Chapter 7 #2
Fuck. Nope. No. This is not the time to be thinking about her sucking my dick and the ease in which she’d do as I ask. I need to make her believe that this is her home and that she’s safe before I can start to make her understand that the room she’ll be sleeping in tonight is a temporary situation.
When she’s ready, I’ll move her into my room, and once I sleep with her in my arms, I’ll never go back to being without her.
“Drink more of your water, amore mio,” I tell her, nodding my chin toward the bottle she’s still loosely holding on the counter.
Her brow furrows for a minute, like she forgot that the water was even there, then she lifts the bottle to her lips and drinks. When she lowers it back to the counter again, I reward her with a candy, smiling at her as I place it on her tongue.
“Are you hungry for real food, amore mio?” I ask.
“No, thank you, I’m still full from the pizza,” she says sweetly.
“We could watch some TV?” I suggest.
Her eyes light up, and I wonder how long it’s been since she’s had the chance to watch a TV. She didn’t have one in her tent, or even a solar battery to charge a cell phone.
“Bring your water,” I tell her, tugging on the hand I haven’t released at all since I led her downstairs.
Leading her over to the couch, I take a seat in the corner, then pull her down to sit beside me. I want her on my lap, her ass spread around my hardening dick, but I allow her to put some space between us, not relinquishing her hand as I reach for the remote and hand her the bag of treats.
I don’t eat much sugar. My diet is mainly protein-heavy and pretty clean, but given the excitement in Verity’s eyes, it’s clear my amore mio has a sweet tooth. While I’ll mostly keep our meals clean and healthy, I’m willing to keep some treats in the house for her if it’ll make her happy.
Opening the directory screen, I pass the remote to her.
Shaking her head, she doesn’t take it from me. “You pick,” she says, sounding unsure.
“I don’t watch much TV. Put on whatever you like,” I assure her, holding the remote by her free hand until she reaches out and takes it.
It feels like it takes her half an hour to settle on what to watch, and when she finally selects a channel, I’m surprised to see it’s a hockey game.
“You like hockey?” I ask.
“I love hockey,” she easily answers, her attention focused on the players gliding around the ice.
The teams playing are the Cincinnati Cyclones and the new Montana-based expansion team, the Montana Mountain Marauders.
“Are the Cyclones your team?”
“No, I don’t really have one. I moved around a fair bit growing up, so I don’t really have an allegiance to any team,” she says, her attention fixed on the screen as the Marauders get a power play and dash down the ice to score a goal.
“Yes,” she cheers.
“Maybe now that you’re an official Rockhead Peak resident, you should start rooting for the Montana Mountain Marauders. They’re our closest NHL team, close enough that we could go and watch them play sometime.”
“Maybe,” she says, noncommittally.
Neither of us speaks while she watches the game, her eyes lighting up anytime the play becomes exciting or devolves into a fight.
Despite her reluctance to claim a team as her own, as the game progresses, I find her cheering louder for the Marauders, her muscles tensing as she watches their players glide toward the net to score.
Truthfully, I’m not a huge hockey fan. I prefer football, but if she enjoys it, I’m content to watch the game, or her, whichever is the most interesting. Who am I kidding? It’ll always be her. But if I get to spend the rest of my life watching her watch hockey, then I’ll die a happy man.
The sun has started to lower in the sky by the time the game is over. She’s eaten the entire bag of Swedish Fish I gave her, and I’m not sure she’s even aware that I’ve been holding her hand the entire time we’ve been sitting here.
I need to make dinner, but I don’t want to move.
The thought of releasing my hold on her makes me feel like I’m letting her go, and I refuse to do that, not even for a minute.
As the thought burrows its way inside of me, I wonder what the hell I’m going to do when I have to go to work in a couple of days.
There’s no way I’ll be able to focus with her here alone, or worse, her taking the opportunity to run from me.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Huh?” she asks, turning to look at me, her eyes sleepy.
“You should take a nap while I make dinner,” I tell her, making it a suggestion but also an order.
“A nap actually sounds great,” she hums tiredly. “That bed upstairs is super comfy.”
“You could nap on the couch,” I say, not wanting her to go upstairs where I can’t see her.
“Oh…yeah,” she agrees, even though I can hear the disappointment in her words.
Forcing myself to sound amused, I let go of her hand. “Go upstairs and nap. I’ll come fetch you when dinner is done.”
“Okay,” she says, clearly pleased that I’ve given her permission.
Pushing out of the couch, she flashes me a soft smile, then leaves, and I hate every single step away from me she takes.