Page 195 of Unexpected Hero

I love that she calls me that now. It falls off her tongue so easily.

“No, sugar. I saw something shift in you. What’s wrong? Are you overwhelmed? Second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just...” Her words trail off, and her eyes fall to my chest.

I rub circles over her low back, where it peeks out from the bottom of the corset. “Take your time, Lettie. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Her chin quivers. A sinking feeling settles low in my gut.

“Sugar bear, we should go to an aftercare room so we can talk without anyone hearing us. Are you okay with that?”

She jerks her head back up. “But you didn’t... uh... finish.”

“Do you think I could come knowing my girl is on the verge of tears?”

One side of her face twitches, and she blinks repeatedly. “That’s the second time you said that tonight.”

“Said what, baby?”

“You called me your girl.”

My head cricks to the side, confusion addling my brain. “Well, aren’t you my girl?”

She licks her lips. “I feel like I am, and I want to be. But before tonight, you never said it that way. We haven’t put a label on this yet or had the talk. I guess I’m looking for clarification about what you mean when you call me that.”

People. They make no damn sense.

Clearly, I’ve done something wrong if she’s unsure of my intentions. Not sure why I’m surprised by that. Did I really expect to do any of this right?

Putting an official label on our relationship is unnecessary to my way of thinking. What’s it going to change? I have no plans to be with anyone else, and I’d bet my life she doesn’t either. I don’t need a verbal discussion to reassure me of that.

Freya’s warning from earlier runs through my mind.

The last thing I want to do is hurt Lettie.

“Let’s go to the other room, baby. We should have privacy for this talk. I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.”

She nods and shifts her weight off me. I remove the condom and quickly throw on my clothes. She pulls her panties on, this time slipping them over the garter. On our way out, I flip the switch, signaling the room is vacant but needs cleaning.

Once we’re in the hallway, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tuck her close to my side. Before we hit the main room, we take the side hallway that leads to a bank of cozy aftercare suites.As soon as I find an empty room, I pull her inside and close the door.

It’s a small space with muted lighting, soft gray walls, and a small table with a few basic supplies — bottled water, tissues, lotion, and other things that might be needed after a scene. A giant plush bean bag chair sits in the center of the room, easily large enough for three adults.

I crawl onto the bag, motioning for her to follow me.

“You don’t strike me as the beanbag type,” she says as she joins me.

We lie on our sides, facing each other. I prop my head on my fist and trail my other hand over her cheek and down to her shoulder. As if we’re thinking the same thing, we simultaneously shift our bodies closer.

She buries her face in my chest, and I wrap both arms around her, letting my head fall to the beanbag. Her legs weave with mine.

My heart swells with affection for her. It’s taken some time for me to process my emotions to identify that sensation. But it’s becoming more apparent the longer I’m around her.

I adore her.

It terrifies me how much she’s come to mean to me since she arrived in Florida a few months ago. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

Except tell her the truth about myself, apparently.

---