Chapter Thirty-three
I ’m not sure what I expected when I woke up.
That maybe it was all a lust hazed dream, and it didn’t actually happen, or that Dean wouldn’t be here, that he’d snuck away to his own bed in the middle of the night.
I certainly didn’t expect to have his head between my legs, his tongue working over me as his fingers pump into me.
I thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his head while he holds my thighs apart, his tongue expertly working my clit.
I moan loudly, so fucking close, but he keeps me at the edge, prolonging the torture.
“Dean, please,” My voice is still raspy from sleep.
I feel him grin against me, “Don’t you beg so prettily, Butterfly.”
My fingers curl tighter, pulling at the hair, “ Please. ”
There is no shame.
He chuckles, and the vibration of it sends me into orbit.
Good fucking god. He sucks my clit into his mouth as he curls his fingers inside me, stroking that soft, sensitive spot just inside, and it hits me like a freight train.
There’s no stopping it, and my climax shatters through me so thoroughly, I’m left a mere puddle against the mattress.
Dean lifts himself from between my legs but makes no move to wipe away the mess I’ve left behind on his mouth, in fact, he lifts the fingers that were inside of me to his lips and then sucks them inside.
His heavy cock sits hard and leaking, the balls of his piercing glinting in the soft light of morning filtering through a break in the curtain.
“Delicious,” He mumbles, crawling over me to plant a claiming kiss against my mouth. I taste myself on his lips, and while I expected to hate it, I find I don’t at all.
I just want more. More time with him. More hours in this bed. More of his body and his words, and his kisses. Just more.
But time has to resume, life has to continue, and it starts with the sound of Lily’s morning cry.
I jerk beneath him, coming back to reality.
“Sloane,” He scolds lightly, “Relax.”
“I’ve got to–”
“ You don’t have to do anything.” He kisses me quickly and then climbs off the bed, finding his pajama pants on the floor and pulling them up his legs. “You’re not on the clock.”
“I live here,” I cock my head, watching as he walks to the door.
“The contract doesn’t change, Sloane.” He assures me before he dips out of the room and goes to tend to his daughter.
I stand for a few minutes, listening to his soft voice filter through the crack in the door as he gets Lily up and takes her downstairs for her morning feed.
Last night was… incredible. Freeing.
Terrifying.
He took care of me, understood what I needed without me ever saying a word.
And the day I have to let it go makes the organ inside my chest hurt a little.
With nothing else to do, I grab a quick shower.
There’s an ache between my thighs, and red marks on my skin left behind by his mouth and his hands that water will never be able to remove.
Not that I want it to. I like the evidence of him on my body, it makes it real.
Once I’m clean and feeling somewhat more human, I throw my hair up and then get dressed before I head down to find Dean setting up his station on the couch, ready to feed her, so I jump to help.
“When do you go in for your rehab?” I ask after a few minutes of watching.
“I have an appointment in a few days,” He tells me, “But the good news is that I can move my fingers.”
“Oh!” I grin, “You can!?”
I knew it was a major concern. With nerve and muscle damage to the extent he had, there was a very real risk of him losing all function.
His eyes flick to me, and his brow quirks, “Considering they were inside you less than thirty minutes ago, I’m shocked you’re so surprised. Perhaps you need a reminder of what they can do.”
My cheeks burn, and my stomach twists. He chuckles darkly, dipping his eyes down as if he can sense what his words have just done. But he’s right, he used both hands, his mouth, his cock, but I hadn’t the sense to even realize.
He smirks, returning his attention back to his daughter while I melt into the carpet.
Dean and I fall into a natural routine. He works through the day, and at night, we become a team for Lily.
We eat together, watch movies, and then he sleeps beside me, holding me, and we wake up and do it all again.
I sleep better; the nightmares, while they still occur, aren’t as debilitating, but he knows when they wake me.
And he’s always there to chase away the chill they leave behind.
