Page 209 of Daddy’s Obsession

She was all right. She was safe. She was fine.

It was so stupid. It was just a bath. She could have easily stood up.

But she hadn’t stood, had she? She’d just laid there like an idiot. And if he hadn’t been there . . .

Gray wrapped a towel around her, then grabbed another one and carried her out to the bedroom. Her teeth chattered.

He set her down on the sofa. Shoot. She shouldn’t sit on the sofa while she was still wet. He flicked on the gas fire, even though it wasn’t that cold, then lay one towel down on the floor in front of it.

Turning back to her, he pointed at the towel. “Lie on your back there.”

“I . . . I can . . .”

“On your back there,” he repeated quietly.

Once she was lying down, he started drying her off. He was brusque and quick, but not rough.

He helped her sit up so he could wrap her long hair in a towel.

“Lie back down.”

“Daddy,” she whispered.

“I’m going to look after you,” he told her. “Just got to get you warm first.”

He quickly grabbed some pajamas out of one of her drawers. Pale purple with an image of a French Bulldog on the front blowing kisses, they were a birthday gift from Isaiah

Gray dressed her in them without a word. He didn’t even bother with panties. Not that she was complaining. Then he wrapped her in a blanket, holding her tight as he settled her on his lap in the rocking chair.

He rocked her in silence and she nuzzled at his chest until her breathing evened out and the fear had left her.

“I’m all right, Daddy.”

“Fuck, girl. Fuck. This has to stop.”

“Are you . . . you’re right. But I . . . I don’t know how.”

He rubbed her back and nuzzled at the top of her head. “You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack. Or turn my hair gray.”

“Then you’d be gray-haired Gray. Get it?” she teased softly, trying to lighten the mood. She was drained. Again.

She knew that it had only been a short time, but was it normal to feel this . . . this scared? Traumatized?

“That was terrible.”

“It really was,” she said. “I . . . I might need to speak to someone.”

He grunted.

“I don’t want to. I don’t like therapists.”

He sighed.

“And what would I say when I don’t remember anything? No, going to a therapist would be dumb. And I can’t afford it. Yeah, I haven’t got any money.”

“Money ain’t a worry for you anymore, girl.”

“What do you mean? How can money not be a worry?” The fact that she didn’t have any should be a concern. Although she tried not to waste too much time thinking about it.

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