“THE POLICE ARE HERE, BOSS,” Que mentions through the closed bedroom door, and I slide my gaze across to where my sweet girl, my powerful little deer, sleepily rolls from one shoulder to the other at the sound of his interruption.
She stirs further. Her tiny white kitten—Luna—paws around the bed, swatting at the rippling sheets.
I sigh, watching Fawn’s lashes feather her cheeks, her eyes batting open in slow, sleepy waves. No creature alive has ever been more perfect for a man like me.
Resilience. Survival. Strength. Innocence, wrapped into a sweet, trim, flawless figure that reminds me that pretty things can survive even in dark worlds.
Que continues through the door, and I consider firing him for waking her. I won’t. Not today, at least. “And the press is outside. Lorna is talking to Mrs Butcher.”
Mrs Butcher.
My wife.
I look back at my reflection, blue eyes like my mother’s drilling holes through me. The eyes of blue stone from a marble statue that is unpleasant to embrace.
Sweeping the black tie around my neck, I feed it down the collar of my black shirt—I suit myself in the clothes of a grieving son. A grieving family man.
“Kudos, Satan.”
I twist to see my little deer standing, naked but for her long pearly-blonde hair that curtains parts of her pert breasts but fails to cover her pebbled nipples that thrust through the strands. I lick my lips. Her pussy, a delta between her thighs, lightly coated in pretty blonde hairs. I like her natural.
She walks into the dressing room, approaching me with a sway of confidence that resonates in my cock.
She glances quietly at the ottoman and a flush of pink creeps up the slim column of her neck.
After last night, after swallowing my evil, matching my resolve, and holding her own, I can’t imagine existing without her close to handle my evil. To blush for me. To open for me. To hold me accountable to my brothers and to her.
“What did you just say, sweet girl?”
She stops beside me and cranes her neck up, her tiny five-foot-five frame shadowed by my six-foot-five form. Her blonde brows furrow at the height difference. She glares at the length of me and makes a small humph sound. Then she walks away, returning quickly with a step.
A grin ticks the corner of my mouth.
She sets the step down and climbs onto it, only a few inches shorter than me now, but petite, nonetheless. The new height makes her no less fragile from my perspective, but she lifts her chin for me to see how confident she is at my level.
My sweet girl reaches across and adjusts my tie, a slight smile active on her lips. “I said, Kudos, Satan.”
She fusses with my tie, and I let her draw it out, my chest warm from the sweet curve on her lips. Smoothing it down for me—like I usually do—she nods resolutely. I know what I have to do for this beautiful girl who gifts me so much.
I kneel before her. “I won’t be like your mother, and you won’t be like mine.” With the aid of the stool, my head meets her abdomen and I cradle our unborn baby. My large hands cover her entire trim stomach. “I am going to resign today. Take my leave. My mother’s death… seems a reasonable time to hand in my notice.”
“But what—”
“I refuse to miss a moment of your life, sweet girl. I want all your time, all your firsts. All your experiences. I won’t settle for anything less.”
Her hands fall to the back of my head, her delicate fingers combing the strands soothingly. I expect her to beam, bounce, to accept my offering, but she counters it. “And you’re going to divorce Aurora. You wanted a list of what I want. I have one for you now.”
I stifle a grin against her abdomen. “Go on.”
She takes an exaggerated breath, strength hiding hints of sweet hesitation. I adore this girl’s coy strength, her tiny voice and her big one. “This is the list. I want you to marry me. Happily ever after for Fawn Butcher, and I won’t settle for anything less,” she repeats my words. “Cassidy, Shoshanna, and Jasmine will be my bridesmaids. Aurora will be my maid of honour. I am going to find my accomplishments in being a good mother and wife. And you’re going to let me handle all the moments you struggle to handle alone. You will let me handle your evil.”
Amused and impressed, I stand, her arms lifting, her hands settling either side of my neck. I lock eyes with her, deadly serious as I say, “Anything else?”
“Yes,” she says through a short chuckle. “I want you to teach me to drive— Oh! And I want to go back to Dubai. I want to see the entire city, every inch of it.”
I fight that damn grin. “Is that all?”
She thinks, chewing her lower lip. “For now.”
I muse, before saying, “And I promised to give you everything you want. Didn’t I, sweet girl?”
“Yes, Sir.” She holds my stare. “You did.”
Drinking in her dual-coloured eyes—one cloudy blue, the other, green—I nod an order to her. She raises her chin at my silent command, and I finally lose to the smirk building across my lips. “And you know what my evil looks like now, little deer?”
She turns to gaze at me in the mirror, panning my body, measuring me intimately, while my eyes stay on her, not wanting to be anywhere else. Beside me, at my level, she is naked, exposed, inviting, and utterly glowing with certainty. With sweet, humble confidence that sparks a hue of crimson beneath her pretty white cheeks.
“It looks like everything I ever wanted, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
THE END
