Chapter 11 #2
"Hey, hey," Wade said softly, his voice full of concern. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
I shook my head frantically, the tears coming harder now. "No, you didn’t, it's not that."
"Then what?" His hand cupped my face, thumb wiping at the tears even as more fell to replace them. "Talk to me, little darling.”
"It's just—" My voice cracked. "You made me feel good. You actually cared about making me feel good. You were so gentle and patient, I didn't know it could be like that. I didn't know someone could touch me there and make me feel safe."
His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing. "Marie—"
"I'm okay," I said quickly, even as I tucked myself against his chest. "I promise. These are good tears. I just—I needed to cry, I think."
"Then don't hold back a single tear," he closed his eyes, voice rough with emotion. "Cry as much as you need to. I’ll be here.”
He carefully withdrew his finger, the movement making me whimper slightly, and tucked my pants back into place. Then he pulled my shirt down to cover me, the gestures tender and caring, so at odds with any experience I'd had being touched in that place.
It just made me cry harder.
"Such a good girl for me," he murmured, pressing kisses to my hair, my forehead, anywhere he could reach. "You were perfect. So perfect, darling."
"Thank you," I whispered between sobs, not sure what I was thanking him for. For making me feel good? For being patient? For making me forget, even briefly, what it felt like to be used? For showing me that touch could be beautiful instead of something to endure?
Maybe all of it.
"Always." He kissed my forehead, my temple, then my lips. “Always for you.”
He reached for his iPad on the side table, his arm staying secure around my waist, keeping me settled on his lap while he typed something one-handed. I was too content and drowsy to care much about the details.
Within minutes, footsteps sounded on the stairs. An older man appeared carrying a silver tray, wearing chef's whites. He didn't seem surprised to find me curled in Wade’s lap, messy and definitely debauched.
He just set the tray on the coffee table with a glass of water and disappeared as quickly as he'd come.
"My private chef.” Wade reached for the tray, settling it securely on his thighs beside me. "He's used to odd requests at odd hours."
The tray held a bowl of soup that smelled rich and savory, along with fresh bread, sliced fruit, and a small dish containing two pills.
Wade picked up the spoon, filled it with soup, and brought it to my lips. "Open, darling."
I opened up, and he fed me, making sure I ate enough between bites of bread and pieces of fruit. His other arm stayed wrapped around my waist, occasionally stroking idle patterns on my waist.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured after I'd finished most of the soup. "Now these." He picked up the two pills and held them to my lips. "Drowsy painkillers. They'll help you sleep through the night without any discomfort."
I took them from his fingers with my mouth, my lips brushing his skin after everything, still making my breath hitch. He held the glass of water for me to sip afterwards.
Then he set the tray aside and shifted his grip on me. "Time for bed."
Before I could respond, he stood with me cradled against his chest, held effortlessly. My arms wrapped around his neck, my head finding the curve of his shoulder.
"I can walk," I mumbled, but I didn’t really mean it. “But if you insist, I won't argue. This is much better." Being carried by this man felt too good to want anything else.
“I insist, darling,” His voice was warm with amusement. "I want to carry you."
He took me down the hallway and stairs, past the guest room I'd woken up in, to a set of double doors at the end. His bedroom? I realized it as he pushed through them, carrying me into a space that just screamed him.
The room was massive, with warm tan tones and rich wood throughout, masculine and elegant without being cold. The walls, like most of the rooms in this mansion, were entirely glass overlooking the ocean, and somehow, impossibly, it was even more stunning than the guest room.
"The view is even better here,” I mumbled against his shoulder, my words slurring slightly from sleepiness. "How is that possible?"
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into mine. "I wanted the best view in the estate for myself. Selfish, isn’t it?”
He carried me to the bed, an enormous wooden frame covered in beige sheets that looked soft and expensive. He set me down and pulled the covers back, helping me settle against pillows that smelled like him—cologne and warm masculinity that made me want to burrow deeper.
“But now I get to share that view with you.”
Tears pricked at my eyes again as he tucked the sheets around me, pulling them up to my chin. His gestures were so tender that I was constantly caught off guard.
"Sleep." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Soft. Lingering. "Dream of good things."
"Will you stay?" The question came out thick, drowsy. “With me?”
"I'm not going anywhere." He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand moving to my forehead. His fingers traced gentle patterns across my temples, my hairline, soothing and hypnotic. "I'll be right here."
I wanted to stay awake to watch the moonlight on the ocean, to memorize the feeling of being in Wade Easton's bed surrounded by his scent. I wanted to understand what was happening between us, what this meant, and why he was being so impossibly kind.
But the painkillers were pulling me under, and his fingers on my skin were making everything soft and warm and safe. My eyes drifted closed despite my best efforts, and I felt myself sinking into sleep that was deeper and more peaceful than anything I'd experienced in five years.