Page 10 of Milk For The Billionaire's Little

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hand moved slowly over my hair, fingers soothing and rhythmic, like it was the most natural thing in the world to let me curl up against him and drift off.

And drift I did.

I don’t know how long I slept. But when I finally cracked my eyes open, I was still wrapped in his arm. He looked down at me, smiling gently.

“I think somebody needed this,” he said softly.

I blinked. “I… I did. Thanks.”

I started to push myself up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. How long were we here?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I hope long enough that you feel relaxed.”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded. Reluctantly, I slid off the bed, reaching for my phone on the bedside table. One glance at the screen told me this hadn’t just been a catnap—I’d been asleep for at least two hours.

Two full hours in a stranger’s arms, after drinking from him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I’d pay you more, but I… I don’t have it right now. I had to save up for this already.”

Great. Now I sounded like a loser.

“I’ll be right back,” I muttered, bolting for the bathroom before he could respond. I needed a minute to pull myself together…desperately. My emotions had gotten tangled up with my nerves, and the longer I stood there, the more my brain started to spiral.

What if he was annoyed? What if he thought I’d wasted his time? What if he was expecting more money and was just too polite to say anything?

My brain was feeding me the worst possible scenarios, and I knew none of them made sense. If he wanted something from me, he would’ve said something—or at least woken me up. But try telling my anxiety that.

I turned on the sink, meaning to splash some water on my face, but the second I touched the knob, the spigot blasted water like a fire hose.

I yelped, stumbling back, drenched from neck to waist. “Shit!”

Seconds later, the door swung open.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned. “Did you see a bug?”

“No,” I said, laughing nervously. “The faucet’s just broken. And I mean… there are probably bugs too.”

He stepped in, took one look at me, and winced. “You’re soaked.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, wringing out the hem of my shirt.

He reached for one of the motel’s towels, then paused mid-grab like it had personally offended him. He let it go instantly. “You’re not touching that. Who knows what that brown is on it.”

“Is it that bad?” I asked, glancing at it. The brown stain near the edge didn’t exactly reassure me. “Never mind. It is.”

The Daddy gently reached for my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. He was careful. Unrushed. Like it wasn’t weird. Like helping someone dry off was just… a thing you did.

Back in the main room, he handed me his T-shirt. It was the softest thing I’d ever felt. It smelled like laundry and cologne and something just faintly earthy.

“I’ve got a jacket. You use this.”

No way I was turning that down. I slipped it on, tugging it down over my hips. It was a little big and still felt like a hug.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I, um… I know this is probably forward, but… could we maybe do this again?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

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