"Where are you going?"
She freezes halfway out of the chair. "To get a plate."
"This one's yours." I stab a piece and lift it. "Taste."
"I can feed myself." That stubborn look is so cute on her as she reaches for the food.
"Ah-ah-ah." I move it out of reach. "Let me feed you. Open."
Gently, I brush the fork over her closed lips and cajole her with a singsong voice. "It's gooood. Orange marmalade chicken..."
She sullenly opens her mouth and accepts the bite. And the next. And the one after that.
A thought hits me. Should I...? I'm so terrible for doing this, but it can't be helped. Putting the fork down for a moment, I reach for the salt shaker. "Green beans need just a little bit more, don't you think?"
Smothering a grin, I shake a minuscule amount on the food and then put the shaker back, but about one inch further away and turned the opposite direction from the pepper. How long will it take her to—there she goes. Not long at all. Mercy glares at it before angrily turning it back and scooting it to where it was before.
This woman and her moods. The memory of her shocked expression as I unveiled the stash of feminine products and clothes still amuses me. Silly woman. She just watched me in disbelief as I moved her things to the bathroom and stored them away. As if I'd bring her here and not have anything for her.
She's here—really here. I don't know why I'm amazed; my meticulous plan ensured I'd get her here no matter what, but it doesn't feel real yet. And I don't think it will until I say my marriage vow to her.
I can't believe it. Can't believe we've shared our bodies like we did.Can't believe she's eating from my hands, albeit reluctantly. I stab the last sweet potato cube and watch as it disappears into her mouth.
God, that mouth. "Do you want more? More tea?"
She silently shakes her head and looks around. I'm not ready for the night to end right now, though. And since I'm not going to have sex with her tonight, a movie will have to do instead. A small chuckle leaves me when I remember the sweat that went into running coaxial cable all over the house. "Come on, baby. Let's get in bed and watch a movie. We can watch just about anything you want. Sound good?"
Her face tightens with the origins of an argument, but then she grimaces. "Ohhh—"
"What's the matter, baby? Are you cramping again?" And there she goes with that blush. Another silent yes. "Let me get you some ibuprofen."
Oh—and she also needs these other pills I found in her bathroom. Metformin, I think it was? Said for her to take one pill daily with the evening meal. Naturally, I was curious as to what it was for, so I looked online while she was sleeping earlier. It appears my Mercy has diabetes. I'll need to be sure and cook the proper things for her.
"Hand, please."Her face pales, eyes darting to mine when I bring out her prescription bottle and shake a pill out."There you go. And here's the ibuprofen, too." Trembling fingers bring the pills to her mouth. God, the simple flexing of her throat is so sexy. "Come on. Leave the dishes; I’ll clean up in the morning."
And now time for some bedroom movie night snuggling.Plusan Amos Special. We'd already changed into our pajamas, of sorts, after our shower. I just pulled on a pair of briefs and she grabbed some shorts, a tank, and a tampon from what I'd shown her earlier.
Since the doors and windows are biometrically secured—they do have a hidden switch in the event of power failure—the nightly routine is as simple as switching off the lights and crawling into bed.
Well, not for Mercy.
She stands there at the side of the bed, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. "Can I sleep inano—"
"No," I interrupt. "With me, Mercy. Always with me." I spread my legs and pat in between them. "Up you go."
Reluctantly, in between my legs she goes, dragging the freshly changed covers up over us. Fits so perfectly, so right, that I'm immediately threatened with a boner. People may scoff and think a man my age couldn’t possibly shoot as many loads as I have today, but they don’t know Mercy Callahan. She could bring life into a dead man’s cock.
"Youwant tolook for something or you want me to pick?" Never let it be said that I’m a control freak. I can bend on some things. Like this.
Tracing the pattern on the bedspread, she hesitates. "Umm...can we watch cartoons?" What? A grown woman wants to watchcartoons?Well, she also cuddles a stuffed animal, so I shouldn't be too surprised. At my skeptical silence, she rushes to explain. "I—never mind. Whatever you pick will be fine."
Oh, no. She can't leave my curiosity hanging like that. "I don't mind watching what you want to watch. But I want to know why that was your first choice."
Her fingers flex. "I never got to watch cartoons much growing up. All my foster parents never let me watch tv. They told me it was a privilege, not a right. Now I watch them when I…when I need to—"
When she needs to calm down.My fists clench. "They did that to you, baby? I’m so sorry you went through that, but you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me. And when we’re ready, we’regonnahave our own kids, and we’regonnalove them like no kids have ever been loved before. Just you wait."
At the mention of children, she tenses, but I ignore it and lean her back against me. If cartoons help her wind down from stress, that's what we'll watch. "All right, then. Anything for you, sweet Mercy."Except letting you go. Don’t ask me to do that."Has the ibuprofen kicked in yet?" Her body seems to be giving her fits with the ache coming in waves.
