Page 35 of Chasing Amber

“Good girl.”

She bites her bottom lip at the praise. My girl likes praise.

After I remove the bandage, I grab a damp cloth and clean around the edges of the wound. It looks good. It’s not red or swollen. I dab some petroleum jelly on it next. She winces slightly but says nothing.

“It looks good, baby. In a few weeks, no one will know you cut yourself.” I tuck one finger under her chin, tip her head back farther, and hold her gaze. My face is inches from hers. I have never kissed her. I need to feel her lips more than I need my next breath.

She’s not pulling away, even when I glance at her lips. I won’t make a big deal out of it, especially not while she’s in Little space. But I want to claim her, and my lips will do that.

Cocking my head slightly to one side, I lower my lips to hers for a soft, brief, gentle kiss. I pull back slowly, liking the way her eyes have glazed.

“I’m going to fix you some breakfast. Why don’t you get dressed?”

She gives me a slight nod.

I lift her off the counter, turn her toward the bedroom, and guide her forward. I want to dress her myself, but again, we’re not there. We’re in a weird place for now. I’m already silently rushing her. I won’t push my luck.

When I get to the door, I turn back. “This door stays open from now on, understood?”

She looks at me with those wide eyes and nods. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” I don’t move for a few more seconds because I can’t draw my gaze away from her. I’m magnetically pulled toward her. She has never looked cuter than she does right now, standing only a few yards away from me, wearing nothing but white bikini panties and a tight white tank top. Her hair is a tangle all around her.

I finally back out of the room, leaving the door open, and head for my bedroom. Our previous sleeping arrangement is over. There are things I might not rush her on for the time being, but my girl is sleeping in my arms from now on.

I quickly change into jeans and a T-shirt. It’s my usual attire, even when we’re out. It helps me blend in, so it’s not so obvious to everyone around that she has a bodyguard following her.

Over time, I have stopped following Amber anyway. I usually stand next to her. I’m always carefully looking around to make sure there are no threats, but to the average person, I’m sure I look like her boyfriend.

That arrangement is no longer going to be questionable because, from now on, I will have a hand on her back orthread our fingers together. Any doubts in anyone’s mind will be obliterated.

I have bacon sizzling in one pan and scrambled eggs in another when Amber joins me in the kitchen. I do a doubletake because she’s wearing a dress, but then I remember we’re meeting with a gallery owner today.

Even though Amber wears torn jeans and paint-splattered shirts at home and even out running errands, she has a more professional side that comes out when she’s selling art. She puts on makeup, heels, and sexy dresses when we meet people, and she can look like a beauty queen when she has an exhibition at an art gallery.

Today’s dress is black. It’s made of a silky material that hugs her breasts perfectly and extends down her body to the floor with a slit up the side. She has on black wedge sandals that make the dress look more casual. If she wore a diamond necklace and gold strappy heels, the dress would look like an expensive evening gown.

Her hair is mostly down, with the front section gathered up in a black clip on top of her head. Her makeup is soft and subtle. She is so fucking gorgeous.

I stare at her for so long that she eventually chuckles. “The bacon is going to burn, big guy.”

I roll my eyes and turn back to lift the slices out of the pan. My girl is in her adult headspace. I wonder how she switches. Is it the clothes? She’s going to give me whiplash if I have to keep guessing which Amber I’m getting.

I dish up two plates of food, including buttered toast, and set them on the table before adding glasses of orange juice and mugs of coffee. I’ve already prepared Amber’s the way she likes it—with way more cream and sugar than coffee.

“What time is my appointment?” she asks as she takes a seat where she always sits.

“Eleven.”

“Do you mind if we make a few stops before that? Do we have time?”

“We have plenty of time. Where would you like to go?”

“I was hoping to stop at that art supply store near the gallery and pop into that cute boutique on the corner. The one that always has the colorfully dressed mannequins in the display window.”

I nod. I know the one she’s talking about. I’ve taken her there several times. “Shall we leave about nine?”

“That would be perfect.” She pushes her food around on her plate with her fork. She hasn’t taken a bite yet. Finally, she draws in a deep breath and looks at me. “Isaac, I…” She swallows.

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