Sadie's Little Christmas - Maren Smith Page 0,4

by an unexpected gift felt.

Reaching the end of the hall, he used a keycard to unlock another set of double doors. He held one open for her. “This way,” he said cheerfully.

She stepped through, only to stop again when she saw the abrupt change in décor. Gone was the Montana/western ranch feel. Instead, she found herself standing on stark white marble flooring, surrounded by bright, boldly colored walls. Before the door could swing shut behind Derek, a line of seven people came filing out of a room marked Library.

The whole way in the cab, Sadie had researched as much as she could find on Rawhide Ranch. She’d been so astonished any place like this could exist, she’d read the backstory three times, almost memorizing it. Although started as a safe haven for women founded in the 1890s, the Ranch was now a… well… a boarding school, she supposed, but for kinksters who identified as Littles. Sadie had only the vaguest idea what that term meant. She’d heard the term enough to know it related to a subgenre within the roleplaying aspect of BDSM, but she wasn’t much for roleplaying, so that was as far as she’d tried to understand it right up until she was in a cab and on her way here.

There was no definition of Little on Rawhide Ranch’s website, but it did mention its nursery, playground, classrooms, and training ground. World-class training ground, it had said, sending the butterflies in her tummy fluttering so hard, standing here now, and seeing it all firsthand, she could feel the echoes of those flutters still vibrating. It hit her right alongside a quiver of longing she wasn’t at all prepared for.

She might not know what a Little was, but she knew in an instant who they were. Dressed in school uniforms, complete with green-and-blue plaid skirts for the girls and matching tie and black trousers for the only Little boy among them, they looked like children following behind their teacher like a row of ducklings, all holding hands.

“Come along,” the teacher called behind her. Dark hair twisted up in a bun, everything about her—from her starched white shirt to her straight black skirt, which ended a full regulation inch below her knees, to her sensible flat shoes—seemed very… adult. “There’s just enough time for snacks before naps.”

Sadie stood frozen, watching them go, not understanding why the urge to run and catch up with the other ‘ducklings’ called so alluringly to her. It was probably the promise of a snack, she thought, her hand going to her suddenly hollow tummy. It might also have been the nap, frankly, although she’d have fought tooth and nail before ever admitting it out loud.

“Don’t worry,” Derek said, startling her from her thoughts. “I won’t make you take a nap.”

She looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“I’m not putting you in the Little program.”

He could tell by looking at her that she didn’t belong? A tiny kernel of hurt dropped into her stomach. She’d have fought tooth and nail before admitting she ought to be placed among adults pretending to be kids, but did he really have to exclude her from everyone else at first sight?

“I thought your website said you only take Littles.”

“Yes, well, you can thank Uncle Jared for that as well. Come along.”

He winked at her, and her stomach echoed another of those quivering flutters. Sparked by his authoritative tone, she told herself. He was a big man and had a definite dominant vibe. Of course, she was going to respond to that. She was a submissive and, if four nights ago was anything by which to judge, a reckless slut of a submissive, so yeah, she would find this giant bear of a cowboy attractive.

“Uncle Jared” had probably told him all about her, which was probably why he was keeping her separate from his other precious charges.

Wilting, she fell into step behind him. She didn’t like roleplaying, and she didn’t want to be in his Little program, anyway.

They followed the teacher and her tail of pseudo-kids down the hallway, the school-aged vibe of the place devolving with every step. In the span of mere rooms, it went from looking like a responsible high school to being a youthful middle school, then a preschool with brightly painted butterflies on the doors and smiling, foot-high caterpillars in Rawhide Ranch uniforms, inching along the bottoms of the walls as if hurrying off to classes themselves. She passed a cafeteria with an attached kitchen, two counselors’ offices,