Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7)

by Becca Jameson

  The master bedroom door is also open. I spend a few minutes in the doorway of that room too. Black furniture and bedding. Hardwood floors—the same that run throughout the house. He doesn’t have many personal touches, but there are a few pictures of him with a group of guys on the built-in shelves in the living room. There are no pictures of him with women or kids, but as I move to another shelf, I see some pictures of him at various ages with people I assume are his parents.

  I don’t have pictures like that. I sigh as I wander back to the guest room he’s assigned to me. The moment I enter, I feel calmer. Something about it calls to me. I can’t figure out why. It’s youthful, I guess. Even more so now that I’ve chosen the pink bedding. I have no idea why I did such a thing, but I smile as I put the sheets and comforter on the bed.

  I head for the bathroom next. It’s also white—tile, vanity, counter. There is no color in this room yet, and when I hang up the hand towel and bath towel, I’ve only added a splash of pink. I smile again. Pink?

  It feels… God, I can’t explain it even to myself. If I were a kid, if I had ever been a kid, I would want a room like this with a bathroom like this.

  I drop the fluffy pink rug Davis left behind on the floor in the bathroom and then notice there is actually more pink—several bottles in the tub. I lean over to pick up the shampoo bottle.

  A giggle leaks out when I see that it’s baby shampoo. What the hell? The soap is too. The conditioner is in a white bottle that indicates it’s powder-scented. I set it down and pick up the last bottle, which makes my eyes widen. It’s also pink, but it’s not for a baby, that’s for sure. It’s hair remover.

  My brow is furrowed as I set it back down. Maybe men think that’s how women prefer to shave. There’s no razor in the tub.

  I turn to check the vanity and find an assortment of hairbands, a brush, an unopened toothbrush, and toothpaste. I chuckle again when I see that it’s bubblegum flavored.

  Either Davis has a niece, his previous girlfriend was a fan of baby-scented items, she was a fan of pink, or he simply has no idea how to buy toiletries for an adult.

  Right now, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m dying to get into this tub, soak for as long as I want, and climb into that bed afterward. I usually work six nights a week. The fact that I didn’t work last night or tonight is like a vacation. The kind where I’m not getting paid and I’m not going to be able to pay the rent. I sigh and ignore that problem.

  I’m going to have to face my future soon, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to relax in this tub while I close my eyes and pretend I’m the little girl of wealthy parents who has her own bathroom and bedroom with fresh linens and towels.

  I lock the bathroom door just in case Davis returns while I’m in the tub. After stripping out of my clothes, I climb into the tub and let it fill with warm water. It’s luxurious.

  I’ve lived in my studio apartment for two years. It doesn’t have a tub, nor would I touch the floor of it with my bare feet. It’s moldy and gross. I wear dollar-store flip flops when I shower.

  I sigh as the water rises over my small body. I don’t care that the products are going to make me smell like a baby, I use all of them. All but the hair remover. I ignore that. If I tried to put that on my legs or anywhere else, I might end up burning myself with the chemicals. I’ll just have to wait to shave until Davis brings my stuff and hope he grabs a razor.

  While the conditioner sits in my hair, I wrap it up around my head to keep it out of the water and lean back. If it weren’t for the fact that I can’t seem to block out the men who intend to buy and sell me, this might be the best thirty minutes of my life. Actually, even though I’ve been auctioned off by human traffickers and I can’t imagine what my future looks like, it’s still the best half-hour of my life.

  I stay in the tub so long that my skin is wrinkly. I feel lethargic when I get out. After drying off, I realize I have no choice but to put on what I’d already been wearing. Until Davis returns with my stuff, I don’t have clean clothes.

  I step back into my plain white panties and pull my white tank top over my head. I’m exhausted. It’s late. Should I wait up for Davis? I decide not to. The bed is calling to me. The mattress will be the nicest one I’ve ever slept on.

  Without another thought, I climb between the brand-new, fresh sheets, pull the comforter up to my shoulders, snuggle into one of the pillows, and pull the other one to hug it against my chest.

  I’m smiling, so very comfortable, when I realize the pillow between my arms is replacing Bunny. My heart rate picks up as I think about my one-and-only childhood possession lying on my bed at my apartment.

  I wonder if Davis noticed her when he went there. Half of me hopes he grabbed her. In fact, half of me wishes I had added Bunny to the list. I hadn’t been thinking clearly. But I also don’t think I want Davis to know that a grown woman sleeps with a stuffed animal.

