Page 60 of For Her Own Good

Is he worried? Does he seriously believe there is any possibility of me being likeNah, check you later? It seems from the way he’s regarding me with a smidge of tightness around his eyes, around his full mouth that yes, he is, and yes, he does.

“I’d like it very much if you stayed.”

And to prove my point, I cuddle in closer and lock my arm around him. I like the gentle way he huffs a laugh, and the way he uses his arm to gather me still closer, and most of all the way he murmurs into my hair.

“I’m glad. The night’s a better place with my Star.”

Chapter 20

Lowry

It was morethan difficult to climb out of Starla’s bed this morning and head home, and she was all I could think of on my way into work. All I could think of from my car to my office. I may not have an overflow of emotions like Starla did last night, but it sure does feel like a dream to me.

Now I’m on my way up in the elevator in her building, this time with a sack full of Chinese food instead of yesterday’s props of saltines and Gatorade. My God, does that feel like forever ago.

When I rap on her door, my heart stops because I hope I haven’t hallucinated this whole thing. Haven’t dreamed that Starla is mine now, that I’ve finally had her—and if I’m a very lucky man, will continue to have her—in all the ways I’ve always fantasized about.

But when she opens the door, it’s with a great big gorgeous smile which renders anything else invisible except for her clothes. A bright pink tutu with a ribbon hem and bow at the waist, and a black and white T-shirt that proclaims “Don’t Mess With the Princess” below a picture of Princess Leia. Jesus Christ.

Will she find me presumptuous if I step over her threshold, drop our food to the ground, and take her in my arms to kiss? My God, I hope not because I can’t possibly do anything else.

My sweet girl goes on tiptoes and throws her arms round my neck, returning my kiss full force, and I could get swept up in her again, much the way I did last night. Except I’m not going to make her not eating dinner a habit. I am, after all, supposed to look after her. But I’m not going to turn her away, not now, not yet, especially given that I know how she frets. I hope she hasn’t been fretting about me.

When we come up for air, she looks at me, suddenly shy, though she doesn’t let me go.

“Hi.”

Though I’d desperately like for her to say “Hi, Daddy,” I understand why she might not. Perhaps she has the same concern that yesterday was all a fantasy. Or even parts of it. Why would she risk that? But I will. For her, though my stomach still clenches as I say the words.

“Hello, little girl. I’m awfully glad to see you.”

And in that instant she’s transformed. Her cheeks flush, she blinks bashfully, and dips her head. Absolutely darling.

Her “me too, Daddy,” is practically a whisper, but she may as well have shouted it for how my body reacts, primed all day and now raring to go for her. Christ, this is what makes me want to set upon her, forget to feed her, strip her bare, and make her come over and over and over. So I kiss her more, grab her bottom and knead her flesh, groan into her hot, wet, willing mouth when she hitches her leg around me because God almighty, this woman.

When at last I can breathe again, I unhook her leg from around me and withstand her mighty pout.

“You, little miss, need to eat dinner. And I’m not going to be the irresponsible daddy who keeps you from it. So we’ll behave for a bit, you’ll tell me about your day, and then I have intentions where you’re concerned.”

“I hope you intend to fuck me into next week.”

Such filthy words coming out of such a sweet mouth, I nearly perish.

“What a naughty little thing,” I say, circling a hand around her wrist and leading her over to the couch where we sat and ate off the coffee table when she’d been injured. She’s better now, though I noticed last night some of the bruises linger in the form of yellowed skin. “Now sit and eat your dinner or you’ll get nothing at all.”

I don’t mind the scowl she delivers from her seat kitty-corner to mine. I know I can’t sit next to her and control myself, so for now, I’ll be over here. From the takeout bag, I dig out our food and hand her some beef lo mein, which I happen to know is her favorite because she’s mentioned it before, and a pair of chopsticks because I’ve seen her devour immense amounts of sushi with them—the woman’s got skills.

Starla doesn’t wait for me to crack my honey walnut shrimp and rice open before she’s digging in, and I have to roll my eyes—fondly. The woman was clearly ravenous but would have starved herself to keep kissing me. I’m not going to lie, that feels good, although also proves that she does in fact need someone to remind her to eat. Though if I weren’t here, she wouldn’t be distracted.

“How was your day?”

She slurps a noodle into her mouth, and then chews thoughtfully, her legs crisscrossed on the couch.

“Mmm, fine. I signed a new client today.”

“That’s great, congratulations.”

She smiles and pauses with a few inches of noodles hanging from her chopsticks. “Thanks.”

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