Page 80 of Papa's Bébé
But she felt her mouth grow dry and she swallowed heavily.
“Listen to me,” he said firmly. “I am not taking your bed. Not. Happening. You sleep in here on your strawberry sheets. I will sleep on the sofa.”
He would?
“You can’t.”
“I can. Or I can make myself a bed in the other bedroom. I’m used to roughing it.”
“But you’re a guest. You should sleep here and I should rough it.”
“I’m not a guest,” he replied. “I’m here to take care of you. That’s my job. And I can’t do that by kicking you out of your bed.”
It was his job. He wasn’t saying this because he liked her.
But it was hard to convince her body that he wasn’t interested in her. Her body wanted to melt into him and beg him to never let her go.
He was being so . . . so nice. She wasn’t used to men like this, men who put other people’s comfort before their own, and it was confusing.
“Tell me you understand,” he said firmly.
“I understand.”
“Good,” he replied. “Now, I’m going to remind you again, what are you supposed to be doing?”
“Umm.” Drat! Her mind had gone blank. How had that happened?
“You are supposed to be resting. On the sofa. Not changing sheets on the bed.”
Oh heck.
“But I feel good now.”
A slight exaggeration. She was still tired and a bit light-headed.
“Right. That’s why you’re pale and light-headed.”
Crap! He could tell? She was going to have to remember how observant he was. It was really inconvenient for her.
“You’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if you do not start obeying me, little girl,” he warned.
Little girl?
Holy. Heck.
Why did she like that? It was worse than liking ‘good girl.’
And what sort of trouble was he talking about?
Do not ask.
Do. Not.
Sometimes she was just better off not knowing.
Just nod and pretend to agree. He can’t watch you all the time.
Right. Except that was literally his job.
