Madison nods. "That does make sense," she admits. "Maybe oregano instead?"
While their conversation is going on, you slowly eat your meal, occasionally gently squeezing her hand beneath the table. She doesn't verbally acknowledge you, but she returns the squeeze each time.
The conversation slowly shifts away from the food, and towards how everybody's day has been. You politely listen in, but only rarely offer up a comment— somehow, you don't much think her parents want to hear about how you've been fondling their little girl all day.
Inevitably, or so you think, the conversation eventually comes around to focus on Madison.
"So, Madison." Madison's mother— Jasmine, she politely informed you earlier— turns to your girl, looking at her with a critical eye. "How are you going with your schoolwork after our talk last Monday?"
Madison looks up guiltily. Beneath the table, you can feel her palms getting sweaty. You squeeze her hand, a gentle reminder that you're there, and give her an encouraging smile; she gives you a small, relieved smile, but doesn't take her attention off her mother.
"I'm doing better than I was," she replies. "I spoke to my teachers, and some of them even gave me some extra booklets to look through to help me catch up. And Taylor here has been helping me study." Her grip is tight on her hands. She doesn't quite give you a pleading look, but you can literally feel the nervousness and anxiety rolling off her.
"Yeah," you cut in. "We've been meeting up at lunch to study. She's making a lot of progress." The anxiety turns to relief, but the nervousness is still there, causing your stomach to roil. You politely push your mostly-empty plate away. You'd eaten your fill anyway.
Her mother eyes the two of you speculatively, eyes lingering on Madison's mussed hair and still-swollen lips. You slide your other hand beneath the table and curl it into a fist, trying not to sneer at the woman. You will not brook any interference in your plan.
You're lucky that Madison's father doesn't seem to be suspicious of the two of you, focused more on the food in front of him and the heavy workload he's going to have when he goes into work tomorrow. If you had to extend your power over both of them, trying to nudge them both into feeling better about you, you probably wouldn't be able to calm their suspicions faster than they could rise.
But he isn't, and you can manage one person.
You'd really hoped to be able to pull tonight off without using your powers, though. At least you hadn't had to use them on Madison— you'd wormed your way into her mind enough that she was willingly accepting you.
You don't bother being subtle. Honestly, you wouldn't care overly much if you turned the woman into a drooling wreck; you're careful not to push her that far, since you're fairly sure that it would be difficult to visit Madison if she was going to the hospital daily, and you're pretty sure it would sit around in your mind unsettling you for months to come. You don't care if everyone at the table notices the way her eyes widen and dart to you, or the way she suddenly sits up straighter, as if to be respectful in your presence.
"Well," Jasmine says. "Don't let up now, Madison. You still have a long way to go."
You rub small circles on the back of Madison's hand. You don't even need to feel the sadness and frustration rolling off her to know how she feels— if Dad disapproved of your academic prowess, you can't imagine how bad you'd feel.
It's all you can do to fight down a scowl at the woman.
"I know," Madison says, voice unexpectedly loud. "You already yelled at me about this, Mom! I know I have to get my grades up if I want to get into university, I'm trying."
Oddly, instead of growing angry with Madison for nearly yelling at her, Jasmine's mouth lifts up into a pleased smile. That just makes the frustration rolling off Madison grow even worse. You're pretty sure that if you weren't holding her hand, she'd have stormed off away from the table already.
" Jasmine," her father says unexpectedly, "we've been over this. She's making an effort, and I know you've been checking in with Mrs. Blackwell, so you know that too. You agreed you'd stop haranguing her if she makes an effort, and she has. Don't teach our daughter to go back on her word."
That cuts the scowl from her face, even as you feel Madison's frustration ebbing away, replaced by pleased acceptance.
"I remember the deal, Rick," she says grudgingly. "I'll stop, but don't let me hear about your grades slipping again, Madison."
"I know," the teen pouts.
That discussion puts a damper on the dinner. The conversation is subdued, and Madison takes the earliest opportunity she can to follow you back upstairs to her room, ignoring her brother's plaintive cries for her to "Come play Playstation with me, Madison!" and her mother's call of "Don't forget, it's family movie night tonight, be down by seven!".
