“S-sorry,” she whispered. “I’m a terrible house guest. I’ve already broken your bathroom door and made you carry me half-naked while sobbing on your chest. I promise I don’t usually behave like this. I can’t even remember the last time I cried. How embarrassing. I’ll be much more normal tomorrow.”
He frowned at that. Normal? Who said she had to be normal? Or who got to say what normal was? He didn’t like the way she’d hunched her shoulders, as though trying to appear smaller. Invisible.
“I broke the door, not you.”
“Only because you were worried about me,” she whispered.
A small tinge of red hit her cheeks, making him wonder again why she had screamed that first time. But he decided not to push. She was fragile right now. She needed comfort, not for him to push and prod at her until she bled.
“You’re fine,” he said. As far as reassurances went, it was pretty crap. But she gave him a small smile.
“You’re a good man, Spike . . .” She snorted. “I not only don’t know your last name, but I don’t know your actual first name either.”
“Lochlin. Quillon Lochlin.”
He didn’t know why he told her that. So few people knew his real name. And he liked it that way.
“Quillon. I like it.”
“I don’t use it.”
She nodded. “I understand. My lips are sealed.”
Hmm. He’d rather they were wrapped around his cock.
Fuck. What was wrong with him?
“Get dressed. Back soon.”
He strode out of the room and across to the bathroom, deciding that tidying it up might help him bring himself under control. He pulled the plug out of the bath and got a towel to mop up the excess water on the floor.
He spotted the dinosaur shaped bottle on the floor. Opening the lid, he took a sniff.
Bubblegum.
It was children’s bubble bath and that just added to the overall picture he was building of her.
He wished he knew what was going on in her head. Why she’d acted so weird in the bathroom. Why she’d lost it, sobbing in his arms.
As the bath emptied, something caught his eye.
Was that?
Huh . . . well, that explained some of her behavior.
Amused, Spike reached in and grabbed the small vibe that had a face and scales down the back. He cleaned it off and placed it in her toilet bag.
When he walked into the bedroom, he found her pulling down the blankets, yawning loudly. She was dressed in a dinosaur onesie that went over her feet and, he noted as she bent over, also had a drop seat.
That made it so much easier to get to her bottom.
Especially good for naughty little girls who used toys to get themselves off in the bath then claimed to have seen a mouse.
Hmm . . . if she was his . . .
But she’s not. Because if she was, she’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble for getting herself off without permission. She also wouldn’t be having a bath by herself. Little girls didn’t bathe themselves. That was far too dangerous. They could slip and fall. They could hurt themselves.
Much like she had.