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But of course I wanted Marco to be happy. I craved his pleasure, his smile.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I want you to be happy, Marco.”
“Daddy,” he corrected me.
My cheeks flamed, but the words left my lips without a second thought. “I want you to be happy, Daddy.”
His brilliant grin knocked the air from my chest. “That’s my sweet girl.”
I returned his smile, giddy excitement flooding my system. I liked when he spoke to me with such warm approval.
Marco started gathering what he needed from the fridge to make lunch.
“You don’t have to make all my meals.” I’d let him make every meal for me since I’d arrived. I hadn’t lifted a finger to help. And while I wasn’t much of a cook, I suddenly felt guilty for taking Marco for granted.
He shot me a warning look. “I want to, and don’t let me hear you say another word about it. I told you: I’m going to take care of you today. Let me.”
“Okay.” I felt a little useless, sitting here while he worked. So, I passed the short span of time by watching his bulky muscles flex and shift as he moved. His tight black shirt did little to hide his physique, and his dark jeans hugged his ass perfectly.
I was practically drooling by the time he sat down beside me, placing a single plate between us. The sandwich was stuffed with enough pastrami for two people, and he’d provided far more hummus and carrot sticks than I could eat by myself.
“Where’s yours?” I asked, puzzled.
“This is for both of us.”
“Oh.” I still didn’t understand why we were sharing off one plate, but he’d cut the sandwich down the middle, so I supposed there was enough food for both of us.
I reached for my half, but he caught my wrist and directed my hand back to my lap. He picked up a carrot stick and dipped it in the hummus before lifting it to my mouth.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking care of you. Open up, babygirl.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Of course you can. But I want to feed you today. Now, be a good girl for Daddy and eat your vegetables.”
This was weird. It made me uncomfortable and hot and tingly.
My lips parted, and the salty hummus touched my tongue. The carrot crunched beneath my teeth, sweet mingling with salt.
Marco’s smile hit me square in the chest. I’d never seen him like this: proud and pleased in a way I couldn’t fully comprehend.
Even though I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it, I basked in his pleasure. If allowing him to feed me felt this good, why fight it?
Marco watched me intently as I ate every bite he brought to my lips, his eyes darkening and his lids growing heavy as I complied. He even held my glass of water to my lips, insisting that I drink intermittently. He needed me to do as he told me. I could see it in the way his lips curved with satisfaction when I obeyed.
His pleasure was catching. By the time I finished my lunch, my body felt strangely light, and I was grinning like a fool. I didn’t have a care or worry in my head, because Marco was taking care of me.
He held my hand while he ate his own share of our meal, as though he couldn’t bear to break contact with me.
I didn’t want him to, either.
When he polished off the last of the food, he cleaned up the plate and came back to me. He held out his hand, waiting for me to wrap my fingers around his. I did so without hesitation, and he led me to the media room.
Well, he called it the media room. It was more like an in-home theater. The massive screen took up one wall, and the plush sectional couch could have easily seated ten people.
He sat in one corner of the couch, propping back against it while he stretched his legs out in front of him. I moved to sit beside him, but he shifted my body with his sure, strong hands. When he was finished moving me into position, I laid on my side, stretched out beside him with my head resting on his thighs.
