Page 58 of Cherry Auction

“I’ll take it from here,” Professor Roberts says. I know it’s right that she should.

But then Brooke makes that pathetic noise again and clings tighter to my neck.

I squeeze her possessively to my chest and shake my head. “I don’t think my kitten wants that. Thank you for your help, Professor Roberts, but I’ve got it from here. I’ll give my good girl proper aftercare and get her to bed.”

Professor Roberts’s eyes go hard. “Where? In your kennel downstairs?”

Brooke’s fingers dig into my neck. She can sense the other woman’s anger. She’s so sensitive right now, like all her nerves are frayed and she’s reactive to the tiniest shift of mood around her.

“Shhh,” I say, running my palm over her head, cupping her to me. “Pet will sleep in my bed tonight after the bath.”

“Really?” Brooke says, lifting her head from my chest to look me in the eye.

I’m so gratified to hear her voice that I barely notice Professor Roberts and Caleb taking a step back in the background.

Brooke actually talking must have proved something to the Professor if she’s finally backing off. I have no doubt she’ll be watching my every move on the cameras from now on, but I don’t give a shit.

I’m lost in Brooke’s pleased, surprised eyes. She might still be in a dissociative state, but at least she’s mostly making eye-contact instead of staring off into nothingness.

“Really,” I smile gently, trying to rebuild trust with her. The real kind, if that’s even possible at this point. It doesn’t matter, though.

All that matters is pulling her back from the brink. The Professor said aftercare could provide a bridge back to reality. So I’m going to give the best aftercare any dom ever aftercare’d.

“You’ll get to snuggle side by side with me in my arms. It’ll be warm and safe. But first, let’s get you cleaned up, all right?”

Brooke nods, still not losing eye contact with me.

That’s better. When she’s in full-on kitty mode, there’s no eye contact.

“I’m going to carry you to the bathroom now.”

She nods, staring at me as if mesmerized. There’s still something not quite right in her eyes. She looks spacy. Not quite here with me.

C’mon, Brooke. If you survived years with that evil, malicious bastard, you’re strong enough to survive a week with me being a psychotic asshole, aren’t you?

I don’t want to contemplate the particulars of that fucked up question.

I take her to my huge bathroom and look back and forth between the bathtub and the multi-headed shower. There’s abench in the shower, but the multi-jets in the sauna-like bathtub might help ease any aches or soreness she might have.

In the end, I turn off the bath and opt for the shower instead. I want her to feel completely clean, and the multi-showerheads can accomplish it best. We can always revisit the tub tomorrow.

I unpeel the fluffy blanket that’s still partially wrapped around Brooke, kick off my shoes, and walk into the shower after it starts steaming. I’m still wearing clothes, but I don’t give a shit.

I sit us down on the wide bench as steam envelops us, her on my lap with her legs to the side.

“Warm,” Brooke says, holding out a hand tentatively towards the central spray.

“That’s a good girl,” I encourage.

She yanks her hand back when it makes contact with the water and hides her face in my now damp shirt again.

“It’s alright,” I soothe. “The warm water will feel good on your body. We’re going to get you clean now.”

She shakes her head slightly.

She needs me to have my shit together right now and take control. Fuck knows I need it too. So I make my voice firm. Unyielding. “Good kitties take baths when their owner tells them to.”

She blinks up at me. “Good kitty?”

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