When you get back up there, she lets out a tired sigh. "Sorry about that," she says tiredly. "I didn't think Mom would start harassing me tonight, or I wouldn't have asked you to stay."
"Hey." You step forwards, lifting her chin so you can look her in the eyes. "I don't mind, Madison. I'm glad I was here, actually. You seemed pretty uncomfortable."
"Yeah." She sounds vulnerable now. "Mom does that to me. Can— um— could you— hold me?" By the end of her sentence, her teeth are chattering. Whatever confidence held her together when talking back to her mother has completely faded, now that she's alone in your presence.
You slowly lead her back to the bed. "Of course," you say simply as you sit back, pulling Madison over to sit on your lap again— this time facing you, rather than away from you. She buries her head in your neck, shuddering slightly— not crying, but obviously a bit upset.
She just sits there for a few minutes, the shudders slowly dying as you reach beneath her shirt and gently stroke up and down her spine. You are suddenly extremely glad that you chose Madison as your first target. Anger curls, deep in your stomach, as you picture Jasmine's face. How dare she upset your Madison.
Finally, Madison nuzzles your neck a little and places a light kiss on it before straightening somewhat. She snuggles her body against yours, and rests her forehead against your own, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to look you in them as she talks.
"It's just-" Her voice is halting, and the nervousness that had somewhat died down in her flares back up again, this time focused at you. "She— She um— She wants me to, um... I want to, I want to go into fashion design." Her eyes briefly flicker open as she tries to gauge your opinion of what she's saying.
You continue to stroke her back gently. "Yeah," you say gently. "I saw your designs on your desk. They looked pretty good."
Some of the tension in her body lifts, and she closes her eye again, this time letting out a little mewl. "Thanks," she says happily. Then she turns glum again. "But, um— yeah. Mom says that, that if I want to do that, I need to get into university. And my grades aren't good enough for that, so she's been yelling at me about it. That's, um..." She glances up guiltily at you. "That's actually why I stopped bullying you at school, which I'm so, so sorry about, by the way, I never-"
You interrupt her with a soft kiss, cutting off her words before she can say anything more. "It's fine," you say softly. "Besides," and a perverted grin spreads over your face, "I'm sure you'll think of a way to make up for it."
She blushes and stammers incoherently for a moment. "I— You— I— Buh— I-"
You press another soft kiss against her lips. "It's fine," you tell her again, this time more insistently. "Seriously, Madison, you can make it up to me." You kiss her again, this time nipping her lower lip, drawing a mewl out of the girl.
You draw back after a long, drowsy kiss, allowing her to speak up. She does, after shaking her head some to clear it. "Yeah?" she asks softly. "I'll try, then. I can't do anything about Emma and Sophia, though."
"That's fine too," you shrug. "I have a plan."
She draws back, opening her eyes and searching your face. Whatever she finds there seems to satisfy you, because she leans in and presses a brief kiss to your lips.
"Okay," she murmurs, snuggling back into your neck. "Just, don't forget about me when you do it?"
You stroke your nails up her spine, causing her to shiver. "I would never forget about you, Madison," you murmur.
"Okay," she murmurs again, sleepily this time. By this time, the nervousness she was exuding has faded almost entirely, buoyed only slightly by the last question she had asked you. Mostly, she's radiating contentment. Contentment, arousal, and no small level of affection.
The two of you remain in that position for nearly an hour, slowly watching the clock tick down. Occasionally, one or the other of you will kiss the other's neck or tighten their embrace, but that's as far as you take it.
Sadly, the clock eventually does hit 6:50, and you have to shake Madison slightly from where she's nearly fallen asleep in your arms.
"Come on, Madison," you breathe into her ear. "You have to get ready for movie night."
"Don't wanna," she mumbles. "Can't I stay here?"
You laugh quietly in her ear, and her mouth reluctantly turns up into a grin. "I know, I know," she groans, and leans back, although she doesn't try to escape the confines of your arms. She leans in instead and presses a languid kiss beside your mouth. "Thank you." Her voice is soft and vulnerable.
"Hey," you murmur, and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth in turn. "You don't need to thank me, Madison."