  It’s silly that I still have her, but I’ve never spent a night without Bunny. She’s like a security blanket. She’s all I have. I don’t even know who gave her to me or when because I can’t remember back that far. I assume either the state or one of my first foster parents put her in my crib.

  I hug the pillow tighter and blow out a breath. I can’t do anything about the possible embarrassment over Bunny right now. I’ll have to face it later. Either Davis grabbed her or he didn’t. If he did, he might make fun of me. If he didn’t, he’s going to have to go back and get her at some point. I don’t care about much of anything else in that apartment, but I do want Bunny.

  Chapter 8

  Master Davis

  It’s late when I quietly enter the house. There are no lights on, so I assume Britney has gone to sleep. I hope so. I hate the idea of her waiting up for me or worrying.

  Now that I know more, I realize she should be scared out of her mind. I am. We’re going to have to talk about her situation in the morning. It’s bad. Worse than I expected, and I entered the Sky Lounge with very low expectations.

  The door to Britney’s room is closed as I pass it, and I’m kind of relieved. I only pause long enough to acknowledge there’s no sound coming from inside. I pray she’s sleeping as I continue to the master bedroom. I strip out of my clothes as I enter the master bathroom, and then I flip on the shower.

  There’s no way I can possibly sleep until I’ve washed off the filth that was my evening. It’s not literal, but I feel dirty from being inside Lazinski’s office. Breathing the same air as that piece of human shit.

  When I return to my bedroom, it occurs to me that I probably should have shut the door. I’m not used to having someone else in my home. I’ve never had a guest in this particular house. I doubt if my guest wants to walk in on me naked, and though I usually sleep in the nude, I decide against it tonight and pull a pair of flannel pants out of my drawer.

  I shrug into them and climb into bed, deciding to leave the door open. If she needs anything, I want her to feel welcome to come get me.

  I run a hand down my face and stare at the ceiling. The dim light coming in from around the blinds is enough to keep the room in a soft glow. There’s a woman in my home, one room over. A sexy woman. One I would ordinarily be attracted to.

  She’s young, I remind myself. Twenty-two.

  Am I doing the right thing? I go over my options in my mind. I still don’t think calling the police is a good idea. I’m familiar with what happens in cases like this. No real crime has been committed. I have nothing but the word of a young woman who overheard a conversation. If the cops went to the Sky Lounge to question Lazinski, they would leave with nothing. I’m certain of that. All that would happen would be for Lazinski to get pissed and work harder to find his commodity. The police wouldn’t even have a warrant, so they wouldn’t be able to search Lazinski’s computer or office, and I doubt the man keeps written records of his human sales.

  I shudder, once again wondering if that asshole has sold other women. I need to find out how many women have come and g
one from the club since she started working there. It’s the kind of profession where turnover is high in the first place, so it would be difficult to know if anyone who previously quit was actually sold. But it might be helpful if Britney specifically remembers anyone disappearing without quitting, like she did.

  I know my boss isn’t going to be fond of me keeping Britney in my home indefinitely. She’s a liability. But her safety is far more important to me than mine right now, so there’s no way I would put her somewhere else. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.

  I groan softly. I’m attached to her. It’s plain as day. I like her. I even like things about her that she’s unaware of. She’s got tendencies that indicate she’s submissive, and even some that indicate she could be a little.

  I think about the worn stuffed animal, and my cock gets hard. Dammit. The visual of her curled up in her bed hugging that bunny to her chest makes me wrap my hand around my dick. I want to nurture her so badly that my mouth is dry. I get the feeling that it’s been a long time since anyone loved her.

  Maybe I’m making this shit up. It’s possible I’m inventing aspects of her with my wishful thinking. I need to stop my mind from running away from me. She’s just a woman with a pile of problems. Reading too much into her personality will get me nothing but a permanently hard cock and blue balls.

  A sudden scream pierces the air, and I bolt upright, scrambling to get out from under the covers. It happens again as I rush from the room. I don’t even think before I open her door and close the distance to her bed in seconds.

  She’s curled in a tight ball on her side, hugging one of the pillows to her chest. The sheets and comforter have slid off her body. She’s wearing nothing but white panties and the thin white tank top. She’s so vulnerable.

  As I reach her, she screams again, curling in tighter.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and set my hand on her back, not wanting to make things worse, but needing her to wake up.

  She flinches and cries out as her eyes bolt open. Her hair is everywhere, spread around her pillow, the sheets, over her shoulder, across her face.

