I find some leftovers—a few pre-made sandwiches and some fresh cut fruit. I pull out a small tray from the cabinet and pile it on. It’s so fucking weird that nothing seems to have changed.
Every item in the house is in the same location. Just as I close the fridge and place two bottles of water on the platter, I hear it: a faint cry echoing through the house.
For a moment, I panic, thinking it’s Keira, but then I realize it sounds more like a child…a baby even, and I pause. My ears strain to hear more cries, and I turn my head toward where I think it’s coming from.
Then it stops.
Shaking my head, I take the platter and make my way upstairs.
I must have had a little more to drink than I thought.
A baby? In this fucking house? That’s hilarious.
I push the stupid thought away, and by the time I enter the bathroom, the tub is filled all the way. Only Keira’s head is above the water.
I set the tray down on the counter and pick up a sandwich. Kneeling beside the tub, I hold it in front of her mouth, urging her to eat. She eyes it curiously before taking her hands out of the water to grab it.
“No, I’ll feed you. Your hands are all wet and soapy. Plus, it’s the least I can do after…” my voice trails off. I know she came. I felt her pussy gripping my cock, but it doesn’t make the fact that I treated her as badly as one of my fucking lays back at the strip club, or how I treated her after dinner. She means more than that to me.
“Please stop. It’s okay, Damon. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it too.” She smiles softly and lets her hands fall below the water while she opens her perfect mouth to take a bite. Her pink tongue darts out over her bottom lip, and I want to kiss her instead of feed her right now.
“If you don’t like this, I brought a variety of foods you can try.”
“I see that.” She smiles while chewing. “This is really good. I like it.”
I feed her the whole sandwich, bite after bite, and I don’t know how, but my cock starts to harden all over again. I had no fucking clue feeding someone could be so erotic.
But, fuck, it is. The way her plump lips form around the bread, grazing my fingers…it’s so fucking sexy. I want to fuck her again. Now.
I tamp the need down, though, and grab the bottle of water, twisting off the cap. I hand it to her and watch her finish almost the whole bottle.
God, I am horrible. Clearly, she was hungry and thirsty. I should’ve taken care of her needs before taking care of mine, and for that, I am a prick—a big ass prick.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I was a selfish prick tonight. I should’ve made sure you had food and water sent up.” I lean over the tub and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “It won’t happen again.”
Keira sighs, sounding as if she’s enjoying the luxury of being pampered, and I must say, I’m enjoying it too.
I grab a washcloth from the cabinet under the sink, then kneel back down beside the tub. She rests her head on the rim and stares at me in awe as I take the cloth and start to wash her body.
She closes her eyes and lets out a low moan, sounding as if this is the best thing she’s ever felt. I will have to make note of the things she enjoys so I can do them more often.
As I wash lower down her belly and between her legs, I am extra careful my movements are slow and graceful. I watch for any signs of discomfort. Her eyebrows pull together, and her delicate features tense up as I brush the washcloth over her thigh.
She is trying to hide that I hurt her, and I don’t understand why—not when we both know I see it. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and she whines when I go over the sensitive area.
Seeing the pain in her eyes makes me want to stab myself in the heart a hundred times. She is so fragile—so fucking innocent in every way—and I took her like a fucking savage. I tore her from the inside out, making her bleed. My insides feel like they’re being ripped from my body. I should’ve stopped. I should’ve taken her slower. I should’ve prepared her. Made her come once or twice. But I was so caught up in the need to make her mine, everything but my lust for her slipped my mind.
“It’s okay,” she tells me, as if reading my mind.
Her words make it worse. She is trusting me with everything—with her life, her body, her heart. And I’ve done nothing but fail her. It’s me who’s responsible for her safety now. Me who’s supposed to make sure no one hurts her. Above all, it should never be me that hurts hers. I slow my movements and pull the washcloth from the water. There’s a red tinge on it, and I squeeze my eyelids shut, tossing the fucking thing over my shoulder.