Page 60 of Good Girl

I’m pretty sure everything in my life will be forever marked as before the weekend and after the weekend. Honestly, meeting these four men has been one of the best moments of my life. Maybe even the actual best.

No, wait. The actual best was when I received my acceptance letter to Newton University, along with the scholarship offers. That was the best moment of my life. The group home manager had been waiting for me by the door, a grin on her face and a thick envelope in her hand, when I arrived home from school.

I close my eyes as the emotions from the memory turn warm and wash over me.

And then I force my eyes back open. I don’t open that box very often because it’s just too much.

Empty hazel eyes stare back at me, still as a lake with the first frost.

“Please, Daddy.” My words remain quiet, and just when I think he isn’t going to shift, he raises his arm. I gently move Darcy’s arm from my stomach, down to the mattress, and then wiggle out from under his leg.

As more skin is exposed to the cool air, I heave a sigh of relief. I manage to creep out from under the blanket without disturbing Darcy and end up sitting on my pillow. Xavier watches me the entire time, the amused glint in his eye betraying his enjoyment at my awkwardness.

I stick my tongue out at him. He grins outright. Then he gestures down the bed, a silent command, and I am forced to crawl to the foot, since he doesn’t move an inch to give me any additional room. As I make it to the end and slip off to stand, I turn to face the bed to study our sleeping arrangements.

Derek is asleep on the outside of Xavier, and Hudson is on the outside of Darcy, in the space where I slept the previous night. All of us slept together in the giant bed. I can barely remember them helping me shower and dress, let alone being put to bed like a child. I do remember the entire bottle of water they had me drink though, and so does my bladder. All I know is that I felt safe and content as the darkness of sleep slipped into the warm and fuzzy place and taken me on its tide.

Quietly, I sneak around the bed, through the walk-in, and enter the en suite, gently closing the door behind me. I do my business, then splash water on my face. Somehow, they managed to get me into boy shorts and one of the thigh-length satin nightgowns that magically appeared in my lingerie haul on Friday.

Turning my back to the mirror, I drop the straps on the baby pink dress and check out my back. Only a few faint purple blemishes remain across my shoulders. I fix the straps, thengather as much of the skirt as I can and check out my lower back. There are a few marks there, as well as one solid line that runs diagonally from my left hip to my right ribs.

How long will they last?

Not long enough.

With that thought, I drop the skirt and leave the bathroom. I’m not going to remind myself that this arrangement is for one weekend. A promise to myself that I have continually broken since arriving at the apartment. I’m definitely not going to think that their care of me has anything to do with caring about me, rather than what is stipulated in our contract.

Because, the fact of the matter is, they don’t actually care about me, only the access I grant them to my body. They just want to get their kinky sex rocks off for a few days. Today is the last day of that. I have no idea what the time is, but I am sure we are in the single digits for our remaining time together.

Peering around the corner that leads back into the bedroom, I spy only three bodies in the bed and that the bedroom door is left the tiniest bit ajar. On tiptoe, I dash past and out the door, not wanting to disturb any of the men. I have no idea if they are morning people, but I don’t want to risk it.

Waking people up when they are sleeping, even if it’s for an emergency, is a dangerous thing. Tray hates to be woken up, even if he is oversleeping. One bruised cheekbone was enough to teach me that lesson.

Xavier’s tattooed and naked back taunts me from the kitchen, and I walk toward him, the soles of my feet cool against the wooden floor. I keep my attention on his back and definitely do not glance to my right at all the things they have left on display there. I do not want any hints as to what might be coming my way later today.

As far as I am concerned, that area of the apartment doesn’t exist unless they want me to see it. Curiosity is not going to kill this kitty.

I take a seat at the kitchen island, the metal seat of the stool cool on the backs of my thighs. Before I can make myself known, inked forearms appear in front of me as well as a mug filled with steaming brown water and a tea bag. A pot of sugar, a spoon, and milk quickly follow. I make eye contact with Xavier, and he raises his own mug to his lips.

Well, okay, then.

I’ve never been one for tea, but I figure, with enough sugar, I can make it tolerable. After heaping several spoons of sugar and a healthy dash of milk, I bring the now-lukewarm drink to my lips.

Eh, not bad. Still prefer hot chocolate. Or an iced mocha with whipped cream and caramel sauce. I’ve had exactly three of those, and I’m pretty sure they are what heaven is made of.

He turns his back on me and busies himself with something at the other end of the kitchen. I take the opportunity to study the artwork that inks the skin of his back.

The main focal point is the woman’s face across his right shoulder blade. Her mascara is smudged, with black and red tears running down her cheeks. Her tiara is askew, and her long dark hair is done in a thick braid that runs across her chest, covering one breast, while the other remains exposed. Inside the hair and all around her face are roses, and at first, I think it looks quite romantic.

But then I notice the thorns that press into her flesh, the skin red around each point. There are words written in what I assume is Latin, leaving me completely in the dark as to what they mean.

Nulla voluptas sine dolore.

There are other things around her and the roses, but I’m too captured by the scripted letters to pay them any mind.

I run my eyes over them, again and again, trying to commit them to memory so that I can look them up later. Once I can actually see the words in my mind when I close my eyes, I’m certain that I’ll remember them.

Taking a sip of my tea, I slowly turn to look at the less threatening portion of the apartment. My gaze lands on the dark leather couch and TV, then drops to the floor where my red pillow and art supplies remain.

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