DELIVER(46)

His jaw hung. He closed it, blinked. “Who’s her father? Where is he?”

When her eyes flicked to the door, he sucked in a breath, his face contorting in disbelief. “Him?” His voice was guttural, strained. “You have a child with Van?”

A wave of nausea rolled through her, trembling her body. Disgusted with herself and his reaction to her, her eyes averted from his. She forced them back, met his steady gaze. “There’s a story.”

“Then you’ll talk while you’re eating.” He cupped her chin. “But you sure as hell aren’t going out there—” he stabbed a finger toward the door “—until we have a plan.”

Her back stiffened, and she jerked out of his hold. “A plan? Don’t you think I’ve thought through every possible solution?”

He climbed off the bed and scanned the room. “Do you have anything to eat in here?”

Why wasn’t he badgering her with questions? She pointed at the trunk.

As he strode around the mattress, his eyes held hers, heavy with intent. “We’ll walk through our options after you eat.”

Clearly, she was no longer steering this…whatever this was. Not that she’d ever really gained control of him. The thought both petrified and thrilled her, a testament to how wildly her world was tilting on end. She knew she should order him to strip and kneel and kiss her feet. She also knew if she peeled away the layers of bullshit around her heart, she’d find a hopeful girl who wanted him stubborn and fierce and whole, exactly as he was.

He returned with an armful of energy bars, apple chips, bottled water, and surprisingly, one of her long nightshirts. “I thought this might make you more comfortable.”

Her heart tripped. The shirt was a kindness she wasn’t accustomed to receiving and certainly didn’t deserve, considering his week-long nudity. She slipped it on, her insides quivering with the realization that he could destroy her at a fundamental level. She’d hidden her vulnerability by pretending not to care, but in the span of a week, he’d sliced a deep cut in her mask.

He unwrapped an energy bar, folded her fingers around it, and pulled her legs over his lap. Then he regarded her, one hand curled around her calf. Not eating, he seemed content with watching and waiting.

After a few deliberating moments and two energy bars, she told him everything. Her kidnapping. Her slave training. The loss of her virginity. The day she was sold. The pregnancy and the scar.

He listened without interrupting, his hand soothing the shivers along her leg, his eyes unwavering. She maintained a steady monologue until she reached the part about Mattie’s adoption and the conditions of her arrangement. Her voice thickened, and her heart ached with memories and longing. “The videos are the only assurance he gives me.”

“Which is why you wanted your phone. No text is good news?”

She nodded, crumbling under the reminder that she still had a job to do and a slave she couldn’t train. His attention honed on her change in breathing and the wobble in her chin.

He gathered her in his lap and scooted to lean against the wall. He touched her brow, her cheek, and the line of her neck, the tenderness melting her against his solid body. “You know exactly how I felt when you locked me in the box, huh?”

Guilt squeezed her gut. “Which makes what I did a hundred times worse.” She stared at him, miserable and conflicted about what to do next. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands gripped her waist, lifting her and adjusting her legs to straddle his hips.

“What are you—”

His thumbs pressed against her lips, his palms cupping her jaw. Bound by the strength of his gaze, her body went completely still as his thumbs parted, sliding over her cheeks to join his fingers. There was no hint of harshness in his demeanor. His eyes shifted between hers and dropped to her mouth. His lips parted.

Oh God, was he going to kiss her? A sudden rush of hope blasted through her, and she rode that gust, the filthy perimeter of her existence sweeping away. He lowered his head, and she could only squeeze her eyes shut and anticipate the connection, his acceptance, and maybe his forgiveness.

His lips touched hers, achingly sweet, soft, cautious. A chill replaced the sensation as he leaned back. His breath released, taking hers with it. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

They stared at one another, faces just a kiss apart, and it was the most intimate moment she’d ever experienced. As he looked at her, the pale glow of his eyes softened, asking without words, Is this okay?

She nodded, her body liquefying in the cradle of his lap, molding against his tense abs and thighs.

His fingers flexed on her back, and he swept forward, taking her mouth, opening her lips with the warm flesh of his. Beneath the spice of toothpaste, she tasted his natural purity, his breath flavored with sweetness and hope.

With his hands spread over the rise of her ass, he pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, his tongue chasing and tangling with hers. She devoured the heat of his mouth, the strength of his embrace, the precision of his movements. Neither submissive nor forceful, he clutched her hips and controlled the rock of her pelvis. His strong jaw guided the speed and motion of her mouth, his lips burning a trail of sparks as his whiskers scratched a pleasurable twinge across her skin.

His chest heaved, and a moan rumbled in his throat. She savored the response, wanted to hear more, feel him closer. She wanted to crawl inside of him. She slid her hands down his chest and slipped under the hem. Gliding back up the warm taut brawn of his abs and the velvet skin wrapping his pecs, she paused over the beat of his heart against her palm.