Page 90 of Madden
I drag my hand over my scalp. As much as I know this is the right step, I hate that we even have to say anything at all.
His phone vibrates, and he pulls it out to check the screen.
“I’m gonna go check on Brielle. Let me know if you hear or need anything.”
He nods, answering the call, and I saunter into the kitchen to find Brielle seated at the breakfast bar with her laptop open in front of her.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants, with her hair pulled up out of her face.
“Don’t you think you should be curled up on the couch watching a movie or taking a nap?” I ask, leaning against the counter across from her.
I cross my arms over my chest, and her eyes wander down my body, pausing on my arms before meeting mine again.
“I just logged in to try to get some work done. I’m not feeling too bad right now.”
“You’re supposed to be off work for the rest of the week,” I gripe.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“Excuse me,” I grunt, pushing off the counter and rounding the island.
She turns to face me, mimicking my movement to cross her arms, trying to stand her ground.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” I mutter, gripping her chin before I lean down to kiss her.
“Or what?” she whispers against my mouth. “I thought all the good stuff was off the table until I’m healed.”
I clench my jaw. She has a point. I told her we weren’t messing around until her symptoms and the bump on her forehead went away.
This has only seemed to spur her to up the ante when it comes to trying to tease and torture me. All morning while we were lying in bed, watching a movie, she kept running her hand over my chest down to the waistband of my shorts.
She’d played innocent when she arched her back and grinded her ass against my dick, pretending it was an accident when I warned her to stop brushing her hand over the front of my shorts.
It didn’t stop her from laying into me about not wearing my “dick showin’ pants” if I was leaving the house. I told her I was stopping by my lawyer’s office. She wasn’t the least bit impressed by the thought of me wearing my sweatpants there.
The same ones she later snatched and is now wearing herself before my appointment was rescheduled.
“How about I make you an early dinner, and you take a nap while I run to my meeting?”
She sighs, slipping off the barstool, and wraps her arms around my waist.
“Who would’ve thought you’d be here taking care of me.” She sighs, resting her cheek against my chest.
I run my fingers into her hair at the base of her neck, and she hums in appreciation.
“Of course, I’m gonna take care of you. There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”
We’ve had a few conversations over what happened when Hanna broke in. We still don’t know what they were looking for or why they were here.
It bothers her she couldn’t warn me sooner or try to stop them. They thought the house was empty, and they certainly hadn’t expected Brielle to be here.
“I’m not used to this,” she whispers. “My parents weren’t exactly around growing up. My mom was too busy keeping up with the Joneses, and my dad practically lived at work. I guess I’m just used to taking care of myself or having the people they hired to look after me do it.”
“Well, now you have me, and I want to take care of you.”
Her face softens, and she nods. “Now I have you.”
“What sounds good to you?”