Page 18 of Wild Daddy

"I'm really not—"

"Marley." His voice has gone firmer. "Eat the food."

Something in his tone makes my stomach clench, but not with hunger. With a weird combination of anxiety and discomfort.

"I don't usually eat in front of people," I say quietly.

"Why not?"

The question is simple, but the answer is complicated. "My parents were very...particular about food when I was growing up. About portions, about what I ate, even making sure my food didn't touch. They would never have served stew either. Too many ingredients mixed up. No way to know your macros. They lived by the 'what can be measured can be improved' philosophy."

“Mixing macros sounds fun,” Cade says with a smirk, then his eyes darken when I don’t muster a smile. “Baby, it’s just food. It’s not a judgment about who you are. If your parents made you feel this way, even if it was from a misguided place of love, well, let’s just say I’m going to have a little heart-to-heart with them soon enough. But right now, stop thinking so fucking much and follow your gut.”

Right on que my stomach twists with a groan as I shrug. Programming from as far back as I can remember tightens around my windpipe as I stir the stew again, watching the chunks of meat and vegetables swirl around. "They wanted to make sure I stayed focused on academics instead of getting distracted by typical teenage concerns like body image and boys.”

"So they controlled what you ate."

It isn't a question, and something in his voice makes me look up. His expression is carefully neutral, but there's a hardness around his eyes that hasn't been there before.

"They were just trying to help me stay on track," I say, the familiar defense rising automatically. "It worked. I graduated early, got into a good graduate program—"

"And now you're nineteen years old and afraid to eat in front of people."

His bluntness doesn’t feel judgmental but it still stings. "I'm not afraid. I just prefer to eat alone."

"Bullshit." He takes the bowl from my hands and scoops up a spoonful of the brown mixture. "Open your mouth."

"What? No. I can feed myself."

"Open. Your. Mouth."

The command sends heat spiraling through me that has nothing to do with embarrassment. There's something about his complete certainty, his refusal to accept my protests, that makes part of me want to obey without question.

"This is ridiculous," I whisper, but I open my mouth.

"I'm taking the pressure off," he says quietly. "Not because you can't do it yourself, but because you shouldn’t have to right now. Let me take care of you, baby, like I did last night in the coat room. Like I did this morning against my wall. Let me show you how good it can feel to just receive."

The talk of what we did this morning, and what we did last night, should make me blush. Instead it makes me take stock. He’s right, he’s taken care of me in ways I didn’t even know were possible.

What’s one un-tracked meal against all that?

The savory warmth of the food spreads over my tongue, making me moan. It’s rich and savory with herbs I can't identify. But more than that, there's something unexpectedly intimate about letting him feed me, about trusting him to decide how much I need.

"Good girl," he murmurs, scooping another spoonful.

"I can do it myself now."

"I know you can.” His voice is a softer rumble as he brings the spoon to my lips again. "But for now, I’m doing it. No guilt. No rules. Just me, you, and this moment. Open."

The words make something tight in my chest loosen. When's the last time someone wanted to take care of me? When's the last time I let them?

I open my mouth for the next bite, and the next, letting him feed me until the bowl is empty, and my stomach feels satisfied for the first time in longer than I can remember.

"Better?" he asks.

"Better." I say and he looks so satisfied. Like he just won something big. . "How did you know to do that?"

"Because it’s what you needed. And that’s important to me." He sets the empty bowl aside and shifts on the bench so he's facing me fully, dragging his massive hand over his mouth before finishing. "Taking care of you isn’t just keeping you safe from bears and hypothermia.."

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