‘SHE’S BEEN in the bathroom for over an hour,’ Bolton calls after me, hesitation and uncertainty tightening his vocal cords, not unlike my palms will be to his jugular should she be in any discomfort.
When I push the bathroom door open, the steam blankets me, curling around my body as I stride over to where she sits. A tiny figure amidst thick humid air. She’s huddled on the tiles, her knees held to her chest by her slender arms.
The faucet is pivoted to the wall, creating a stream down the white porcelain tiles, a mild spray misting the air. I wonder for a moment how she reached the head in order to twist it. Quickly noting the small step in the corner, I frown at the image of her carelessly bracing herself on top of it.
I walk straight into the shower when I hear her little sigh. My heart shatters at the vision of her so tiny. The need to wrap my body around hers, to visually give her mass, muscles that shield her, is consuming.
She stares ahead, lost in the white marble until I slide down beside her. Scooping her up, I position her between my outstretched legs. She rests her head on my dress shirt which is slowly absorbing the spray of water from the faucet above.
When I tilt her chin, two big apologetic eyes lock on me. ‘I’m not sad. I just sat down, and it was nice.’
Lies.
‘We don’t lie to one other, sweet girl.’ I push the wet blonde strands from her pinkening cheek. ‘It’ll get better.’ Light streams of water trail down her face, a coat of mist collecting on her, settling in tiny beads. ‘I’m not a soft man. I won’t always say or do the right things. You’re a young woman and you need a mother. Or a sister. But all you have is me. Forgive me if I don’t comfort you the way you need.’
She sighs, batting her blonde lashes, opaque watery orbs collected between the bristles bursting on her skin with each slow flutter. ‘This works, Sir.’ She rolls her head on my shirt, nudging me gently. ‘You’re all I need.’
‘Look at me,’ I order, bringing my hands up to cup both of her wet cheeks. She lifts her head obediently and then crawls around my lap until she straddles my thighs.
Her body is completely exposed, open. Pert breasts—sloping perfection to her delicate ribcage. Her nipples—bullets that twitch my cock.
Her nervous habit kicks in; absentmindedly, her fingers make work of her wet hair, twirling thick wet ringlets around each digit.
She peers up at me and her eyes hold my breath in my throat—brilliant green and silvery-blue. Unparalleled in their beauty but also in such vivid pain.
My forehead tightens.
I want to see those enchanting orbs shine, bordered in crinkles of glee, clear from ghosts and memories, steady with pride and determination. With happiness. Hope. Love… for herself. ‘I know you don’t see what I see, little deer.’
She looks away, her lower lip vibrating as she tries to fight the pull of her emotions. ‘I see the girl in the recording. The one who didn’t fight for herself but travelled all over the city to fight for her brother, to find his killer.’
Her jaw wrestles with tremors within my cradling palms. And dammit, if I could trade my life to change hers, I would. ‘Sweet girl,’ I say, encouraging her to look at me again with the gentle tilt of her face. She does. ‘The girl in the footage is a survivor… Do I seem like the kind of man who loves easily?’ Her breath hitches at the word—love. I don’t say it often, but I say it enough. Perhaps she needs to hear it more. ‘I love you, little deer, and I will love you even when you won’t, even when you can’t. So you don’t need to right now.’
‘And you say you’re not a soft man,’ she says, her brows pulling with, her gaze filling with tears.
‘You have the most enchanting eyes; I blame them.’
‘You can talk.’ She looks adoringly at me. ‘You are the single most beautiful person alive, Sir.’
I sigh roughly; she is damn blind. ‘If only you looked in the mirror more. Now, sweet girl, give me a smile.’
She offers me a sad smile for my order, so I kiss it firmly, feeling her relax into the kiss. Her backside shifts along the taut muscles in my thighs, her pelvis making a rolling motion that stiffens my cock.
Allowing her bare pussy to grind along the fabric-covered bulge of my shaft, I eat at her mouth as she fumbles in her need for pleasure.
I stifle the growl fraught within my throat as her little dance right now and the enduring discomfort from this morning has the man in me barking to sink into her. To fill my girl with cum, to fill her with—
I shake the thought. My hands slide into her wet crown, fisting the strands tightly so I can tilt and kiss along her face, her jaw, her throat. The roll of her nervousness massages along my tongue when she swallows.
