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“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice fond. “You didn’t have dinner yesterday. That’s my fault. I didn’t want to wake you since rest seemed like what you needed. So don’t apologize. I’ll fill that tummy up today, okay?” He offers me his hand, palm up, fingers relaxed.
I flush because my mind conjures other naughty ways he could fill me up, then take his hand. His fingers close around mine, the calluses on his palm rough against my skin.
Adrien walks beside me as he helps me up and leads me from the room, keeping my hand in his, his thumb passing absently over my knuckles every few steps as though we’re doing something ordinary.
Could I run?
Probably not.
Adrien would catch me before I got ten feet, and he’s already told me that the doors are all locked, but the possibility does now exist in a way it hasn’t before.
But… I could try. I really could. I could break away from Adrien, barrel down the hall, maybe knock over some stuff, scream until my throat bled. That’s what I should want, right? That’s what anyone normal would do. But that wouldn’t earn a good boy. And just the thought of disappointing Adrien like that after all the things he promised me last night…
I just can’t.
I’m thinking so hard about it all that I don’t even notice Adrien positioning me in front of the hall bathroom’s toilet, and lifting my shirt up, baring my dick. I only notice when he gently cradles my length.
His prosthetic hand is soft, almost feather-light, as he cups me, nudging my dick so it points at the bowl. I’m too stunned to even react, all of my thoughts—about trust, about escape, about the unbreakable logic that I should want to run—ghosting away at the touch of his palm. He just holds me there, easy as anything, waiting as if this sort of caretaking is as natural as breathing.
A shiver runs from the base of my spine to the soles of my feet. Adrien’s other hand lands steady and warm on the small of my back, grounding me.
I thought this ritual would end with the loss of the cuffs, since I don’t technically need his help anymore. Is it weird that I feel relieved that it hasn’t changed?
“Relax, baby,” he murmurs. “Go ahead.”
My body clenches with embarrassment, but I can’t find the will to fight it. I let go. The relief is instant.
He holds me the whole time, shifting his hand as needed to keep everything neat and clean. He even wipes me off when I finish, then smooths my shirt down, as if it’s the most normal thing he’s done all morning.
“You did good,” he says. “C’mere.” No time to recover—he spins me around, plants a kiss dead center on my forehead, then ruffles my hair again for good measure.
I’m a little dizzy by the time he leads me to the sink. He pumps soap into my palm, then laces his fingers through mine under the running water, guiding my hands through the washing motions. I’m so thrown off that I can’t even muster up a protest.
When he hands me a towel, I finally glance at him. He’s watching me with that same gentle fondness, like he expects nothing in return except for me to exist in his orbit.
“Why are you doing this?” I blurt.
Adrien’s brow furrows. “Doing what?”
“This. All this.” I swipe the towel over my face so he won’t see how hot it’s gone. “You don’t have to… I can do stuff myself.”
He shrugs, lips quirking at the edges. “You can. You also like being taken care of. And I like doing it.” He says it so plainly, so simply, that it leaves no room for argument. “Besides,” he adds, drying his own hands, “it gets you out of your head.”
I stiffen. “I’m not in my head.”
“Cute.” He leans forward, voice low. “You think I can’t tell when you’re plotting?”
The air goes out of me. He’s right, and I know it. Maybe I’m not as subtle as I thought.
But I also don’t want him to misunderstand, so I clarify, “I wasn’t going to do anything! I just, um… I was thinking that I… well, I probably should want to at least try… But I don’t! I—I’m good.”
Adrien chuckles a little, then gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You are good, sweetheart. Now, breakfast?”
My stomach answers again, so loud and long I want to sink into the floor. He grins, apparently delighted, and leads me down the hall, hand still cupped around mine.
“I can go in the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
