Chapter 10 #2
“Take your shoes off first, then wash your hands!” he yells, his shoulders rocking with a small laugh.
“She’s really excited about this,” I note as he locks the door.
“It appears so.” He slips out of his chocolate loafers and places them in the foyer closet, while I do the same with my sneakers.
“What are you going to tell her after the year is up?”
He stands in front of me now, looking down at me, his rough breathing lifting up his bulky chest every time he inhales.
“I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to worry about that.” His voice grows low and husky. “Why do you even care?”
The back of his hand slinks up to the underside of my jaw, just barely touching, but enough to feel it as though he’s touching me everywhere.
I swallow. “I…uh…I just feel bad hurting her, that’s all. Unlike you, she actually seems sweet.”
He snickers, his hand refusing to fall away, those eyes gripping the very soul of me. “She is that, and she definitely didn’t take after me.”
I pause, afraid to ask the question I want the answer to. But I do it anyway because if I don’t, I’ll wonder.
“Who, then?” My tone lowers, not wanting Sophia to hear my line of questioning. “Where’s her mother?”
“Dead,” he answers so casually, it’s like he’s telling me what’s for dinner.
There’s no emotion there. I can’t even see a twitch on his face. Whoever she was, she clearly didn't matter to him at all. The warmth of his gaze continues to fasten to mine.
“That’s sad,” I say, my attention lowering to the floor.
His hand drops to his side, and his entire face hardens.
“She has me. She doesn't need anyone else.” The anger in his words slashes over my skin like a heavy whip.
“You seem great with her, and I don’t doubt how good of a father you are.” I peek back up at him, finding pain behind his eyes. Pain he’s good at hiding with a layer of anger.
“But what, Elsie?” He barks low, roughly gripping the back of my neck and bringing his face nearer, his jaw flexing as he stares at me with the eyes of a broken man.
“Nothing,” I breathe, because I can sense his anguish and I don’t want to cause him any more.
With a long inhale, he slants his forehead to mine.
“Say it,” he whispers gruffly, fingers delving deeper into my nape. “Tell me I’m not enough.”
Sorrow weaves into my chest, because the man in front of me…he’s really hurting, and I know all about that. He may act tough, but inside he’s crumbling. And suddenly, all I want in this moment is to wrap my arms around him and tell him that he’s more than enough for that little girl.
“You are enough,” I say. “To her, you’re always enough.”
I feel the moisture build in my eyes. His breathing grows ragged, drifting warmly over my lips. We stay that way, holding one another, bound in this confusion, two people who should’ve never met—complete opposites—yet here we are. And I feel for the man who feels nothing for me.
His rough exhales flounder against my lips, his mouth drifting closer, almost touching mine, and I nearly beg for him to do it. To kiss me raw. To end this explicit torture. And I wonder…what would it feel like to kiss a man like that?
“Daddy? You coming to make dinner with me?”
“Shit,” he mutters softly, swiftly ripping his head away, but his hand remains around the back of my neck, those eyes still aligned with mine. “Yes, baby. I’m coming. Wash your hands.”
“I already did.”
“Wash them again,” he stresses, his voice growing.
He’s unable to pull his gaze away, and I can’t seem to rip away our connection either. My heart beats so fast, it may explode.
“But, Daddy…” she whines.
His breathing turns heavier, not directed at her, but at me. I swear, it feels like he wants to grab me and fuck me right up against the wall.
And I’d let him. Right now. Right here. I would.
“Again, Sophia. Wash them again.”
My lips shudder; I can practically feel him devour them.
Sophia grumbles, and her feet stomp away until we no longer hear them. It’s then I snap my gaze from him and escape from his grasp, and he lets me go. A second more and I’d run into his arms and beg for that kiss. Beg and plead to taste him, to find out what a kiss should truly be like.
It’s been so long since I’ve craved it. The boys in my past…well, I bet he kisses better than they ever did. It makes no sense why I’d fantasize about something like that with him, someone who could hurt me.
But he hasn’t yet, has he?
As my feet begin to move further away, his hand seizes my wrist, not hard enough to hurt me, but powerful enough to cause me to almost stop breathing. His commanding grip makes me want more of it.
He spins me around and pulls me against him. Hooded eyes fall to every inch of my face, rough knuckles softening with a swipe across my jaw.
“I’m sorry.” The cadence of his voice causes my pulse to race faster and faster until I fear it’ll climb out my throat. “Did I hurt you? Before?”
“Wha…”
Confusion settles, and just as quickly, I realize he means when he grabbed the back of my neck.
“No.” I shake my head, brows gathering. “I’ve been through way worse, Michael. Your touch…it doesn’t hurt me.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes shuttering to a close as he takes in one sharp inhale, the vein in his neck bulging.
“I’m ready, Daddy.” Sophia bounces back inside, and with another long look into my eyes, he finally lets me go.
I’ve never wanted someone to hold me this badly before.