card was dark blue and platinum-embossed, as shiny as the watch on his wrist.

Once he'd ordered, he directed her into a booth.

"Next time, find a seat," he said, folding his hands together in the center of the table. He looked too large for his surroundings. "I'll take care of ordering. It's easier that way."

She listened, mesmerized. Apparently he'd decided there would be a next time for this, too, not just for driving. All of a sudden his Friday night appearances at "family" dinners sounded more appealing. She nodded and smiled.

"Okay, I will."

"I trust you're not picky when it comes to fast food, anyways," he said. His eyes were fixed on her. "You can't afford to be. Your stepfather's told me about you, your condition and all."

She shook her head.

"I'm not really anorexic. I just have no appetite most of the time."

"Then you need to develop one."

He kept watching her. She sat there and wondered why he cared -- after all, she was just some random coworker's stepdaughter, not someone of any importance to him. All the same, it felt good, having someone who cared. Robert might talk about her, but he was only interested in griping, not helping. And her mother, who'd never lost her baby weight, hardly had a healthy body image herself.

"How did you and my stepdad become friends, anyway?" she asked Cameron after a moment. She couldn't imagine why someone as smooth-talking and interesting as him would want to befriend someone like Robert.

"You know that we work together. I'm a consultant in his department," Cameron said. "To be honest, I only started coming to dinner for the sake of politeness and some company, I suppose. You know what they say about company..."

Lila stifled a laugh.

"He's hardly the worst around the office," Cameron said, laughing for her. "You know how businessmen are. Clearly he doesn't make the best father, but what can you expect? The man never wanted children of his own."

"You're right about that," she said quietly.

Their order came up, and Cameron went to collect it. He returned with two burgers, a big paper sheaf of fries shrouded in brown paper, two Sprites, and one milkshake. Lila began eating and watched him with amazement as he wolfed down the burger in what had to be four bites.

He shrugged at her from across the table, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"A man's got to eat when he works as hard as I do," he said. "Put in a couple hours at the gym earlier, and your mom's meatloaf just doesn't cut it, bless her heart."