She moans with her chin to the ceiling, her pussy grounding down on my shaft to its husky tempo, her mind disappearing again in the pleasure.
I won’t take her. Dammit, I want to. I will not allow myself to take her until she forgives herself. Until she sees what I see when I look at her. I won’t allow her to hide behind my arousal, to love herself through my desire.
My lips skate along her collarbone before I bite the ridge gently and then drag my tongue down. Sliding my hand to her back, my palm spanning out, I push her spine towards me. She bows beneath the pressure, her chest rising, her nipples meeting my eager mouth. I lick at the pebbled bullet—one of my favourite parts of her impeccable body.
They are a contradiction to her classic, soft femininity. While her every curve is smooth and subtle, her nipples scream she’s made to be fucked like an animal. They engorge and flush with rich blood, lengthen and expand, creating a sinful little bullet that makes my cock leak.
Her moans become throaty as I give my sweet girl the attention she needs. Sucking, mouthing, licking the malleable, pulsing little tubes.
Her hands move into my hair, and my body vibrates with the need to fuck her, so I need to do something I crave just as much as my own release. Something I have become rather addicted to, and she deserves. She deserves her pleasure. All the pleasures I can give.
Her nipple pops from my mouth as I demand, ‘Stand up, sweet girl.’ I grip her hips and aid her as she climbs to her feet. I gaze at her pretty pussy, newly dusted in short blonde hairs that harden my cock to the point of pain. ‘Put one of your knees on my shoulder and grind on my face like you do my thigh when I play with your tight body on my lap.’
A whimper escapes her.
Panning my fingertips up the back of her thighs until I get to the creases of her backside, I enjoy the way her skin prickles beneath my touch.
I cover each cheek and lean into her while she lifts her knee and rests it on my shoulder. Her pussy becomes a slightly open slit. ‘You have changed me. Very few things affect me. Less change me.”
I push her into my mouth, and her hips don’t shy away from grinding on my jaw and lips. Flicking my tongue out and tilting it up to the bundle of nerves above, I massage around her plump little clit.
I hear her arms meet the tiles, hear a sigh leave her. Glancing up, I catch her rubbing her brow on her forearms. Her hair falls in a curtain around her face. I take a moment to appreciate the way her breasts hang full and pert, how her flat stomach tenses, and her lips purse into a heart shape.
Stunning.
My sweet girl.
I smirk against her, possessive and proud I’m the only man alive to have touched her. Alive… Those dead fuckers who touched her still haunt her…
Mine.
I drop my attention to her glistening little pussy, the scent of her sweet womanly flesh steadying my world. ‘This pussy,’ I say, licking slowly and speaking into her warm supple skin, ‘lingers in my mind all day.”
I concentrate on her plump pink clit. Like her nipples, it’s made to drive a man out of his goddamn mind. Not shy and elusive. No, not my sweet girl. Her little clit is fucking erect and hard, begging me to eat it. Her flavour is rich, salty, sugary, and feminine in every damn way.
The spray of the shower has completely soaked my trousers, the fabric sticking to my thighs. I thrust up into the material, groaning as I eat her out, eager to get her juices on my tongue.
She weeps in my mouth—such a wet girl. Her hips meet the motion of my tongue, working her pelvis in circles to the meticulous rhythm.
I thrust in deeper. Her sweet, pussy clenches and clings and it takes my entire focus to not grip her backside, flip her to her spine and stretch that rippling little cunt open around my cock until she can’t breathe from being so full of me.
Growling, I fist her arse cheeks as the tension spreads through my muscles, scorching a path around my limbs. It’s hot and agitating, provoking me to act on that impulse.
I flatten my tongue to her clit, work two fingers inside her pussy from behind, scoop them to hit the wall of her arsehole, and knead the tissue hard.
‘Ahh!’ she cries out, her throaty moans rolling into groans and whimpers as she comes on my tongue. ‘Sir. Yes. Yes.’ She acknowledges her screams belong to me, using her name for me in the throes of her pleasure.
My good girl.
I begin to kiss the swelling flesh, sucking all the feminine juices pooling around my fingers. Lapping around them, I tease her sensitive skin, and she bucks and writhes as the last few shocks of sensation twitch through her.
