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“Hey, easy, Ginny-love. It’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay.” I whispered nonsense against the top of her head while she cried, stroking her back, my heart breaking all over again to see her so anguished.
Her tears subsided, and she flung herself on her back, dropping her arm over my chest, refusing to lose the skin-to-skin contact. I grasped at her hand, holding it tightly to me.
“Hi,” she whispered, scrubbing her face with her free hand.
“Go take your shower.”
She stared at the ceiling, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. “And if I wanted to call in sick and spend the day wrapped in your arms instead?”
I slid my hand up her chest and wrapped my fingers around her throat, not squeezing, pressing only hard enough so she’d feel my strength. “Don’t brat, Ginevra.”
Her eyes widened, and she licked her lips. “Maybe I like being punished.”
Ah.Ginny wasn’t a brat, but she desperately needed me to take control for a few days. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?” I asked, silkily, tightening my hold on her throat enough that she’d have to work a little to draw breath.
She hesitated a beat, and then answered, “No.”
I lifted my hand. “Let’s keep it that way. Go take a shower, darling.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Most of the cuts and bruises from Yuri had healed, but she’d wear the scars for the rest of her life.
I watched the tempting sway of her hips as she disappeared into the bathroom, noting the weight she’d lost, then got up to rifle through her closet and drawers. I pulled out a suit and blouse, then went on the hunt for underclothes. She needed time to put herself back together, and the easiest way to do that was to give her the mental space to do so. Was she still in therapy? I made a note in my phone to ask at breakfast.
I laid out her outfit with a note to get dressed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants from my suitcase, and ambled downstairs.
Her fridge was full of takeout leftovers. What few vegetables there were, I suspected her roommate had purchased. I made another note to order groceries, healthy groceries. This morning, I’d make do with what she had. In short order, coffee was percolating, I’d whipped up an omelet, and I’d chopped up what little fruit I’d found.
When she came down the stairs, fully dressed, I ran my eyes over her, so fucking glad to be back in her life, even if it was only for a few days. I didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on my bare chest and the trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of my sweatpants. Fuck, I wanted her, but this visit was about her mental health, not sex. I jerked my chin toward the dining room. “Go ahead and wait for me in there.”
She raised an eyebrow, but when she would have pulled out a chair to sit down, I snapped out, “No. Kneel.”
Ginevra’s eyes widened, but she didn’t argue. No, to my surprise, she sank down into the pillow I’d left beside the table the night before, graceful in her supplication, as she waited for me to join her. I brought her coffee and an overloaded plate of omelet and fruit.
“Good morning, darling,” I said to her, running my fingers over the top of her hair. She just leaned her head against my thigh when I sat, sighing with what I hoped was easy contentment. Bite by bite, I fed her, careful of her work clothes, enjoying the domesticity of taking care of my woman.
After she’d eaten her fill, I reached down to take her hand and hauled her into my lap. She looked at me with surprise as I handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “How’re you doing?” I asked her.
She blinked. “I feel like I should be asking you that. You’re taking care of me, and—”
I cut her off. “We never should have let you come out here alone after we got you back. I’m so sorry for that, darling. Are you still seeing your therapist?”
She shook her head. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”
I stroked her hip and leaned forward to rest my chin on her shoulder. “Would you please make an appointment today?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”
Oh, Ginny-love, always looking for trouble. I kissed her cheek, then pulled back so she could sip her coffee. “I’m telling you. Make an appointment with your therapist today.”
I kept the rest of the conversation light, until it was time for her to head out to work. “What time do you normally eat lunch?” I asked her.
She tilted her head to the side. “Twelve thirty-ish.”
“I’ll pick you up then.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t have time for a long lunch break.” I drew her against me.
“What do you have time for, then?”
