Page 31 of Cinderella Is Faking It

She slipped her hands into mine, gripping them tight enough for her knuckles to whiten as she pulled herself to her feet. She wavered slightly but didn’t drop back to the sofa. “I’m good,” she said before I could offer more help. She leaned on me enough for most of her weight to be on me, her feet sort of moving as an afterthought as I led her through the bedroom and into my bathroom. Her eyes roamed over the rooms, but she didn’t comment on it, further proof of just how badly this had taken her out.

“Sit,” I instructed, even though I was basically maneuvering her body for her anyway, as I directed her onto the small stool in the bathroom. It had come with the place, and turned out to be quite useful when your muscles needed a hot soak, but the work didn’t stop, so you needed your computer on you.

Del sighed and dropped back against the towel heater, a blissful smile trembling on her lips. “I need one of these.”

“Here,” I broke a fresh toothbrush out of its packaging and handed it to her, spreading toothpaste onto the bristles. “Brush.”

Eyes closed, back melting against the heater, Del brushed her teeth and I… watched. I wasted three minutes watching her brows pull up and her nose crinkle as she directed the toothbrush into every corner of her mouth. “You’re done, come on.”

I helped her up again and she braced herself on the sink while I filled my plastic cup with mouthwash and warm water for her, then held her hair back so she could rinse.

“Thanks,” she mumbled once I had her sitting on my bed. “Good mouthwash to water ratio. Not too minty.”

“Thanks,” I chuckled and pulled out the only pair of actual PJs I owned. They still had the gift bow on them because someone must have once thought I was a flannel PJ kind of guy. “I’m assuming you can change on your own.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

I left her while I went to clean up the rest of the kitchen, the curry going down the garbage disposal. My appetite had left me anyway.

“Can I come in?” I rapped my knuckles against the bedroom door.

“Yep.” Del sat in the same spot on the edge of the bed where I had left her, but her sensible dress had been replaced with the flannel shirt that dropped to mid-thigh for her, where a bruise was blooming around the injection site. Her dress and bra were neatly stacked beside her, and I ignored the urge to linger on the white lace. “I might need some help with these. I tried to lean forward and then the whole room started spinning.” She pointed at her strappy shoes, heels digging into the dark rug before my bed.

“No more leaning forward then,” I said and knelt down in front of her. Something had to be seriously wrong with me because she was a wreck after I almost killed her, but all I could think of was wrapping her naked thighs around my neck. It had to be a Pavlovian response because the only reason I’d voluntarily kneel, was making women moan at the flick of my tongue. My brain was basically hard-wired. Had to be. I folded my hand around her delicate ankle and pulled her right foot into my lap, focusing on the tiny straps instead of how my face was a mere ten inches from the space between her legs. Three clasps later, the shoe sprang free. Del winced as I slipped it off, toes curling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Thank you. One down.”

“You’re in pain,” I said and pulled her other foot into my lap, too, thumb circling over her ankle.

“It’s heels, of course I am,” she laughed, but the sound was cut short by a hiss when the second shoe came off.

Before I had the chance to debate with myself over it, I pushed my thumb into the arch of her foot, and she yelped. She would have kicked me in the groin, too, if I hadn’t had such a tight hold on her foot. That was the only protest I got from her though, her breath hitching as I circled the ball of her foot with strong fingertips. Her eyes falling shut as I rubbed some life back into her toes. If she was aware of the small sighs of relief she was letting out whenever my fingers connected with a particularly tense spot, she didn’t show it. My hands found her other foot, angling for the arch first, and this time she let out a full whimper when I pressed into her. Her hand flew up to clutch her mouth. “Shit sorry,” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck. I had to move her feet out of my lap, or she’d figure out what those noises were doing to me real quick. “No need to apologize,” I said, adjusting my position so her feet perched on my knees, several inches away from where my pants were stretched taut, “feel better?”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled from behind her hand.

She kept quiet throughout the massage of her second foot, but her toes flexing and digging into my thighs spoke their own language. I guess if I couldn’t relieve her tension with my tongue, this was a close second.

Her watery blue eyes found my gaze when I set her feet down again. Only then did she drop her hand back onto the mattress. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

“What was next on the list?” I asked, “Cuddly blanket and a comfort movie?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Scoot back.”

While she nestled against the headboard, I got the soft fleece blanket from my closet, where it lived until the colder months crept in. I shook it out to spread over her, but Del caught the edge of it mid-air. “No, no, likethis,” she said, a tired smile on her lips as she corrected me by drawing the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. “Remote?” she asked and dove for the nightstand.

“Wait,” I shot forward, heart leaping up my throat, but she had the drawer open before I could stop her.

“Huh,” she pulled the remote out, but kept her eyes trained on the other contents of the drawer. I mentally cursed myself for choosing a nightstand specifically big enough to house that collection. “I get the handcuffs and the dildos, but what’s the…” She tilted her head.

“It’s an adjustable spreader bar,” I said and closed the drawer without meeting her eyes, even though I felt hers on me.

“Spreader bar.” She repeated the term, taste testing it, as she switched on the TV, which came to life with a chipper little jingle “Oh, like for the legs. Got it.”

There went my plan to be Prince Charming about the whole orgasm thing. At least she wasn’t running away screaming, although that may be down to her physical condition, not her open-mindedness to a little bondage in the sheets. “I’ll take a quick shower, ok? Call me if you feel worse.” I grabbed the flannel pants from the foot of the bed and a fresh t-shirt. I usually slept naked, but that probably wouldn’t go over well with her. When I disappeared into the bathroom, I left the door open just a crack in case she did need medical help again. Then I took the coldest shower of my life.

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