She drops, her knees hitting the tiles on either side of my body, her head seeking sanctuary in the curve of my neck. She pants against me. ‘Let’s get out of this shower, little deer. And from now on, I want you naked and warm in my bed when I get home. Now say, yes, Sir.’
She lifts her head, her dual-coloured eyes hazy from her orgasm. ‘Yes, Sir.’
I stand with her legs wrapped around my waist and walk her through the bathroom before setting her on her feet by the heater. I flick the vent fan on. Feeling an intense sense of importance being her caretaker, I wrap a white Egyptian cotton towel around her narrow shoulders, before beginning to undress myself.
After pulling on a pair of jeans, fatigue hits me but my mind drifts to the range. I need to fuck or shoot. My cock is rock hard, and my little deer can’t keep her eyes off me, watching my crotch as I tuck her in.
‘Why—’ She falters, as I slide the silky sheets up her naked, sated body. Is it enough? What I’m offering her? She’s a goddamn young girl who has crawled her way from one place to the next, never finding a sense of home, and dammit, I thought taking care of her was simple. Routine. A sequence of necessities. Warmth. Pleasure. Sweet food bursting from between her lips. A moist pussy. Those things, I can do. Looking after her isn’t like running a damn organisation. I have no fucking clue what to do with this girl to stop the pain… to give her meaning each morning now that she is no longer striving to just survive—
She watches me watch her, her eyes growing heavy. Her relaxed state plays out with the steady rise and fall of her breasts.
I sigh roughly. I do know what her body needs. Despite how little I manage her mind and temperament. As I brush the blonde hair from her cheek, my knuckles sweep it over her soft skin. A fan of pearly-blonde hair creates wings around her. ‘I need you to trust me,’ I whisper to her, scrolling my eyes over hers, watching as her beautiful blonde lashes bat slowly, peace and comfort at my affections weighing them down. ‘I know what your body needs, little deer. I know when you need my tongue and lips buried between your legs, worshipping your sweet pussy until you shred the sheets by your hips. And I know when you need me to muffle your screams and bend you to take my drives like it’s the last minutes of life. I know when you need a deep, steady fuck with my nose sliding on yours and our eyes locked. I know what your body needs. But you’re still a teenage girl—’ I touch her temple, tapping lightly. ‘I don’t know what you need… I will fix this.’
I only need to understand your mind better… Numbers, I understand. Logical explanations. Patterns of behaviour—If only there was a way—I frown.
Reaching into the bedside table, I retrieve a finger prick blood test. Staring at it, I flip it over in my hand. It’s been in here since she tried to drown herself a few weeks ago. And tonight, she sat in a shower for hours, staring at a wall. Eccentric, emotional behaviour.
I don’t like it.
I look at the sweet girl in my bed as she drops heavily into slumber, the ghosts of her past dissolving from her eyes with each slow accepting bat of her long dense blonde lashes. I gently take her small hand in the large grip of mine and prick the tip of her index finger.
Her eyes fly open.
My good girl doesn’t pull her hand from my grip, only glances down at the small bubble of crimson fluid pooling at the tiny puncture site. ‘It’s okay, sweet girl. I’m just testing your LH hormone.’
I put her finger between my lips, sucking the small bead of blood into my mouth and then kiss the pinprick softly. A hint of concern washes over her, so I add, ‘I need to know everything about you. I know nothing about the inner workings of a young girl’s mind, and I want to understand your moods. Rather, I want to anticipate them.’
‘I want,’ she murmurs, unable to fight the pull of sleep, willing to trust me, her eyes close during a slow nod of acceptance, ‘a kitten.’
Fuck me. A kitten? This is not the house for a kitten. It would be just as lost as my little deer in this cavernous estate. I imagine this request will elapse tomorrow.
I breathe out hard as I watch over her, from her slender neck to the small divot between her collarbone, her shoulders and arms, her hair thick and blonde like a Barbie doll.
I clench my teeth, wincing through the pain in my chest. I rub at the ache, never having felt anything vaguely this intense or… volatile. Like I could go from calm to feral in a second for her, and—that’s dangerously out of character.
