Well, fuck this shit. “Then eat it,” I told her. And if she loved it, I would buy her all the smoked salmon she wanted for the rest of her life.
There was still some hesitation on her part, and while I didn’t want to push her, I also wanted to see her break free of the mental hold Weatherby Dalton-Jones IV clearly had over her. The way she talked and acted, the man had clear views of what a woman’s role in the household should be.
I pulled what looked to be an apple pie out of the fridge. The top crust was solid with eight perfect slits in the center like a snowflake. “Would Samantha like this?”
Caroline put the tray of smoked salmon on the island. “Yes. Would you… I mean, I’d like to give her some milk.”
“You never need to ask my permission to feed your child,” I told her bluntly. I pulled out a jug of milk from the door. “Where are glasses?” Since my hands were full of milk and pie, I used my ass to close the fridge.
I froze mid-step. The look of hope on Samantha’s face as she sat ramrod straight on her bar stool was like a kick to the balls. Her bowl of yogurt was forgotten in front of her as she stared at the pie in my left hand. Yet, she made no sound, no screaming or yelling for the pie, no shout of excitement. She sat straight as an arrow, quiet as a mouse, as she waited to see if she would indeed get the pie.
It wasn’t normal. I wasn’t around kids that often, and even I knew that. Fuck, she should be creating so much noise that Caroline would have to constantly ask her to quiet down while we had our adult conversation. No child should ever have to learn to be quiet so they would be forgotten.
My heart bled for her. And I ended up cutting a larger piece of pie than a four year old probably should have been given. But Ididn’t give a fuck. She could have eaten the whole pie if she wanted it.
I watched with a crooked smile as Samantha dug into the pie with silent gusto. I took the partly eaten bowl of yogurt and tossed it into the trash.
A moan from down the island caught my attention. I was a scoundrel of the highest order, but that sound wentstraightto my dick.
I shouldn’t have looked. I really, really should not have. I should have kept my eyes on the little girl who was eating a giant piece of pie like she’d never tasted the combination of apples and cinnamon before.
But I did. I looked.
Caroline was standing at the edge of the island, a slice of salmon in each hand and a third obviously in her mouth. Her eyes were closed as she chewed—and fuck me—moaned. She barely swallowed before she was biting the next slice.
I was dirt. I wasn’t the pretty dirt that is bought in gardening stores. No, I was the slimy shit that worms cast out of themselves that other worms then ate. There was no fucking excuse, nofuckingreasoning, that my dick should be getting hard right now. Beyondwherewe were, even forgetting her ageand the daughterwho was sitting across the island from me, Caroline was a trafficking victim.
She might be dressed prettily in that kimono with her hair done up like she was going out on the town, but it was all for show. Some sick, twisted fetish of a man who would get what was coming to him. She might not be harmed right now, not like Ayame currently was and Nishi had been, but that didn’t change the fact that Caroline was a rape victim.
She’d at least been here five years, because that was how long Ayame had said she had been held captive for, and Caroline had been here when she arrived.
And here I was, staring at her like I was a starving man and she the only food in sight. It didn’t matter that I liked her as a person. Thought she was beautiful, courageous, and so fucking strong for having survived what she had. I had no business,none, getting an erection.
I owed her more respect than that.
Clearing my throat, I kept myself planted where I was. Not daring to approach her. “You never told me how old you are.”
Caroline froze with her fingers in her mouth. Because Maui clearly was just getting a kick out of my torment right now. She popped her fingers from her mouth, andIwas the one who had to stifle my groan. “Oh.”
Oh? That seemed an odd response. “Do you know?” I asked, thinking that perhaps she didn’t even know what day or year it was. Just in case I told her.
Caroline chewed slowly, but her enjoyment at tasting the food was gone. I felt even worse for having taken that away from her.
When she still didn’t reply, I said, “You seem young. Sixteen, maybe seventeen? Does that sound right?”
She swallowed, and then nodded.
“Seventeen?” I prompted, needing verification.
She nodded again, her eyes still downcast.
It shouldn’t have bothered me, learning she was underage. I should have thought about so many other things than the disappointment at knowing she was officially untouchable. I was such a fucking bastard, and bit my tongue so hard that I drew blood to keep myself from asking how many months until she was eighteen.
It shouldn’t matter. Itdidn’tmatter. I wouldn’t let it, because I was never going to touch her. At least not sexually.Neversexually. I’d cut my own cock and balls off first. She was a sex trafficking victim and a teenager, and I was nearly two decades older than her.
I swallowed back the bloody saliva in my mouth and forcedmyself to speak so she didn’t think there was anything wrong. “What about Samantha?”
“She’s four.” I hated the timid lilt to her voice.