Chapter 8 #2
One of the research projects I’d been working on since arriving at Rawhide was how diet affected various neurodiverse conditions.
I was building off the research that had already been done proving the link between having good gut health and good cognitive function.
Particularly with autistics, keeping the gut microbiome in top condition has proven not only to decrease their sensory sensitivities and reactions to other triggers, but also makes meltdowns less severe and shortens the recovery time.
Part of this project had me working with Chef Connor to design a menu of options that were Paleo but also appealing enough that the Littles here at the Ranch would want to eat them.
That said, I had no intention of even suggesting that anyone eat a hundred percent Paleo all the time.
There would always be room for some treats.
No one could, or should, eat only healthy foods all the time.
Life was to be enjoyed and food was a big part of that for most folks.
I was optimistic that changing Calla’s diet over to a Paleo one would help her to be able to self-regulate better and hopefully prevent any more meltdowns on the scale of the one she’d had today.
The fact that she’d now be living here at the Ranch where there were fewer triggers, and more accommodations in place to assist her than what she’d had living with her stepfather and mother would also be a huge help.
After giving the drink a final stir, I picked it up and walked over to sit beside Calla on the couch, holding the mug with the handle out toward her once I was settled.
“Here you go, sweet girl. One hot cocoa with the mandatory marshmallows.”
A curious lightness filled my chest when her smile reached her eyes, causing them to sparkle as she gently took the mug from me.
It was a marvel that something so small could give her so much pleasure.
I both loved and hated it. Loved that I’d been the one to provide this for her, to be gifted with a genuine smile of happiness, but hated that her life had been so horrible that she reacted to someone making her a hot drink as though it was some rare, grand gesture.
While watching her carefully sip her cocoa, smiling at how her gaze stayed glued on the tiny floating marshmallows while they melted, everything within me settled.
A peace within my soul confirmed my earlier thoughts: Calla was the reason I’d survived, learned the life lessons I’d been forced to endure.
It had all been to prepare me for taking care of this one woman as my own.
I’d freely share my research and findings with others and help care for any neurodiverse guests that came to Rawhide, but Calla would be the only one I would claim as mine.
My fingers itched with my need to touch her, to lift her and put her on my lap so I could hold her while she drank the treat I’d prepared just for her.
And once she’d finished it, she’d turn her face up to me, silently asking for what I wanted to give her.
I’d kiss her pretty little mouth, slipping my tongue inside to taste her.
I’d slide my hands under her sweater, beneath her shirt until I could get to her skin, she’d be so damn beautiful. Soft, sweet…
My fantasy came to a screeching halt, replaced by Elita striding toward me with that evil grin of hers as I hung naked cuffed in her office.
I forced my body to remain still, to not give away to Calla that my mind had just imploded.
Panic rose up within and I realized I couldn’t ever be her man, or her Daddy.
I couldn’t do any of the shit I’d just imagined doing.
Not after what Elita and her men had done to me.
Since my rescue, I hadn’t even contemplated being intimate with a woman, my skin crawled whenever I heard sex mentioned.
Even after all the therapy sessions, all the times Jacqui had counseled me out of shame spirals, had assured me I wasn’t contaminated, I couldn’t seem to shake loose the demon their assaults on me had left behind.
Like a shadow in my mind, it was always there, always looming close.
Unlike the beast, it didn’t want to protect, the demon wanted to destroy. To keep reminding me how weak I’d been.
Focusing on Calla and her joy at having marshmallows and hot cocoa made me want to weep for the loss.
She was young and beautiful, finally free and ready to spread her wings and discover the world.
She deserved to live a full life with a man who would love and support her completely.
One who would spend hours worshiping her body, loving on her every night until she was screaming in ecstasy.
Someone able to give her the children that would complete their family.
That wouldn’t happen with me by her side.
Once she realized how broken I was, she’d try to fix me.
She had a huge heart, and she wouldn’t be able to help it.
She’d want to fix me. But I wasn’t fixable.
She’d get frustrated, blame herself… it would set her back on her own recovery.
I couldn’t risk that, so I’d need to find a way to resist this craving I had to make her mine.
My heart split wide open at the realization that I would need to keep it professional between us. That’s all I could offer her. All my earlier thoughts about being her Daddy, her being my destiny, my reward for surviving was nothing but a dream.
Fury roared through me at all Elita had stolen from me, waking my beast who wanted out to rage over the unfairness of it.
Why would fate be so fucking cruel? To show me a future I couldn’t have?
Elita was dead and buried, dammit. Why did her ghost have to stay haunting me?
Even knowing that Veronica’s uncle had turned the tables on her, treating her to what she’d inflicted on me and worse before she died didn’t help erase the stain she’d left on my soul.
By the time Calla finished, I’d thankfully managed to claw my way out of my pity party Taking the mug from her, I set it on the table and gave her a gentle smile.
“How about we get you tucked into bed? Did you want a shower or bath first?”
Frowning, she chewed her lip and I winced when, with my past so close, I realized how what I’d just said could be taken.
“I mean you by yourself in the bathroom, Calla. I will never do anything without your full consent. Not ever.”
With a tilt of her head and a curious look in her eyes, she ran her gaze over my face and saw way too much.
Tentatively, she reached a hand out, no doubt wanting to soothe me, wrapping it around my left wrist. Whatever her original intent had been, it changed when she felt the scarring.
With another frown, she leaned forward as she tightened her hold.
I didn’t resist when she turned my wrist over, revealing the mess of silvery lines that would forever remind me of my captivity.
Using her other hand, she lightly traced a fingertip over them.
“Dr. Stringer was telling you the truth when she told you we had some things in common. Although my captivity only lasted twelve days, not years like yours.” Her gaze jumped to mine, tears shimmering in her hazel orbs.
The understanding and compassion in her gaze as she looked me straight in the eye was humbling, especially since holding eye contact was something she normally struggled to do.
The silent communication in Calla’s gaze was a precious gift, and it held more power than any verbal expressions I’d heard since being rescued.
How was I meant to resist this woman? With her big heart and innocent sweetness it would take a herculean effort.
She blinked and a single tear escaped to slide down her cheek.
My heart ached as I reached the hand she wasn’t holding up to swipe it away.
“Don’t waste your tears on me, sweet girl.”
I couldn’t say more, my throat clogged with too much emotion. Lowering her gaze, she covered the scars with her palm, pressing down, before she looked back up, directly into my eyes and her message was clear: you are worthy.
This tiny slip of a woman had just blown my mind.
All I could do was sit there like an idiot, blinking at her and trying to get my brain back online.
Chewing her lip, she gently moved my hand over so it rested on my lap before she shuffled forward and stood.
Moving with a fluid grace that held me mesmerized, she made her way into the other room.
With a shake of my head, I slowly stood and followed after her.
I found her standing just inside the doorway, her eyes wide and mouth open as she took in everything around her.
Most folks reacted just like her when they first saw these themed rooms. Designed to be everything a Little with a fairytale obsession would want, it was something else.
Though styled like children’s furniture, all the pieces were custom-made in adult sizes.
Clearing my throat, I moved to stand beside her, nodding toward the bed.
“Looks like Derek gave us a suite with a princess theme. Do you like it? If you don’t, we can change. A few suites aren’t themed, but the ones that are, all have different subjects.”