Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
I want him to come back. I want Vincent to leave so my Daddy will come inside and tell me again that everything is going to be okay. Squeezing my eyes closed, I focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Daddy’s scent is potent. Is it increasing? That makes no sense. But maybe I’m becoming more in tune with it. When I tip my head back, I see several flannel shirts hanging above me. On instinct, I reach up and tug one down. I bring it to my nose, hold it against my face, and inhale.
Damn. So powerful. My own clothes smell like cheap laundry detergent and cigarettes. Gross.
Suddenly, I can’t stand to be touching the blouse and sweater I’m wearing. They were my mother’s. I’ve been wearing clothes out of her closet for a few years. Vincent said there was no reason to waste money on clothes for me when I could just wear my mother’s old things.
The cardigan I have on was one she wore all the time in the end before she died. She was always cold. I wouldn’t want to part with it, but I would like to wash it before I touch it again.
I quickly remove my cardigan and blouse, replacing them with Daddy’s shirt. It’s far too huge on me. I have to roll the sleeves up several times. I button it up almost to the top. If I stand, it will reach my knees.
But it smells like heaven. Like Daddy. Like this house. Like home.
After opening the door a few inches, I shove my old clothes out and pull the closet closed again. And then, I fold my arms over my knees and rest my face on my forearms, inhaling over and over, drawing Daddy into me. Reminding myself that he’s going to take care of Vincent somehow and get rid of him.
Several minutes tick by, and I startle when the closet door suddenly opens. Panicked, I pull my knees in tighter as if I could possibly hide from whoever is out there.
But there’s no need to freak out. The man who squats in front of me is Orion. He reaches in and touches my cheek. “Are you okay, Little doll? I was worried when you didn’t answer the door.”
My breath hitches. Shit. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to…hide.”
“From me, Little doll?”
I shake my head. “No. I was afraid Vincent would find me. But also, there was roaring.”
He chuckles. “That was my pride brother, Quinn. He was in lion form and strutting his fierce side. It helped. Vincent is gone.”
I stare up at Orion. “But he’ll come back. He has a gun. He’ll shoot you.”
“He won’t shoot me, Little doll. I promise.”
I want to believe Daddy, but he doesn’t know Vincent or how determined the man is.
Daddy fingers the flannel I’m wearing at my shoulder. “You changed. I like this.”
My face heats. I hadn’t considered the fact that he might not like me touching his things, let alone wearing them. I should have asked first. I’d been so preoccupied by Daddy’s scent that I’d simply acted without thinking through my decision.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched your things.”
“Cora, you may touch or wear anything of mine you’d like. I don’t have any secrets.”
“My clothes smell like cigarettes.”
“I noticed. I guess you don’t care for that scent?” he teases.
I scrunch up my nose. “It’s gross, and it’s what Vincent smells like.”
Daddy holds out a hand. “Why don’t you come out of the closet, Little doll. You must be starving. It’s way past lunch now.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “I don’t eat much.”
“That explains why you’re so skinny. We should get some meat on you.” His eyes twinkle.
I find myself smiling at him.
“Come, Little doll.” He takes one of my hands in his.
I twist around and let him lure me forward, still holding his hand. In seconds, I’m in his arms, and he’s lifting me off the floor. He carries me to the middle of the room, stands me on my feet, and grabs the long hem of his shirt up a few inches. “Hold this for me, Little doll.”
I do as he says, gripping the soft flannel, watching as he removes my worn shoes. When he reaches under the shirt for the front of my jeans, I hold my breath and say nothing. I’m mesmerized by his odd actions. I should push him away. But I can’t.
I’m drawn to this man in every way. I’m frozen while he pops the button on my ill-fitting jeans, unzips them, and lowers both them and my panties to the floor. Grabbing my hips, he lifts me up, letting both items fall off my ankles.
Madness. Why have I let him remove my clothes? The only thing covering me now is his flannel. It’s so soft against my skin, and I feel oddly free as though shedding my clothes releases me from my stupid life.