I so dearly love her.
I will consistently show her.
Which means learning her, taking everything she tells me to heart, and doing better any time I mess up.
Settling in, I close my eyes, blow out another breath, and face the sleeplessness.
Because my girl, my sweet beautiful girl, doesnotwake up alone.
Chapter 22
?
This is…just a little bit…wonderful.
Mirabelle
Warm. Cozy. Safe.
Involuntarily, I snuggle as the morning hour coaxes me awake.
Then, memories from last night send a jolt through me.
My eyes snap open to findchest. Hard. Hot. Man.Chest.
My throat closes as I slowly lift my attention toward…
My boss. Mr. Anders.Damion.
I gulp as his tired eyes find mine, and breath leaves him, lowering the chest…that has become my pillow. Coarse, he mutters, “You’re a cuddler.” He wets his lips, adjusts Macaroon—who is settled under the arm that is decidedly not around my body—and shakes his head. “Poor abandoned little piggy.” He drags his thumb across Macaroon’s pink head. “Three minutes after I lay down, you gravitated toward the fresh meat, leaving him to face the bitter cold alone. Cruel, cruel, cruel.” His fingers trickle through my hair as I take in this…situation.
I am nestled beneath the sheets and comforters; Damion is on top of them with a large fluffy throw blanket. He’s in the center of the bed. I am clinging to him. He is hugging my stuffed animal and looking like he hasn’t slept the whole night.
Absently, he sets Macaroon on the nightstand beside him, then—
My heart lurches as he secures my hands in his, locks our fingers, and plants them above my head as he rolls over me.Caged between his knees, I find it tremendously difficult to breathe.
“You bedshareverywell,” he praises, the words practically a growl. “You’re so still. You latched on, then didn’t move the whole night.” His mouth settles by my ear. “I’d know. I was up for all of it.”
A shudder rocks me. “I-I’m sorry.”
He licks, nips, nibbles.
I crumple into nothingness.
“That’s not really how you’re supposed to take a compliment, Mirabelle.” He kisses my cheek. “Saythank you.”
Heart settling in my throat, I whisper, “Thank you.”
The pounds vibrate in my skull, a tempo beneath his very low, veryperfect, “Good girl.”
I fear I no longer possess bones, on account of him having justmeltedthem.
Casual as can be, he drags his great big self off me, stands, tucks Macaroon back under his arm, and yawns as he trudges to the bathroom. “I have an extra toothbrush.” He flicks the bathroom light on. “Do you think one of my shirts would fit you like a dress?”
“H-huh?” I test my ability to get up. I cannot. “I…I live in the backyard.”
His gaze hits me, all the way from the bathroom, in front of the sink, as he puts toothpaste on his toothbrush. “That’ssofar.”
