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“It was supposed to be for me.”
He eyes it with renewed interest. “Why a blackbird?”
“You’re going to think it’s cliché.”
He frowns and gives me a look like I should know better. I sigh.
“It’s from the Beatles song,” I tell him. “Blackbird sings at night, learns to fly and all that. I went to a shop last month and tried to get it done, but they said I was too young.”
“You’re not too young anymore, angel.” Heat flares in his eyes, and my clit pulses at the memory of the very grown-up things we did last night. I gasp as his hand finds my thigh and then glides higher, underneath my tee shirt. “I know you’re not used to people taking an interest in you with no ulterior motive, but you can relax and be yourself now, angel. Daddy just wants to know you.”
Just hearing Jonah call himself Daddy is enough to calm me down and light me up in equal measure. He cups my pussy, and I push against him, wincing a little at the ache.
“Does it hurt?” he asks.
“Not too bad.” I close my eyes as he pets me. Then I remember how I bled on his sheets, and wonder if he’s going to pull his hand away and find it red. “I got some blood on your sheets last night. I’m sorry. I’ll wash them today—”
“Don’t you dare, angel.” He cradles my face with the hand he’s not using to pet my pussy. “I’m gonna have those sheets framed in honor of the precious gift you gave me.”
“You mean my virginity?”
He kisses me softly. “That, and your trust.”
I rest my hands on his shoulders and start to rock against his palm. I still can’t believe this is all really happening, that a man like Jonah would want to be my Daddy. But if this is a dream, then I’ll happily live the rest of my life in a coma.
Chapter Eight
Teagan
Sadly, as usual, life has other plans, in the form of Jonah’s phone rattling against the table. He growls angrily as he ends our kiss to check to see who’s calling him.
“I’m sorry, angel, but I have to take this.” He lifts the phone to his ear. “What is it, Mike?”
I tell myself not to eavesdrop, though the male voice on the other end of the line is clear enough for me to get the gist of the situation. A shipment of lumber failed to arrive this morning, and now the site owner is freaking out because they have to postpone construction.
Jonah pets my hair and sighs. “All right. I’ll be there in half an hour.” He ends the call and fixes me with a pained expression. “I’d hoped to spend the whole day with you, angel, but it looks like I need to perform damage control. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I try hiding my disappointment behind a smile, but the look on Jonah’s face makes it clear he’s not buying it.
“Tell you what,” he says. “There’s a craft store at Turkey Creek, about four miles from here. Take an Uber and go buy yourself a nice new set of pens or colored pencils or whatever your heart desires, and when I get home, I’ll make us dinner and you can show me what you worked on all day.”
“Sounds good,” I say. A familiar sense of abandonment seeps in around the edges of my awareness, though I know in my mind he’s only leaving for the day. It’s ridiculous. Jonah shouldn’t have to feel bad about leaving me to do his job. This is my baggage—as is the fact that I don’t have any money for crafts.
Jonah clears our plates and then goes upstairs to shower. I doodle in my sketchbook with my regular black pen. When Jonah returns, he’s dressed like a real adult, in a button-down shirt and tie. He fills a travel mug with coffee and then refreshes my mug, kisses my forehead and lays two hundred-dollar bills on the counter in front of me.
“Get yourself the good markers,” he says with a wink. “I left my number on the fridge. Do you have a phone with good service?”
“I have a pre-paid piece of crap, but it works okay.”
“I’ll get you a new one on my way home. We can add you to my plan. For now, put my number in your phone and text me if you need anything.”
I’m still staring at the cash and thinking about the offer of a new phone long after the rumble of Jonah’s truck has faded.
Never in my life has anyone given me money without me having to ask for it, and certainly not without expecting something in return. Jonah didn’t even make me promise not to spend it on anything stupid.
Because he trusts me...
My chest swells like a balloon, so taut and full it could pop. It’s a feeling I’m not accustomed to, something like happiness whipped up with gratitude. I could float away on this feeling, or sprout wings and fly. But as soon as I grab my phone to add Jonah’s number, I come crashing back down to earth.
