“Fucking hell, Andie,” he curses under his breath, his fingers digging in my flesh. “I love that naughty name falling from your tongue,” he admits.
“Daddy,” I repeat, loving how much it turns him on as his angry length presses between my legs.
“Grab on to the headboard, baby girl. This ride is about to get rougher.” And with that, he slams home, and right up to the hilt of the sensitive core.
“Fucking yes, daddy!” I cry out like a wanton bitch.
Twenty Nine
Andie
Something is moving.
Struggling.
Are those sobs? Is someone crying?
Where am I?
My eyes fly open, body fully alert as I look for the source of the disturbance, only to find Noah thrashing beside me on the bed. The sheets are soaked with his sweat and tears.
I’ve never even seen this man worry, and seeing him sob and releasing these gut-wrenching screamsscares me.
Not for myself. No.
For him.
I’m at a loss for what to do. Not wanting to startle him in his sleep, I try to think over my racing heartbeat.
He might need something soothing, something calm. I sing the lullaby my mom would sing for me. The one that would scare away all my demons, whether I was a child or a teenager.
So, I hope the soft tune will work for him, though he’s an adult.
He’s on his stomach, so I run a soothing palm over his back, my fingers running over his jagged scars. Scars, I think, have something to do with his nightmares.
Soon, his body stops convulsing, and he again finds his sleep, his harsh breaths evening out.
But I don’t.
Not when every cell in my body demands answers. Answers that would help me find who hurt him. So, I can hurt them back and take away all of his pain.
I’m not vengeful. No.
But for Noah, I don’t mind becoming someone’s worst nightmare.
* **
By the time Noah wakes up the next morning, I’ve fed Millie, brewed some coffee, and taken a shower.
My body is aching, my cheeks sore whenever I try to sit down. I want to revel in the bliss of yesterday. My toes curl just remembering how his lips feel on mine, my walls clench remembering just how good he fills me up.
But no matter how much every atom in my body is screaming to get the answers out of Noah, I can’t. Not after what happened the last time. The last time I asked him about his dad, I left his home with tears in my eyes.
And though I know neither that was his intention then, nor would it be now. So, it’s better not to pry into his life. If he wanted to tell me, he would.
We might’ve kissed, slept with each other again, but I still don’t know what we are. Better if I remember my place.
Noah finds me in the kitchen, sitting on the counter in one of his shirts. He pads out into the living room in a black vest, and his gray shorts hang low on his waist. He rakes a hand through his messy hair, and when he does, the hem of his vest lifts, giving me a delicious peek into hishappy trail.