Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 166103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 831(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 166103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 831(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
“What would you like?” he asked.
“I’ll just have the muesli and yogurt,” she said.
He grunted. When the server returned with their drinks, he ordered her muesli as well as a big breakfast for him.
“Owen?” she said once they were alone.
“Yeah, baby girl?”
“What if they don’t come? What will we do?” She still wasn’t sure they would.
He snorted. “They will. Don’t worry about that.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said. “I always worry.”
“And you need to stop.”
She had to bite back a sigh. He was crazy. He seemed to think it was that easy.
If only.
She reached for her coffee.
“No.” He drew the coffee away. “Water first.”
She nearly snarled at him. He really shouldn’t get between her and her coffee. Especially when she hadn’t been sleeping well in days.
But she slammed down her empty glass, then held her hand out. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he replied dryly. Then he mixed some creamer into her coffee and stirred it.
She took a sip. Ahh, perfect.
He grabbed a napkin and flicked it out, before putting it over her lap.
“I’m not that messy,” she said.
“Better safe than sorry.”
Her muesli came first, but before she could reach for it, Owen drew the bowl toward him. She watched with a frown as he took a bite.
“Tastes all right.” He spooned up some more and held it out to her.
She glanced around. “Owen, you can’t feed me. People will see.”
“Screw people. I hate people. Eat. Now.”
The look on his face told her that he wasn’t going to give in. That she best do what he said.
So, she opened her mouth and let him feed her. The server brought over his meal, and she could practically feel the woman’s stare on her.
“Owen, I can feed myself.”
“But why would you when I can do it for you? And then I can make sure that you actually eat.”
She took two more mouthfuls before shaking her head. He eyed her, then sighed.
“I’m full. Eat your breakfast.”
“All right.” He cut up some of his egg and held out his fork to her. She took the mouthful without thinking. “Maybe you’re not as full as you thought, huh?”
“I am. I was just used to you . . .”
“To me feeding you? So perhaps one of us needs to feed you all the time, that way you’ll eat.”
If it was that simple . . . then again, sometimes things were just that simple.
Not that they would want to feed her all the time.
When the server brought the bill, she reached for it, intending to pay her share. Owen lightly smacked her hand. “No.”
“Ouchie. Why?”
“When you’re out with me, I pay.”
“Owen.”
“No arguments.”
“Just because you say no arguments doesn’t mean I won’t argue,” she warned.
“Well, it should. What kind of logic is that?”
She shook her head but decided not to reply. After leaving some cash on the table, he slid out of the booth after leaving some cash and took her hand to help her down.
“Stop. Freeze,” he ordered.
She froze and to her shock, he crouched down and started tying her shoelace which had become undone.
“Owen,” she whispered.
“Just making sure you’re safe, baby girl.”
She didn’t look around, not wanting to see the looks on people’s faces.
Stop caring.
He doesn’t. All he wants is to make you safe.
“There. That’s better. That knot isn’t shifting.”
When he stood, she took his hand again and held her head up proud.
“You were a good girl for Daddy,” he told her as they walked back toward the motel. “That deserves a reward.”
“A reward? Like what, Daddy Owen?”
“Like me laying you out on the bed and licking your pussy until you scream.”
Okay. She could be down with that.
“And then I’ll take you to the toy store. Do they have any stores for Littles here?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I’ll find out. And we’re moving motels. This area isn’t safe.”
“There’s actually somewhere I need to go before we go anywhere. It’s just a few blocks away. Can we walk?”
He turned his head to eye her. “It’s important?”
“Very. It’s the main reason I came back here.”
Fifteen minutes later, she stood and stared at the shack she’d once called home.
That was all it could be called now. A run-down shack. The windows had been boarded up. The roof looked like it had seen better days. And the siding had come off in places.
But it really hadn’t changed that much in the last nine years.
Disturbing, really.
“What is this place?” Owen asked. His hand was still around hers.
“My home. Or . . . the place I grew up anyway. I don’t own it. Don’t know who does.”
“This is where you grew up?” There was no horror in his voice.
It made her wonder, not for the first time, where Owen had grown up. She knew he was from Harlem, but not much else.
“You never talk about your family,” she said.
“Don’t have one. Dad bailed when I was a baby. Ma overdosed when I was nine. Came home from school to find her dead. Got taken in by my uncle, who was a lieutenant with a local gang. I ran with them for years . . . if it wasn’t for Judd pulling me out and getting me into the armed services then I’d still be with them or dead.”