Just as lost as her…
Darting my eyes to the implement fisted in my hand, 45 mlU/ml displays at me in blue on the viewing panel. According to the blood tests taken during her stay in hospital a few weeks ago, that is well above what it was. She’ll be ovulating soon. Perhaps now. Perhaps tomorrow…
The baby. The cooking. The pillow stacks. It all gave her meaning. A reason to get up in the morning.
Maybe a cat then…
I look back at her slumber-settled complexion. Sliding my palm down until I’m pressing it to the concave between her hipbones, my chest tightens. Empty.
Christ.
I rise to my feet. Walking from the room, I make sure to shut the door, holding the handle for a moment of hesitation. Leaving her again is utterly unnatural now, not unlike severing a limb.
In my mind, for only a second, I quickly remove any flitter of sentiment that may be active across my face as I notice Bolton. He’s stationed a few metres away. I nod at him, saying, ‘Whenever you don’t have eyes on her, when she goes to our room or the bathroom, I want you to page me immediately so I’m aware no one has eyes on her.’
‘No privacy for the girl, then, Boss?’
I glare at him, and he swallows, seemingly wishing the fucking question back down his throat. ‘I mean—’
I stride down the hallway, and his explanation halts at my dismissal. He cares about her, so I let it slide, but he best not misplace his concern, his sense of responsibility, for some kind of rights to her. No one has a right to her. She is mine. In every damn sense. There isn’t a fucker alive I need to share her with—not a father or mother or sibling, and I’m insatiable with her, so this pleases me to no end.
The halls are quiet, so when my phone rings from within my pocket, I scowl, the sound loud enough to have followed my trail back to our bedroom. Loud enough to wake her.
I dig it out, noting the name John and fisting it tightly, barking down the receiver, ‘Butcher.’
My new solider—recruited from the boxing gym—at the warehouse answers frantically, ‘The fuckin’ warehouse was just broken into, Boss! I tried to see the men, but there is still fucking smoke everywhere. They smashed the windows, came through the sides, but I couldn’t see ‘em. I shot at someone. Think I hit ‘em. But now the jacks are on their way here. I can hear the sirens. The road in is still black with smoke, so I can’t see a damn thing comin’,’
Heat builds through my head. ‘Who called the police?’
‘Neighbours. The boat yard, maybe?’
‘I doubt it,’ I muse more to myself than to him. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yeah. But all the guns, all the weapons are still here. They didn’t take nothin’. I’ve been tryin’ to stash them—’
‘Don’t stash them. The fire is still burning through the North national forest, so light the entire warehouse up and get out of there. They’ll presume the fire jumped.”
He pauses. ‘What?’
I rub my forehead, repeating myself, ‘Check the area. Check no one is inside. Then light it up. I’ll talk to the Forensic Fire Marshal tomorrow; just don’t be seen leaving.’
‘The weapons—’
‘Will be unsalvageable,’ I confirm.
‘There is somethin’ else, Boss. There is… are…’ He falters and I have no tolerance for that right now.
‘Spit it out,’ I command.
‘They left you somethin’.’
I still, dropping my tone, ‘What?’
‘Photos, Boss… Of… of the girl. Lots of ’em…’ He obviously wasn’t prepared to have this conversation over the phone as trampling his steady voice are bursts of unease. ‘Some are dated, Boss. From today. From above. Like from a drone or somethin’. She’s sittin’ by the pool, with her legs in the water—’
I’m not calm.
The heat that scorches through this Butcher’s blood boils to the fast beat of my thunderous pulse.
A blatant threat.
Dustin…
Or perhaps old Joe grew some Butcher balls.
Fucker.
He continues, ‘I’ll take photos of ’em with my phone, send ’em to you so—’
‘No,’ I state, outwardly staying still, controlling my breath, to not abandon the smallest twitch in case it’s the catalyst for my temper. I need them in my hands. I need my girl’s image in my hands… And he can’t come here in case he’s followed from the docks. ‘Grab them all. Light it up. Get out of there before the police arrive. Take the burnt off-road. The fire won’t jump it. Go home. Que will meet you there and collect my possessions.’
‘Yes, Boss.’
‘And John—’ I state his name with severity smothering my voice over—a warning of my own. ‘Don’t look too closely at those photos. They are not for you.’
He exhales hard. ‘Yes, Boss.’
Good boy.