And life just gets easier.
While I don’t think my anxiety will ever stop, or that I’ll never check that the doors and windows are locked, I feel like I can breathe.
I’m falling in love with being here, watching Lily grow, watching them grow together.
He wanders through the door from his basement office with his laptop balancing in one hand, his other back in his sling. His rehab appointment is tomorrow, but he’s gaining strength already. Placing the laptop down, he clicks a few things and turns the screen toward me.
“What do you think?” He asks me, a hint of vulnerability in his voice, which catches my attention.
“About?” I turn my eyes to the screen to see several tabs open along the top.
“I’ve picked out some things,” He continues, “For Lily.”
“Her nursery?” I pull the laptop closer and click on the first tab.
It’s a new crib, white with a distressed kind of look to the wood, pretty and delicate lilies carved into the head and footboards.
It’s so pretty and expensive. I’ve seen the designer’s name before; the boutique, a favorite for the clients I used to work with at the daycare.
I often forget Dean has money, a lot of it, because he isn’t like the people I used to know.
I keep the tab open as a yes and move onto the next, finding the furniture to match the crib, and so on.
He’s picked bedding and curtains, and a rug, all fitting the floral theme of the crib.
It’s light, airy, and bright. As I move to click onto the next screen to see what else he has chosen, a pop-up appears at the top of the screen, and the mouse accidentally clicks it instead of the tab.
Immediately, a bright blue screen appears.
“Uh,” I lift my hands, not knowing what I did but knowing it’s not right, “Dean!?”
He turns the laptop to face him, “Fuck!”
“What is it?” I cringe, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to click anything!”
“Malware,” Dean grits out, “Shit, I need to stop it.”
“What does that mean!?” I watch him work, clicking several things and typing quickly.
“Someone is attempting to steal the data from my hard drive.”
“Oh God,” I wrap my arms around myself as I watch him work. “I’m so sorry!”
Dean types fast, his fingers moving across the keyboard with a script forming on the screen. With the work he does, I can only imagine the stuff someone could steal from him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“It’s not your fault,” He assures me, “I just need to get this fixed. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just takes his laptop and heads to the basement, shutting and locking the door behind him. I remain where I am. Lily is already in bed, fast asleep if the monitor is anything to go by, and with him downstairs, the house is quiet.
I don’t like it.
So, before the anxiety kicks in, I decide to make dinner, going to the fridge to figure out what I can do based on the ingredients we have.
I decide on an oven baked Beef and Broccoli casserole and pull it all out, prepping and chopping — mindless work that keeps me occupied enough I don’t think too much.
When it’s all done, I place the dish in the oven and get to work on the potatoes.
It only takes an hour to cook it all and plate it up, but after five minutes of having it out on the side, ready for him, and he doesn’t show, I go to the basement door, knocking.
He doesn’t answer.
I try the handle, but it’s locked from the other side.
I didn’t mean to click it, it popped up so quickly; I didn’t have a chance to avoid it. But how much damage has that just caused him?
After ten minutes of waiting and no answer from him, I move back to the plates of food and manage a couple of mouthfuls myself, but my appetite is shot, so I end up throwing my plate in the trash and then cover his with some foil before I place it in the oven at a low heat to keep it warm for him.
I pull out my cell and start to type a text to him to let him know but then I see his cell on the counter so grab some paper instead and write it on there, leaving it by his phone so he’ll see it when he comes to get it.
Then I take myself to bed, checking on Lily before I close myself in my bedroom and change into a pair of sleep shorts and a cami.
Lying in the bed without him feels wrong.
It’s only been a few days, how have I become so attached to his body beside mine?
It’s cold, and it’s empty, and even though he’s only a couple of floors down, he feels a million miles away.
This is why I didn’t want to get attached. I didn’t want to start something I knew would end with me falling for him. Because then I depend on him, start to trust him, feel safe, and it makes being alone that much harder.