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He kept his gaze on the turkey sausage sizzling in the pan. “Hungry?“
“One of these days, I’ll be able to sneak up on you.“ She sidled up to him. “Smells good.”
Liar. Slowly, she was getting used to healthier eating. None of that crap she grew up with. Food that only came from a can or the frozen section. Still, she’d eat potato chips for breakfast if left to her own device. He’d let the slight white lie—“smells good”—slide. She’d had a rough night—again.
Her wet hair hung loose around her shoulders and soaked her T-shirt. It was actually his. The old T-shirt looked better on her, hanging on her body in the most delicious way. Nipples poked through the thin cotton, and the hemline skimmed the top of her thighs, threatening to reveal her beautiful pussy lightly dusted with copper-colored hair.
He speared one of the turkey sausages with a fork and laid it on a paper towel on the counter. A greasy stain immediately fanned on the paper.
She perched herself up on the countertop and swung her bare legs.
“Does that granite feel good on your ass?” he asked.
Her eyes grew wide as she slowly slid off the countertop and leaned against it. “Sorry.“
“It was an honest question.“ He flipped the sausage so the grease could be absorbed on the other side. He speared it once more and held it out to her.
She took it between two fingers, a slight smile crossing her face. “Yes, and thank you.”
As she nibbled on her sausage, he plated the rest of the food. Scrambled eggs, wheat toast with butter and honey, and more of the sausage. She followed him to the table and nervously fidgeted as she settled herself onto the farmhouse chair.
“Still nervous about today.” He didn’t pose it as a question.
She nodded. “I don’t know why. It’s not like anyone expects me to be a supermodel.”
They were there again. He had to once again prove how beautiful he found her. Shaking one’s upbringing, especially one like Charlotte’s, full of putdowns and snarky comments about her looks by her jealous—and often drunk—mother, was difficult. Unfortunately, hers was made worse by the stepfathers, drunken uncles, and neighborhood boys.
Then to find a good man in Daniel, marry him and have him taken away so soon? Her insecurity over having anyone good in her life was understandable.
He snapped his napkin into place. “You already rival them. Now, eat. Then, we go.”
She swallowed hard but obeyed, choking down half the breakfast. Her nerves didn’t settle one bit. He knew what he’d have to do.
He and Charlotte had been together for over a year. The first time he’d laid eyes on her, across the Library at Club Accendos, an uncanny love had burst through his veins like fire. He was captivated, wholly and irrevocably, by her sweetness, her needs. One introduction and it was like two magnets made only for one another clapped together, fitting as if they’d once been whole and had been split apart. He’d do anything for Charlotte—even push her when needed. He’d never again see her suffer so long as he took a breath. And her mind was turning on her.
But perhaps he’d expected too much from her over the last few months. Doubt wasn’t his strong suit, but he was running out of ideas to get her over the last remnants of her anxieties. A fashion show—something that should have delighted her—should not have raised such nightmares.
Perhaps something else niggled at her consciousness, something he’d yet to unearth. Of course, he knew about her past, even if she hadn’t revealed it to him herself. Someday, however, she would. He was sure of it.
She got dressed—a sundress chosen by him—and got in the car. It was hot for a late September day, and his Aston Martin’s air conditioning struggled to keep up. Then again, he kept it on low for a reason. She needed him right now, and there was only one way to be there for her.
As her Master.
“Charlotte.” One hand spun the steering wheel as the light turned green while his other descended on her bare thigh.
“Hmmm?” She’d been staring out the window.
His fingers dug into her flesh, and her gaze swung to him. “Are you wearing panties?”
She nodded slowly and pulled up her hemline to reveal white lace, a pair probably gifted to her by Sarah for today. “Do you want them?”
“Not yet. Open those knees wider and scoot closer.”
Her lips parted in surprise, which surprised him. It wasn’t as if his command was unheard of in their time together. “But—”
“Now.” He slapped her leg, making her startle.
He turned onto New York Avenue. Though they might be a few minutes late to the Arts and Industries building, which Sarah had rented for the show, they’d still be early enough to score a parking space on Madison Avenue—that was, if she behaved.
