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I swallow thickly, my cock hard in my pants. If she were to look over here, she’d not be able to miss the way my body responds to hers. Shit. I quickly move to take a seat at the breakfast bar, hiding my inappropriate erection.
“Good morning,” I finally manage. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Wonderfully, thanks for asking.” She turns back to the pan and flips the sizzling bacon. It pops, and she jerks back. “Ow ow ow!”
I stand, and before I can think about erections and their appropriateness, I rush around the counter to where she’s cradling her hand. “Let me see.”
She shakes her head stubbornly. “I’m fine. Just a little grease. It just startled me more than anything.”
“That’s why you said, ‘ow ow ow’?”
“Maybe?”
“Let me see your hand, sweetheart.”
Slowly she lets me take her hand and I examine the angry red spot where the grease got her. “Poor, baby,” I croon. “Let’s get this under some cool water and get that sting out.”
She looks at me with bewilderment as I lead her to the sink and run the cold water. She willingly lets me put her hand under the water, hissing when the cold hits the burn, then letting out a little moan of pleasure.
“Stay right here. I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
“That’s really not necessary,” she argues.
I give her a narrowed look. One that says don’t argue with me. “I’ll decide what’s necessary, little one.”
Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a deep breath at the endearment. I bite back a curse. The name just rolled right off my tongue like it’s meant to be. I don’t give it a seconds more thought and head off to the bathroom to get the kit. When I get back, she’s no longer standing at the sink; she’s back at the frying pan, pulling the bacon out of the pan and onto a plate.
“I thought I told you to stay put,” I growl.
She looks at her feet, and I can tell she feels chastised. A feeling I have zero right to make her feel, but my daddy side has been brought out by her being hurt, and I can’t just ignore it.
“I didn’t want the bacon to burn,” she murmurs.
“Screw the bacon. I’m worried about you, not it.”
She looks up at me with shock. I shake my head and close the small distance between us. I carefully pull her away from the stove, turning the burner off, then I lift her onto the opposite counter so I can tend to her burn.
I instantly regret sitting her on the counter when I realize how much her robe rides up her thighs, the split in the middle strains against the belt, barely covering her breasts.
It takes Herculean effort to not to get another inappropriate erection. The only thing keeping my cock under control is the pinched look on her face and the way she’s cradling her hurt hand. I gently tug her hand toward me and eye the angry red mark again, growling. I hate that she got hurt cooking breakfast for me. I’m completely undeserving of her effort and especially undeserving of her pain.
Last night proved that. My thoughts of last night conjure up how I shamefully jacked off to images of her on her knees sucking my dick. The simple fact that I can be distracted from the moment is further proof that I’m undeserving. Here she is hurt, and I’m thinking about my dick.
I shake myself out of my own head and open the first-aid kit. I quickly locate the burn cream.
“Will it hurt?” she asks timidly before I can apply the ointment.
“No, little one. This will make it feel all better.”
Jesus, there I go pulling out the endearments again. But how can I not when she’s being all sweet and pliant under my care?
“Okay. I trust you.”
The way her big blue eyes shine bright with that trust in me makes me feel like a lecherous bastard. I gently spread the ointment over the burn then search for a bandage. I smile when I see the pink hearts and blue stars decorating the band-aid. I put it over the ointment. As soon as I release her hand, she cradles it against her chest. She’s looking at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time. I can’t help wondering what it is she sees.
“Our food will get cold,” she says, chewing on that plump bottom lip of hers.
I want to say screw the food, I’d rather eat you, but I don’t. That’s not fair to her. I’ve already crossed a line this morning. It would be wrong of me to cross anymore. That doesn’t stop me from carefully lifting her off the countertop and letting her slide down my body until she’s on her feet again.
