Killian lifts his hands in mock defense and backs out. “Wow, wow, take a chill pill.”
I gnash my teeth. I rarely get truly angry at Killian—not even when his temper flares—but right now, I want to ground him or threaten to take away his Xbox. But that’s not an option since he’s twenty-one, and he doesn’t even use his Xbox anymore. I can, however, cut back on the generous allowance I give him every month.
Shaking the idea out of my head, I gently push the blanket aside and lean down to see Jenna’s face. “Are you sleeping?” I whisper.
“M-m.”
“Are you hungry?”
She peels her eyes open, blinking. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay.” It’s normal for a sub to be out of tune with her body when she’s still deeply affected by a scene, so I make the decision for her. I rise to my feet with her and lay her on the couch. “I’ll fix us something. Stay here meanwhile. If you want, you can watch TV.”
I place the remote beside her, then go to the kitchen. As I move about, taking out the ingredients for mushroom risotto, I’m pleased to hear that she turns on the TV. As much as she needs plenty of rest, she has already had more than enough during the day, and I want her to be able to sleep tonight—my first night with her.
While moving about and making the risotto, I pause at the edge of the kitchen to check on Jenna every now and then. She’s watching a nature documentary with peaceful images of sprawling landscapes and bears and wolves hunting to feed their young. She looks very child-like, yet feminine in all the rightways. It’s a combination that draws me in, heightening my urge to degradeandprotect, the latter taking precedence right now.
“Do you like animals?” I ask once the risotto is done and I set a tray with two portions on the coffee table.
She pushes up to sit, wrapping the blanket close. “Yeah.”
“Killian does too. Well, used to.” A memory of him rushing down the stairs to show me a picture of his classmate’s new puppy pops into my mind.Dad, Dad, can we get a puppy too? It’s soo cute. You should’ve seen how it chased its tail.He begged me like that for two years and would always stop to pet the dogs we met on the street, gazing up at me with bright, happy eyes. But his mother didn’t want the added responsibility, and I was touring too much. And then Killian shut down, and I haven’t heard him mention a dog or ask me to go to the zoo ever since.
I refocus my attention, realizing I went quiet for a long moment.
“What’s your favorite animal?” I ask, handing her a bowl and placing a spoon in her other hand.
I keep her talking about trivial subjects while we eat, and I’m surprised how much I enjoy hearing her talk about raccoons and their incredible problem-solving skills and her nan’s cats and their diverse personalities.
Once we’ve finished eating, Jenna seems somewhat revitalized. She sets down the bowl, dabs her mouth with a napkin, then glances at the clock, which says it’s almost eight. “What about my things?”
“We’ll go to your flat tomorrow instead. I’ll call in sick for you in the morning so you can sleep in.”
She casts a surprised glance at me. “Thank you.”
“Just because I have demands and follow through on consequences doesn’t mean I can’t be caring as well. As I said, you’re my responsibility, and that means I’m taking care of you.”
“Oh.” She glances up and down a few times, a cute rosy hue spreading over her cheeks.
I’m inclined to inquire who has been taking care of her, but once again, I hold back, knowing it might not be a comfortable subject for her.
I remember Killian saying—when he looked her up a few months back—that her mother died two years ago, and although she has been asking for her phone, she hasn’t mentioned anyone in particular she’d like to call. I suspect the little girl doesn’t have many people in her life—if any at all—who really count. It’s more than ideal for our new living arrangement, but it breaks my heart a little.
***
Once we’ve finished eating and Jenna looks nice and comfy on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching another soft-spoken nature documentary, I bring a bowl of risotto upstairs.
Killian is in his bedroom, sitting in his leather armchair, legs spread, a folded cloth draped across his thigh, his flogger resting on it. The soft leather strands spill over his lap in neat ribbons, and he runs a cloth down each one with slow, deliberate care. A fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and his shorts and bare chest tell me he’s been working out.
He doesn’t look up when I enter.
“You’re really doing the whole ritual,” I say.
“I need to do something while I wait.”
I set the bowl on the side table and go to sit in his desk chair. “I’m sorry to kick you out like that earlier, but Jenna is very fragile right now. I don’t think your presence would do her good.”
He glances up at me. “What did you do to her?”