Chapter twenty-one
Tristian
Stepping out of my bedroom, I found my little doll perched on the kitchen counter, quietly drinking a coffee.
“You shouldn’t drink that this late, doll. You’ll be up all night.” It was late enough already, and the caffeine would keep her up into the early hours, but she sipped happily. So I just let her, knowing she needed a distraction from the events of the night. The worst of it, at least.
I hadn’t done myself any favors by ignoring her. My silence had been a weapon that made her feel small, and the guilt of it sat heavy in my gut.
Darragh had pushed too fucking hard. He had to be absolutely insane if he thought I would ever play the part of his puppet, especially after the stunt he pulled at the club. I wouldn’t allow him to lay a finger on Ingrid again.
“Doll?” I said.
She looked up, and her smile brightened instantly. She was swimming in one of my oversized sweatshirts. I did my best to look away from her exposed legs, not wanting to let the predatory side of my brain take over while she looked so fragile. She set the empty mug on the counter and hopped down, padding over to me.
She slipped her hand into mine, humming a soft tune as she sat on one leg, thigh brushing up against mine.
“I’m going to the hospital tomorrow,” I whispered.
She frowned, drifting closer until her warmth pressed into my skin.
“Why?” she asked, her voice tinged with a flicker of fear.
I sighed, staring at nothing for a moment. “My mother. I actually want you to meet her.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up with a sudden, genuine spark.
I felt a rare sense of warmth as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and nodded. “Of course, doll.”
Suddenly, she seemed hesitant. I furrowed my eyebrows. “Ingrid?”
“What if she doesn’t like me?” she asked gently.
I could only tsk, grabbing her other hand as I guided her to straddle my thighs. She rested her palms against my chest, refusing to make eye contact as I ran my hand up and down the soft skin of her leg.
“She’s not going to like you, doll,” I murmured against the soft skin of her neck.
I felt her tense.
Then I nipped her there, slow and playfully. “She’s going to love you.”
She smiled lightly. Then she looked down. Her fingers grazing my skin, fire surging inside of me as her fingers danced along my bare chest. I was getting used to sharing parts of myself with her. My past, my art, my thoughts. She was one of the only people in this lifetime that had seen my tattoos, had seen the darkest thoughts displayed on my body. She was memorizing them, piece by piece.
A tinge of red bloomed in her cheeks. Suddenly she didn’t seem able to meet my gaze.
“Everything okay, doll?” I asked.
Her blush intensified until it looked painful. “I… have a question for y-you… Have you ever…” She trailed off, retreating into the sleeves of the sweatshirt.
I didn’t want to let her hide. “What is it doll?” My hands continued to roam over her thighs comfortingly.
“…Have you ever had sex?” she whispered.
Immediately my hand froze.What?It took me a minute to process the situation, process the question, wrap my head around what exactly it was she was saying to me.
Then… my hand giving her thigh a firm, grounding squeeze, sliding intentionally higher up her legs, I let out a heavy breath. “I have, baby…”
Her face flared hot. “O-oh…”
