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I just needed to allay her justifiable concerns. Proving that I could provide for her and care for her was a good place to start.
Keeping one arm braced around her shoulders, I reached forward with my free hand and picked up a fork. She shifted to do the same, but I flexed my hold on her a bit tighter, directing her to stay put. She responded instantly, settling back against me and dropping her hand into her lap.
I speared a bite-sized portion of the omelet on the fork and lifted it to her lips. She blinked up at me, the little wrinkle appearing between her brows again.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking care of you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of eating breakfast without your help.” The assertion came out on a soft, questioning tone rather than being issued as a hard challenge. Sofia was interested in what I was offering, but she didn’t understand it. I knew she wasn’t anywhere near ready for me to explain the complexities of what I wanted from her.
Submission. Devotion. Trust.
And a power exchange that involved sexual deviancy that would shock my innocent little flower to her core.
For now, I would work on trust, and I would test her submissive tendencies soon.
“I know you’re capable of eating your own breakfast, but I want to help.”
When she continued to study me as if I was a particularly difficult puzzle, I pressed her. “It will make me happy, Sofia.”
“Okay,” she breathed, agreeing instantly. My good girl wanted to please me.
I swallowed a hungry growl and tamped down my answering arousal. A hard-on pressing into her ass wouldn’t do wonders for my cause at the moment. I wouldn’t risk spooking her.
She continued watching me when she parted her lips to accept the first bite, searching my features. My mouth curved in a genuine smile when she accepted what I offered, my expression of pleasure untainted by mockery or dark amusement.
She swallowed and offered a shy smile of her own in return. “I still think this is kind of weird,” she admitted.
“But you like it, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Her smile took on a wry twist. “You were right. I do like it.”
I didn’t feel the slightest impulse to gloat over being proven right. This wasn’t a game with a winner and a loser. As long as Sofia enjoyed exploring this dynamic with me, we would both win. I intended to introduce her to my more perverted needs in a way that ensured she became just as addicted to me as I was to her. By the time she accepted that she was mine, she would submit to my every deviant demand and beg for more.
“Good,” I declared, fighting back my arousal by focusing on her sweetness. “I like it, too.”
When I lifted the second forkful to her lips, she protested. “What about you? Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I take care of you first,” I replied. “Always.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, and she accepted the nourishment I offered. She didn’t hesitate or protest again; she simply surrendered to what was happening between us, adapting to my control beautifully.
After she’d eaten every bite of her omelet and finished her glass of orange juice, I tucked into my own portion. The eggs had cooled slightly while I was feeding her, but I didn’t care. It was the best fucking breakfast of my life.
She rested her cheek on my shoulder as I ate, quiet and content. We’d made remarkable progress in the space of a couple hours. Not long ago, she’d been peeking at me through a cracked bedroom door, hurt and wary. Now, she was all sweetness and softness, relaxing against me with no thought of spite or bitterness.
When I’d cleaned my plate, I glanced down and noted her eyes were closed, her features serene.
Over the years, I’d imagined her writhing and begging for orgasmic release, or screaming out my name when she came. My filthy, crude brain hadn’t been capable of conjuring up a purer, equally satisfying fantasy where she drifted off into bliss in my arms.
The warmth in my chest expanded, washing outward through my body in a slow wave. I brushed my fingertips over her cheek, marveling at how soft and delicate she was.
She made a little humming noise and leaned into my touch.
My breath stuttered. I didn’t deserve this level of trust. I’d craved to possess it, but I hadn’t done enough to earn it. And yet, Sofia offered it freely, so easily that I suspected she’d been fighting her nature when she’d expressed doubt in me.
Yesterday, I’d accused her of being foolish for trusting anyone and everyone. The world was a dangerous place, and I hadn’t been lying when I’d told her most people weren’t good or kind.
But Sofia was good to her core.
That goodness made her vulnerable. It had made her susceptible to her father’s lies, and he’d hurt her deeply with his deception. It made her susceptible to me.
