Page 14 of Under His Control

I nodded, glad for her help. Some dad I was, letting a virtual stranger watch over my baby. I had a good sense about her, though. She seemed intelligent and trustworthy, and I appreciated her eagerness to assist me in something I felt like I was lacking in.

“If you’ll be sticking around, we can set her up for a pediatric checkup, too,” she said before she left me.

Now, though, in the morning light, I wondered if Olivia and I would be hanging around for a while. Or at all.

“Good morning,” I told Olivia.

She sat in the crib-like bed, peering up at me like she wasn’t sure who to expect. After thirteen months of only seeing her mother or the daycare owner, I was a big change. Maybe after last night, she wanted to see Danicia again.

“Or maybe it’s not a good morning,” I grumbled. Trying to keep a smile on my face, I willed my hangover headache to go away as I reached for her. If I could figure out a natural hold, how to actually carry her without it looking and feeling awkward, I bet I’d be minimally more confident about this fatherhood thing.

But I wasn’t. I was an only child, raised by my grandparents. I didn’t have younger cousins or anyone with babies to be near. Tessa was my childhood friend, but I never knew her when she was too young. I was woefully unprepared, but I made sure Olivia was secure in my arms as I walked over to the kitchenette.

“Water for me. Milk for you?” The daycare owner who watched over Olivia until I arrived said that she liked to listen to her talk. Just rambling, or even talking to herself. Hearing people talk was a distraction she swore by, but I wasn’t sure when I’d get used to it. I seldom vocalized my thoughts for myself, and doing so now was weird.

“Yeah?” I asked, looking down into her innocent blue eyes. “Milk?”

“Ba-ba.” Her small hand patted my chest, and I smiled.

“Bottle?”

She repeated the babble faster, likely her best attempt of sayingbottle. Once I grabbed it out of the small fridge, she took it and quickly drank.

“I’ll get my own,” I quipped as I snatched a water bottle. Last night, I had too many of the wrong bottles and glasses, but I was sure that water and some painkillers would erase the remnants of how much I drank.

But not her.

I sat on the couch, letting Olivia lean against me as she had her milk. Stretching back slightly, I yawned again and tried to shove away the thoughts of Eva that trickled in too quickly. Now that I revisited what I’d done last night, I struggled to banish her from my mind.

I’d slept with countless women over the years, but I’d never, ever done something like that. A quickie during a party where I knew next to no one. Calling a woman a slut and being so bossy.

But she liked it.

That was the kicker. Eva had seemed to get hotter and go wild when I degraded her and scolded her about being a brat, diva, and slut.

I drank my water, marveling at how… intense it was. She’d pushed and poked at me so much that I’d snapped. All night, since meeting her, I'd struggled with her antagonistic attitude.That give-and-take nature that formed between us was exciting, and it culminated so quickly in the most final way possible.

With my dick deep inside her warm pussy.

Shit.I rubbed my face and groaned.I’ve got to stop thinking about her.It was done. It was over. Short and sexy. That would be the end of my moment with Eva because there was no way in hell she’d give me her attention again. Not with the way she ran out as soon as we’d come.

Olivia stopped drinking and looked at me. I blinked and stared down at her, unsure whether I should talk or what.

Her bottle, now mostly empty, dropped to her lap as she reached up both hands and rubbed over my face. Starting at my jaw, she pushed her tiny fingers up to my cheek, then back down. She saw me rub my face, and now she thought to do the same.

My lips curled up in a smile, and she did the same, babbling and moving on to patting my cheeks.

As we connected, as I let her touch my face and play, I forgot about my water bottle. It tipped, spilling over my lap and hers. Splashing up into her face was all it took to startle her, not to mention the cold liquid seeping into her clothes.

“Shit. Okay. Okay. Let’s clean up.” I stood, holding her out so water could drip down. Already, she was fussing and crying, unhappy about being wet and cold. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” I brought her over to the bed, holding her against me as I searched for her bag.

She’d need new clothes and whatnot. I’d brought all that she had, but it didn’t seem like a lot. Pamela seemed to be a minimalist sort of woman. “Crunchy” was how the daycare owner described her, preferring few toys, simple clothes, and the least amount of traditional baby gear as possible. As I rooted through the bag of Olivia’s things, I hated that the smaller bag inside it that held dirty clothes surpassed what was left in the clean pile.

“You need some more things, kid,” I told her as I set her on the bed.

I’d asked the daycare owner how to change a diaper when I picked her up, and even that had been a crash course. Googling didn’t help much. Watching a tutorial on someone changing a plastic doll was not the same as the hands-on experience of changing a real baby’s diaper.

Not to mention getting arms and legs in the right holes.

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