Cassidy
Pulling on my denim shorts, I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. Noah chatting away elicits prickles of awareness, and every hair on my body stands on end. Then I find myself moving quickly toward the door.
A deep chuckle rumbles through the room, and my eyes settle on Killa sitting at the small dining table, watching Noah stuff cereal into his mouth.
My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help the huge sigh of relief that escapes my lips.
Killa lifts his gaze to meet mine, and it holds me captive, searing straight through my body, causing heat to surge from my toes all the way up to my cheeks.
He looks away first and stares at the table. My gaze follows, and he throws his hand out toward the array of grocery bags covering the surface.
How the hell did I miss them?
Probably because you were consumed by the devil, Cassidy, a small voice whispers in my head.
“Got you some shit.” He grunts. Literally grunts.
Then he slices his gaze back to mine, and I stare at him, frozen.
“Breakfast,” he elaborates.
I remain motionless.
Did he buy these for me? For us? Or is he expecting payment?
“I don’t have any money,” I state.
His stare moves to my groin. He swallows deeply, his eyes become hooded, and my cheeks flame, knowing he’s reflecting on my predicament. When he draws his eyes back to meet mine, my breathing stills. “Know it.”
Two simple words and my legs feel weak.
“Get some breakfast. Gonna talk after.” He tilts his head toward the refrigerator, and I can only stare at it. “Cass! Breakfast.” His low, sharp tone has my body flinching, and like the perfect submissive, my feet move.
“Mama don’t eat breakfast.” Noah smiles around his spoon, and the milk drips from his chin.
What he doesn’t know is, I’ve been denied breakfast for so long I’m not used to eating it, which works out perfectly when you don’t have enough money to allow it.
“She does now, little man,” Killa says, ruffling Noah’s hair and earning himself a bright smile from my toothy son.
I open the refrigerator door and startle at the amount of food crammed onto the shelves. I’ve never seen anything like it before, besides on display in the supermarkets.
My eyes widen as I take in the amount of fresh fruit and vegetables, the milk, meat, and yogurts. There’re even character snacks for children and juice cartons so Noah can be like all the other kids at lunch break.
A lump of emotion lodges in my throat.
“Got you these too.” Killa’s deep voice is low, and I spin to face him. Clearly, I missed the sound of his heavy boots. When I turn, his large body blocks me from moving, and he opens up a grocery bag for me to peer inside.
There’re at least a dozen various brands and types of sanitary pads, and he shifts from foot to foot, then one hand moves to rub the back of his neck. When I scan his face, his cheeks flame, and I want nothing more than to crash my lips against his with gratitude and sexual frustration.
“Fuck knows what you use, so got you one of each,” he mumbles, and I stare at him dumbfounded. “Gonna take them from me, baby?” He smiles, and I practically melt at his feet.
Baby.
He called me baby.
And that smile? It sends butterflies soaring from the pit of my stomach, their flight giving me hope.