Page 17 of Layla's Daddy

I can’t see inside, but he suddenly finds whatever he was looking for and stands, holding up a pink T-shirt.

“This will fit you much better than my shirt, Baby girl.” He comes to me, pulls the blanket away from where I’ve been hiding, and lifts me by the hips to stand me on the floor.

Daddy sits on the couch where I was just huddled and grabs the hem of my shirt. “Arms up, Little one.”

I gasp as he whisks the shirt away, leaving me naked except for the diaper. I immediately cover my boobies.

Daddy pulls me between his legs, sets his forehead against mine, and says, “I’ve had my fingers in your bottom, and I’m completely familiar with your pretty pussy, too. Do you really need to hide your breasts from me, Layla?”

I swallow.

He slides his hands up to my face, cups my cheeks gently, and kisses me on the lips. It’s not a life-altering, panty-melting kiss. It’s a simple one that promises the rest another time and lays claim to me without words.

He nibbles a path to my ear and playfully nips my earlobe. “Can you lower your arms for me, Baby girl?”

I’m trembling as I release my boobies.

Daddy sets me back a few inches and lowers his gaze to my chest. “Prettiest Little girl I’ve ever seen.” He holds my shoulders as he bends his head down to plant one small kiss on each nipple. It’s so very sweet I almost cry. And then he holds the T-shirt up. “Arms up, Baby girl.”

I lift my arms and let him pull the shirt over my head. The last few minutes were so surreal I’m almost disappointed he’s no longer staring at my chest.

Before I can think further, he sweeps me off the floor again and carries me into the kitchen. He nudges a chair out with one foot and settles me on it, but I immediately cringe when my tailbone hits the hard surface.

“Oops. Sorry, Baby girl.” He lifts me back up and puts me on my feet. “Can you stand here a minute for me?” He sets one of my hands on the back of the chair. “Hold on so you don’t sway.”

I grip the railing even though I don’t need to really. I’m not dizzy. I won’t fall. But I don’t want to be disagreeable, so I do as I’m told.

Daddy hurries from the kitchen and returns a minute later holding a pink seat of some sort in one hand and a pillow from the couch in the other.

I watch as he sets the seat on one of the kitchen chairs and squats down to secure it. It’s a booster seat. It even has a tray, like a highchair.

Daddy gives it a shake and adjusts the straps until he’s satisfied it’s secure before putting the pillow on the seat. “There. That should be nice and soft under your bottom. Shall we try it?”

I nod eagerly. I’m not even the same girl I was this morning. I should be out looking for a new job instead of pretending I’m someone carefree who doesn’t need to work, but it’s impossible to ignore the draw I feel toward Theo. I can’t work or even hunt for a job until my concussion is better anyway, so I might as well enjoy myself.

Daddy lifts me onto the booster and lowers me slowly until I’m fully seated. “Does your bottom hurt, Little one?”

I shake my head. It’s sore, but it’s not as bad as sitting directly on the hard chair. “It’s not too bad.”

“Okay. Let’s get some soup in you and then you can get back in bed where you’ll be more comfortable.” While he speaks, he fastens me to the booster seat with straps around my waist and between my legs. He snaps the tray on next.

I watch with rapt attention as he heads for the fridge to pull out a giant container of soup. He scoops some into a bowl and pops it in the microwave.

“I promise you this is the best chicken noodle soup in the world,” he tells me while it heats. “You’ll feel much better after we warm up your tummy.”

I can do nothing but stare because I still can’t believe this is happening. I seriously think I might be unconscious on the sidewalk still. Maybe I died. Either way, does it matter? I should just go on with the dream because except for the fact that half my body hurts, this is the best dream ever.

Daddy brings the soup over with a rubber toddler spoon. He sits on a chair, facing me, and scoots closer.

When I reach out to take the bowl from him, he gently guides my wrist to the tray. “Let Daddy feed you, Baby girl.”

My heart can’t take much more of his kindness. It’s thudding hard in my chest. If I’m not dead now, I might die from happiness. Can someone die from being too pleased? “Okay, Daddy.”

He scoops up a bite, blows on it, and brings it to my lips.

I open my mouth and let him feed me. A wash of emotions consumes me as he sets the bowl down on the tray and uses his other hand to hold my wrist.

“That’s a good girl. You like it?”