Page 50 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

I discipline myself with one simple truth:I rejected her.

It would be cruel to fall into the sway of these urges after everything I’ve done to her and been forced to leave unresolved. No—choseto leave unresolved. There's so much I’ve never told her and I keep having to come back to that reality in winding circles. I can't consider a future with her despite the urges of my body or my heart, not with the ugly past I left her bleeding out in.

But despite this, I-...

Gwen stands up, and I can look nowhere else.

The way she inclines her head when she turns to look at me makes my heart shudder. Even that alone stands to ruin me. I watch her gently blink and I want to wake up to those eyes.

“Thorn,” she hails me.

“Mm?”

“Hungry?”

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and silently swallow.

“Very.”

She nods and walks towards me, and I admire the sway of her graceful hips—it’s not some voluptuous sashay, but a note of delicacy in her otherwise firm posture that entices so many of my worst appetites.

“Want anything in particular?”

My hands on your hips and you crying out my name.

“Hrm. Nothing comes to mind.”

She reaches out to grab my coffee mug from the table and I reflexively catch her wrist. I see her eyes flare wide and hear every delicious whisper of her breath hitching at the touch. I know it's not just her being surprised. Not with the tremble on the exhale, the softness to those wide eyes as they look to me, and certainly not the extra trace of color beneath the cloud of freckles on her cheeks.

We stare at each other, neither saying a word.

I know, deep down, that she wants me. It's there in all her little mannerisms. It's there in the bond. The airsingswith it. And god, I want to make her sing. It won’t take much to have her moaning again like she did beneath me days ago. She must be so sensitive…

A mournful cry bubbles up and steals the silence away, and both of us flinch and whirl our attention to the baby sat alone in his little playing spot on the floor. He bashes a toy against his foot and rocks in place, clearly upset over something.

I let go of Gwen's hand and we both bolt over to him. I get there first and sweep him up into my arms.

“Shhshhshh. What's wrong?”

I hurriedly look him over, trying to get a sense from all the possible queues why he's distressed.

“He liked how I was shaking it more, I think.”

I look to Gwen, and then to the little rattler she’s picked up off the floor. She gives it a quick series of shakes along some almost musical rhythm. From the way he does a wobbly perk in my arms and gets a fixated look on his face, I think she’s right.

She bows in closer and repeats the pattern, which wins her a smile and teary giggle.

“There we go,” she croons out in a soft, rich lilt. “There's his smile. We want a happy boy. Do you wanna be a happy boy?”

Rowan laughs, little hands groping out towards her.

It's the sweetest betrayal I've ever suffered.

Gwen looks up at me a bit sheepishly, but I just surrender defeat with a chuckle and offer him out. She gets him nicely nestled against her with one arm and bounces away, the rattle going in her other hand.

“Thank you,” she murmurs almost timidly.

“I should thank you.”

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