I grip her chin and tip her head back. “No standing on that leg. Even though it’s healing on the outside, I don’t want you putting any pressure on it until I’m certain your leg can support you without splitting back open.”
She sighs. “You can’t carry me around.”
I chuckle. “Of course I can.” Stepping back, I lift my hands and flex my biceps.
She giggles. I love that sound.
I point at her. “Don’t move.” And then I stroll across the room and return with the box of supplies, setting it next to her on the bed. After rummaging around in it, I pull out a pink T-shirt and panties. “How do you feel about pink?” I had a white shirt out last night, but suddenly I feel like I want to dress her in pink.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t worn pink for years. I’ve been wearing dark colors that make me feel fierce instead of weak.”
“You’re certainly not weak, Little love. But I want you to feel feminine.” I shake out the T-shirt. “Arms up.”
She giggles again as she lifts her arms for me.
“Good girl.” I slide the shirt down her body.
A soft satisfied purr escapes her lips. “I like it when you say that,” she whispers.
“Good girl?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll say it often.” I squat in front of her and help her into the panties. “Lie back for me.”
She obeys me, letting me pull the panties up her legs. I’m careful as I lift the elastic over her wound and then tug them up around her waist. “There.”
“Do you have bras in that box?” She sits up and peers over the side.
“Nope. I’ve had this box for a year. I couldn’t have known what size my mate’s breasts might be. We can buy some soon, but I kind of like knowing I can reach out and stroke your breasts without the padding in the way.” To emphasize my point, I cup her soft globes and thumb the hard nipples.
She purrs for me, arching into my touch. “Daddy…”
My heart lurches at the sound of that word coming from her lips so effortlessly. Cupping her face, I bend to bring my lips to hers. I kiss her gently before whispering, “So sweet…” And then I kiss her again, deepening the connection in seconds.
Angling her head to one side, I glide my tongue along her lips and then slip inside the moment she opens for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed a woman, and I’m certain it was nothing like this. I’m a hundred times more connected to Brea than any other person I’ve ever met. It makes the kiss more intimate.
Brea grips my forearms and holds on to me while I continue to ravage her mouth. She’s panting heavily when I release her lips. “Daddy…” This time, the word is sultry. Pleading. Needy. Heaven.
She needs food, though. We both do. I sweep her into my arms, careful not to jostle her leg too much, and cradle her against my chest as I carry her from the bedroom.
She wraps her arms around my neck and leans her cheek against my shoulder. Her stomach growls.
“You need food,” I reiterate.
“I haven’t eaten for over twenty-four hours,” she points out.
When I reach the kitchen, I settle her on her bottom on the counter. “Sure you have. I’ve been feeding you.”
Her brows furrow. “How?”
I lift one of the empty bottles from the sink and hold it up.
Her eyes go wide. “Bottles?”
“It was either that or an IV. You were dehydrated and in desperate need of fluids and calories, Little love.” I pat her thighs. “Do you think you can sit here without falling? Are you steady enough?”
She rolls those pretty brown eyes. “Yes.”