Her grin grows softer. She stares at your eyes for a moment, then leans in and kisses you a final time— an affectionate kiss on the tip of your nose— before finally slipping out of your arms and staring at you. "At least let me follow you out," she mumbles.
"Of course," you reply. You're tempted to reach out and take her hand again, but— no. It's not a good idea, not yet. One day, you'll be in a position where you can hold her all the time, but that day isn't today.
She follows you out the door, outside. It's bitingly cold outside, cold enough that you're even distracted away from the sight of Madison's suddenly hard nipples straining through her shirt, over the bra you'd... actually accidentally pulled down during your play just before, probably when you'd accidentally skimmed your fingers over her bra strap a few times. Not even a happy accident— you hadn't even noticed until now.
"Wait," she says suddenly, "how are you getting home?"
You pull out your phone. "Dad gave me some money for a taxi," you reply, peeling back your phone case to reveal the fifty tucked in there. "He knew he'd be working late."
She shakes her head. "You don't need to do that," she replies. "Hold on, I'll go ask Daddy if he can drive you."
As it turns out, Rick Clements has an absolutely luxurious car. Something called a "Buick", you learn, although a secondhand one; it's an import from Earth Aleph, where they still had the factories to build luxury cars.
You're thirteen minutes into the drive, by the clock on the dashboard, only a few streets away from your house, when Rick begins speaking.
"I'm sorry you had to see that argument at dinner," he says, flicking on his blinkers before slowing down at a crossroads. "I'm trying to get Jasmine to stop harassing Madison, but it's slow progress. My wife is a very independent woman."
"Yeah." You try your best to mask your dislike of the woman in your response. "Madison is doing her best at school, sir. She's really trying."
"I bet she is." He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, seemingly lost in thought. "It can be a bit— difficult to deal with the two of them," he says carefully. "My wife comes from a very driven family. Our family owes a lot of our success to her passion for what she does, but I'm not blind to her flaws, and I know she's pushing our children to become like her."
You can see your house from here, but your attention is focused on Rick now. "I noticed a bit of that," you admit. "Madison doesn't seem to enjoy that very much."
He laughs roughly. "No, I doubt she does." He pulls smoothly in front of the curb in front of your house and shuts the engine, turning to you with a serious look on his face. "My wife may be blind to it, but I am not. I know that Madison struggles with being independent."
He pauses for a moment. You're taken aback. Rick Clements is a lot more clever than you had given him credit for.
"Don't get me wrong, Taylor," he says. "I have my kinks, too. I don't want to shame Madison, which is why I've never brought this up with her. But this is driving a wedge in between my wife and my daughter. It's driving a wedge in between my family."
"I-"
"No, don't worry." He shakes his head wryly. "Sorry, that came out more aggressive than I wanted it to. I'm glad that Madison asked me to drive you home, Taylor. I'm glad that we got a chance to speak alone, so that I could thank you for what you're doing for my daughter."
You are so confused. Does he know what you've been doing, or...?
This isn't where you thought this conversation would go at all.
He reaches over and clasps you on the shoulder. "My wife wants Madison to be independent, but that doesn't mean she wants her to be unhappy with her life." He shakes his head, but you can see he looks a little lost. "And I want nothing but the best for my little girl. If that means she wants to make herself submissive to you— and yes," he chuckles, seeing the shocked and scared look that flickers across your face, "I do know what you were up to this afternoon, Madison is not a very subtle girl— if that's what makes my daughter happy, then I want you to know that I'll support you in that."
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, but all that comes out is a choking noise. There is no possible response you can make to that.
He grins again, and pats you on the shoulder. "With that said, I would appreciate it if you actually did spend some of your time studying when you're over at our house. I'll keep my wife distracted, but she's right when she says that Madison needs to get her grades up if she wants to get into university."
"I— I see," you manage faintly. "Thank you, sir?"
He chuckles deeply. "I should be the one thanking you," he replies. "Your father seems to be home already. I'll see you another day, Taylor Hebert."
You climb out of the car without responding, feeling vaguely shell-shocked.
You make your way up to your bedroom, barely acknowledging your father's early return from work on the way. Once you get there, you collapse on your bed and stare up at the ceiling for a while.
