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“Haley,” I murmur. “Was that Ms. Moore too?”
Her nod is almost imperceptible.
“Tell me clearly,” I snap. The stern tone startles her.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
While I finish washing her and take care of her back with cold cream, she explains the horrible things Moore inflicts on her every time she is forced into her office. How over time, the reasons to be sent there became less and less logical and the punishment more and more unfair.
When I’m done tending to her, she’s shaking, and I go to my closet to grab one of my white shirts. “Here.” I help her in and button two of the middle buttons. It swallows her whole, the hem coming to mid-thigh and the sleeves way too long. I sit her down on the bathroom sink and roll both sleeves up, one after the other.
I grab a pair of gray sweats and put them on quickly. I don’t bother with a shirt.
I almost want to carry her to the kitchen. I just want to care for her and tend to her. I want to wrap her up in a blanket and keep her close to me. But I need to give her time to process too.
“Come on. Food.” I don’t mean the clipped tone, but I’m furious at Moore and Sister Ivy and it’s hard to control my emotions.
I hold her hand as we walk the short hallway to the kitchen. When I let her go, it’s only to grab her hips and put her on the counter. I like her like this, her lips are closer to mine even if she still can’t quite reach.
I turn to my fridge and open it. Putting a hand at the top of it, I lean down to check what I can make her.
“Alright, I have eggs, cheese, ham…I can make an omelet?” The lack of answer makes me look back at her.
Mouth agape, she’s looking at me like I’m the meal she wants to eat right now. Her eyes are stuck to my Adonis belt and I’m guessing to the outline of my dick through the sweats.
“Earth to Haley,” I sing-song.
She startles, her eyes coming up to meet mine. “Huh?”
I shake my head, a smile spreading on my face. “I was asking if you’d like a midnight omelet?”
She licks her lips and nods. “Midnight omelet sounds good.”
I grab everything I need and bring it to the counter. “You were totally checking me out,” I say as I grab a bowl.
“No!” she giggles as her feet start tapping against the counter drawers.
“So were,” I taunt her. I shake my head because that fucking smile won’t leave my face.
“You’ve got a beautiful smile,” she tells me softly. “You have the cutest dimples. Right here.” She presses her delicate forefinger to my cheek and then the other one.
I swat her hand away playfully but I can’t drop the grin. “I’m trying to focus on cooking here.” My fake reprimanding doesn’t stop her excitement.
“I love a man who can cook.”
“Firstly, you know no other men.” I flick my deadly gaze at her. “Only me, and that will remain that way. Secondly, I don’t cook. In fact, I fucking hate cooking.”
“But you’re doing it right now.” She shrugs and she knows she’s got me.
“Yeah, well…you’re hungry.”
“You could just send me back to the dorms and I’ll have breakfast tomorrow morning.”
I run my tongue against my teeth and turn to her. “I want to. I hate cooking, but I want to for you. Happy? Now go back to ogling me while I make this damn omelet.”
She bursts out in a laugh. “I wasn’t ogling you! I was checking out your tattoo. What does it mean?”
A coldness takes over my heart, but I keep a casual front. I mix all the ingredients in a bowl and focus on that as I reply.
