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He didn’t try to shush her or stop her from crying. Instead, he just held her with one arm, while his free hand moved up and down her back.
“Let it all out. That’s it. Get it all out. Good girl. That’s my good girl. I know. It was a lot, wasn’t it? Too much for one Little girl to handle. My Preciosa.”
Damn, she could listen to him talk to her like that all day. How did he know what to say? Finally, she managed to gather her composure. Wiping at her face, she leaned up on her hands to stare down at him.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“Knew what?” he asked, brushing her hair away from her face. At some stage, it had come loose from the bun she’d put it in for her bath.
“You knew that I needed to cry. How?”
“I didn’t exactly know. But you seemed so tightly wound up. I thought the orgasm would help, and it did. But you needed something more. Something that would give you permission to let go. You hold onto everything so tightly. It’s all right to let go. To give it to someone else to take care of.”
“I’ve never had that.”
“You do now.”
She squirmed, feeling how hard his cock was against her tummy. “I need to . . . can I . . .?” She tried to slide down his body, to take his dick into her mouth.
That was only fair, right?
Even though she’d never given a blow job before, it surely couldn’t be that hard.
Just put it in your mouth and suck, right?
“No.”
She froze as he sat up, arranging her so she was straddling his lap. “No?”
“No.” His voice wasn’t unkind, but there was a definite stern note.
“You don’t want me to?” Didn’t all men want blow jobs?
“Oh, I do. But it’s not what you need right now.”
Huh?
“You gave me pleasure, isn’t it right for me to do the same? I thought we were going to have sex. And you’re so hard. That’s got to hurt. Does it hurt?”
“Fucking painful,” he agreed. “Probably more painful than your ass.” He squeezed her sore cheeks, making her gasp. “But it’s nothing new. I think I’ve been hard since the moment I met you. However, tonight is about taking care of you and I don’t think you’re ready for anything more. This isn’t tit for tat. There will be times when I take from you and don’t give in return.”
“Well,” she huffed. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
He grinned. “Like I’ve told you before, I’m not nice. Arrogant, controlling, powerful, those things I am. Nice, not so much.”
Yeah, he was all those things.
And more.
Possessive, protective, fierce.
And she wanted him to be hers.
God, Cat. What are you doing? This is nuts.
The more time she spent with him, the more she fell for him. And that was a price she couldn’t afford to pay.
Coming here had been such a stupid idea.
She was so far out of her depth with this man.
And now . . . everything was going to change forever. Because there was no way she came out of this the same girl that she had been going in.
Maybe it was a good thing. She’d be tougher. More guarded.
Because losing him was going to hurt.
So. Fucking. Bad.
“Hey.” He cupped her chin, staring down into her face. Shit. Could he see what she was thinking? She knew how perceptive he was.
“You’re still upset by everything today,” he said finally.
Whew. He didn’t know what she was really thinking. Except there was a part of her that was still wound up from today. That kept playing everything through her mind.
“You need to stop thinking.”
She let out a small bark of laughter. “That’s impossible. How do you stop thinking?”
“By giving someone else full control.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You were willing to before.”
Before everything imploded.
“I know, but I don’t think I know how,” she confessed.
“Do you remember me telling you about Littles?”
“Yeah, I remember most of it.”
“Do you ever find yourself wishing you could regress back to childhood? When you felt secure, when you had no worries except doing what your parents said? Although, I can see you as a bit of a rule breaker.”
“We moved around a lot.” Until they got to the Camp. “Mama didn’t have many rules for me.” Mainly around not mentioning what her real name was. “My dad died when I was very young, I don’t remember him.”
“I’m sorry, Pequeña. My own father is dead as well. He wasn’t always a good man, but he did try. My uncle, José, on the other hand, was a complete asshole. After my father died when I was eight, he moved my mother and me into his house. Then our lives became hell. He was a monster. I couldn’t even stand to have his last name when I moved here, so I changed it from Diaz to De Leon, my mother’s maiden name. She was born here in the States, but her parents were originally from Argentina. Diaz might have been my dad’s last name, but for me, it had more bad connotations than good.”
