Page 66 of Little Blue

There’s a pause. I’m dying to ask about her now, but she presses, “You’re very busy, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“If you manage to keep me as your prisoner, do you intend to leave me often while you’re away on business?”

“I will keep you, Irelynn. But I will keep you as my wife.” A shiver passes through her body that I feel in the palm of my hands. “And, although I would like to bring you with me always, there are times that I will leave you here. For your own safety.”

“I’ll never marry you, Ilya.” When I don’t bother to reply, she huffs a sigh. “Tell me about your parents.”

“My father is—” I pause. “He’s a very successful, very dangerous man. He loves my mother fiercely.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She smarts, and I can just imagine that she’s rolling her eyes. My lovely, brave Little Blue. Before I can respond, she presses, “Does your father kill people, too?”

I don’t answer as I grip her shoulders, pulling her back into the water to rinse the soap from her back and arms. The swell of her breasts draws my eye, and I can’t help but take in the pretty pink peaks of her nipples.

I want to lean forward and flick the tip of one with my tongue. I want to suck on the other.

My groin tightens.

I stand, moving to the foot of the tub, I sit on the ledge. She watches me with guarded curiosity as I dip my hand into the water to close my fingers around one slender ankle. I’m impressed, and a little surprised, when she cocks a daring brow at me when I pointedly steal a glance at her naked, on display, body. She doesn’t even bother to cover herself.

Does that mean she likes when I look? Does she want me to look?

Is she hungry for me now like I am for her?

For the first time in my life, I wish I had more experience with women. I have plenty of experience fucking them. Or I did in my earlier years, when I was chasing the gratification of my own release. As the years passed, the chasing slowed. I tried for interest, and failed to find any in any of the women I gave my time.

Without interest, I’d never bothered to learn to read the subtle signs of a woman’s desire. Before her, I’d never bothered. I took when the urge struck, and walked away when I was done.

I endeavor to watch her closely now. I lift her foot onto my lap, spreading her legs just enough that her cunt is on display. Fuck, she’s perfect.

And my cock is hard, straining against my pants.

Like I rubbed soap into her back, I start again at her foot. Swiping my thumb with pressure along the arch of her foot, I watch, enthralled, as she lets her head relax against the back of the tub, lips parting in silent pleasure because she hasn’t allowed one of her little moans free yet.

“It’s your turn, Little Blue. I want to hear about you now.”

My hand moves to her ankle, then her calf, working into the muscle. This time, she frees a moan that pushes the monster an inch closer to his ledge. “Unlike you, I was an only child.” Her eyes close, and a soft smile I’ve yet to see touches her lips. My heart skips. She’s beautiful. “I was a happy kid. Mom and Dad both loved me, but when Mom died unexpectedly—she went under anesthesia and never woke—I realized that Dad loved her more than he ever loved me.”

Her smile turns sad, trembling on her lips.

My hands stall. My heart seizes. For a moment, I’m rendered breathless.

She begins again, a haunting lilt to the sadness in her voice. “He made me waffles for breakfast one morning. They were my favorite. When she was alive, Mom made them every Sunday morning, with berries and whip cream drizzled in syrup and sprinkled with icing sugar.” A single tear slides from one closed eye to slide down her face. I hold my breath. “He hugged me tight and told me he loved me before I left for school. It was six months after Mom—after she—died.” Her voice cracks, pain seeping from a small sob. “I found him when I came home after school that day. The stack of waffles was crusty on the counter, the waffle iron open and unplugged next to a bowl of hard batter. At first, I thought he was asleep.”

Her eyes open to connect with mine. Sadness swims in the blue.

I croak, “Little Blue…”

“The empty container of pills was on the nightstand. I didn’t register the reality when I first saw it, either. He was lying in bed. He was pale, but he’d been pale since we lost her.” She doesn’t bother to flick away the tears that stream steadily down her face.

She’s beautiful, even when she cries.

“He was holding a big armful of her clothes, his face buried into the fabric as though he’d fallen asleep inhaling the scent of her.” She doesn’t tear her eyes from mine as I listen to her recount a terrible past, I would do anything to erase. “I didn’t realize he was dead until I touched him. He was so cold—” the word hitches on a sharp, bladelike sob. It cuts deep into me. Flaying me. “I was put into the foster system from there. I was fifteen.”

“Irelynn,” I start, but she interrupts me.

“I’m not done.” She pulls her foot from my lap and sits up in the water. Her blue eyes swim, but I hear anger in the sadness. “It wasn’t a good home. My foster father drank too much, and my foster mother hated her life, and everyone in it. She numbed herself with soap operas and pills, but I was too afraid to do anything that would have my life uprooted again, so I never complained. I was quiet, and I kept to my room. I didn’t want to be another foster horror story.”

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