Page 34 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

“Good girl.”

I tear off a smaller piece of bread and give it to her. She eats it, then goes back to the soup, and I settle beside her against the headboard while she finishes. There’s no need to fill the silence. Margot seems content beneath the weight of the blanket, eating something I made for her, and I find I’m equally content watching her do it.

I don’t check the time once.

Eventually, the bowl is empty and Margot sinks farther against me, warm and drowsy beneath the blanket. We stay there for a while before I coax her out of bed and send her into the bathroom for a shower.

She comes back a little while later wearing the robe, her damp hair loose around her shoulders, and climbs onto the bed beside me again. I pull the weighted blanket over her lap and bring over the bowl of fruit I set aside earlier.

Margot reaches for a strawberry, but I get there first.

Her eyes lift to mine when I hold the strawberry to her mouth, amusement flickering across her face before she leans forward and takes a bite. Juice runs down my fingers, and before I can reach for a napkin, Margot catches my hand and draws my fingers into her mouth, sucking the sweetness from them.

The memory of her on her knees in front of me comes back immediately.

She releases my fingers slowly, and the look she gives me makes it perfectly clear she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Angel.”

Her smile is entirely too pleased with itself.

I smile and pick up another strawberry. “More?”

She laughs softly. “Yes, sir.”

I feed her the rest a piece at a time while we talk about nothing important.

By the time the bowl is empty, her hair is mostly dry and some of the drowsiness has eased. When she finally decides she’s ready to move, I bring her clothes over rather than making her search for them and give her space to dress.

She catches me watching when she reaches for her bag. “Same rules this week?”

“Yes,” I tell her.

“I can do that.”

“I know you can, Angel.”

The smile that earns me makes the endearment feel even more natural than it did the first time.

I walk her downstairs and wait while she puts on her coat. She pauses at the front door, looking back at me as though there’s something else she wants to say, but in the end she only smiles.

“Goodnight, Soren.”

“Goodnight, Margot.”

I watch from the doorway until she reaches her car, then stay there long enough to see her pull through the gates before heading back inside.

The common room is loud when I reach it. There are no evening bookings, which means most of the house has migrated toward the kitchen and fireplace instead of disappearing into session rooms or private quarters.

Mikael has claimed the armchair, one leg hanging over the side while he reads. Corvin sits near the window with a book open across his lap, unaffected by whatever's happening behind me in the kitchen.

Evander is at the stove when I come in, which is not unusual. The look he gives me over his shoulder is.

“My good stockpot went missing,” he says.

“I’ll bring it back.”

“I don’t care about the pot.” He points the wooden spoon at me. “You cooked. For a client.”