Page 95 of Good Girl

D. H. D. X.

It’s basically a claim of ownership.

I love it.

Xavier holds out a hand for me, and I slip mine into his. I’m taller than him when I step between his thighs, so I wrap my arms around his shoulders, slide my fingers into his sandy-brown curls, and hug him to me.

His arms tighten around my lower back, and we stand there, with his head pillowed against my tits. I lower my face and press a kiss to the top of his head. When the hug ends, he holds my hips in his hands and looks up at me.

“There are bandages in your bag, with antiseptic cream. I want morning and night photos of all the cuts,” he orders, his voice even.

I instantly picture the cuts on either side of my pussy from when he had cut my panties off. “All of the cuts?” I manage to squeak out.

He smirks. “All of them.”

All I can manage is a nod. Sounds like I’ll be sending snatch snaps.

Xavier gives my hips a quick, painful squeeze before shifting in his seat and reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a small black wallet, then pulls out a card that looks vaguely familiar.

“This will give you access to the building, elevator, and the door to this apartment. If you lose it, notify me immediately. You are free to come to the apartment whenever you like.” Xavier offers me the card, and I can’t help but gape at it.

“I can come here whenever I want?”

He raises my hand for me, then presses the card into my palm, his eye contact never faltering. “Yes. Whenever you want.”

He doesn’t give me any more after that. Just helps me to wrap my fingers around the key and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

Adjusting my hold on the key, I step away from him and turn back to Derek. He already has the duffel over one shoulder and is still holding on to the handle of my luggage. Hudson has my backpack in his hands, ready for it to be slipped onto my back.

As I am helped into the white bag’s shoulder straps, Derek explains everything that is going to happen for the next little while. “We’ve all agreed that we are going to let you have some time to yourself tonight. No texting, no calls. You, however, are free to reach out to us whenever you need to. And we expect you to contact us if you start to feel sad, worried, nervous, anxious, etcetera. No holding back. We can’t help if you hide it from us, and we really want to help, so please, let us.”

I scoop my hair over one shoulder as he talks and nod the entire time. Exhaustion is hitting me, but I get what he is saying. “I promise to call one of you if I start to feel droppy.”

Derek smiles down at me and cups my cheek. “Droppy. I like that term. Message or call us if you feel droppy.” He takes a breath, then indicates to the hallway that leads to the door. “Ready to go?”

I want to scream no, that I want to stay. I don’t want to leave this bubble. What if, after they give me all this space they are talking about, they realize I’m not worth it? I’m not worth their time, their effort, their money?

But then I touch my fingers to the pendant at my wrist, and I shut the thoughts down. They keep saying they want me and that they aren’t going anywhere. Now I just need to believe them.

I need to trust them.

Straightening, I try to smile for Derek, but I know it’s strained. “Yep.”

I’m one-thousand-percent not, but I follow him to the door. I do not look back. My heart, which has grown in size and now takes up the entire cavity of my chest, simply won’t be able to take whatever emotions they have on their faces. I’ll just end up making a fool of myself by running back to them and begging them to let me stay.

Derek holds open the door for me, and I quickly dash out into the corridor. We walk in silence all the way to the elevator, the only sound the occasional muffled noises from the other apartments and our feet shushing against the carpet.

I make it to the elevator first and hit the down button, and when Derek steps up behind me, I lean back into him. Heat from his body coats my shoulders, but he doesn’t let the bags go. We stand there, with me resting against him while we wait.

The elevator down is even less dramatic. I keep sneaking looks at him, but besides taking my hand in his, he remains stoic. As soon as the doors open, he steps out, once again keeping the doorway open. There is a new security guard at the desk, and Derek shoots a nod in his direction as we pass by on our way to the glass doors.

Derek swipes his card, just like how Darcy had on Friday night, and the doors glide open. As soon as he stops on the sidewalk with my luggage and duffel, a particularly devoted cab driver pulls up next to us.

“Are you doing okay?” Derek asks as the cab driver pops the trunk.

I nod, but I’m back to needing to cry.

He goes to the back of the car and quickly puts the bags in before returning to me and taking my hands. He places my palms on his chest and cuddles me to him. “Is this sad because you don’t want to leave us, or do we need to go back up to the apartment for some more aftercare?”

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