  I smooth my hand up to her face and brush long locks from her eyes. “Shh. You’re okay. It’s me. Davis. You’re in my home. Safe.”

  She blinks at me, seconds ticking by. Suddenly, she uncurls and scrambles over toward me.

  Instinctively, I reach for her and lift her onto my lap.

  She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my chest. She’s shaking and her heart is racing.

  I wrap my arms around her and rub her back, my hand getting tangled in her hair. “Shhh,” I repeat, trying to soothe her.

  God, she’s precious. I’m struggling to catch my breath. My entire body responds to this woman. I can’t stop it. Five minutes ago, I’d nearly convinced myself to keep my distance, and now she’s in my lap, her small arms wrapped around me, her body trembling.

  “Sweet girl…” I can’t stop from burying my face in her hair. When I inhale her scent, I’m lost to her. I freeze for a moment, soaking in the smell of baby powder. She’s bathed, and she used the products I left. Not that she had a choice. I only left her exactly what I would leave any little.

  I shouldn’t have. I knew it even as I bought the pink bottles of shampoo and baby soap. I’d gone a little overboard with that purchase, but I figured if she questioned me, there were any number of responses I could give her. Ignorance. A female child in my family who sometimes visits. I just thought she might like pink…

  I lower my face to her neck and draw in another breath, bringing in the scent of baby soap from her skin. Jesus.

  Reluctantly, I pull my head back. My hands run all over her back and her arm. Eventually, as she calms, I find myself including her bottom and her thigh.

  Her breathing evens out finally, and she suddenly stiffens and jerks her face up to meet my gaze in the dim light. She scrambles to get off my lap, but I hold on to her. “You’re okay, sweetie. You had a nightmare.”

  She freezes and looks at me again. Her blue eyes are wide as saucers. “I’m so sorry.”

  I frown at her. “No reason to apologize. It was a nightmare. You were screaming.”

  She winces and looks away, her palms on my chest, keeping us separated.

  I hate it and slide my hand from her back to her cheek. “You want to talk about it?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Do you have nightmares often?” I’m wondering if this is because of what happened to her last night or if she has a lifetime of ghosts who haunt her in her sleep.

  “Sometimes, but not like that.”

  I reach for her wrists and gently tug her hands from my chest so that I can pull her against me again. I could hold her like this for hours if she’d let me.

  I’m relieved when she relaxes against me once more, intentionally now that she’s awake. She even flattens her hand on my bare chest and smooths it around to my back. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

  I don’t point out that I’ve asked her to stop thanking me. Just this once. “You’re welcome, sweetie.” My hand runs up and down her back again, inching toward her bottom. The tank top is thin, and when she’d leaned back, I’d caught a glimpse of her hard nipples straining against the fabric. I swallow my reaction to the memory.

  I have to let her go before I take things too far. For the first time since meeting her, I feel this ridiculous hope that perhaps she might be interested in me as more than just her savior. I shouldn’t. It’s too soon and she’s hurting. She might not even remember this in the morning.

  I ease her off my lap and lay her down so that her head lands on her pillow. She finally uncurls her body as she lands on her back and blinks up at me, biting her bottom lip. Before I lose the last thread of my self-control, I pull the covers up over her sweet body.

  I do so slower than I should, letting my gaze take in the smooth skin of her thighs, the white cotton of her panties covering her pussy. Her tank top has ridden up several inches, gracing me with the flat planes of her belly before my gaze lingers on the small mounds of her breasts and the erect points of her nipples poking against the shirt.

  It takes a lot of willpower to pull the covers up to her chin. She’s still blinking at me, that full lip between her teeth. I want to pluck it free. I want to lower my lips to hers and kiss her until she moans. I want to flatten my hands on her body and run them up and down, learning every inch of her. I want to cup her breasts and stroke my thumbs over her nipples. She’d release that lip if I did so. I know she would.

  I do none of those things. Instead, I glance at the second pillow next to her and remember the stuffed animal I retrieved from her apartment. I pat her hip. “Be right back.”

  I pad from her room and head for the kitchen where I’ve left the bag of her things on the counter. I grab the bunny and then make another illogical rash decision. I rifle through the few articles of clothing I grabbed from her apartment and lift up the one and only dress I’d found. It’s a simple sundress. Hardly worn. I doubt it was new to her when she got it, but it’s still in better shape than any other clothes she owns. Most are threadbare and unraveling.

  I hold the dress in front of me. Am I making the right decision here? It’s the wrong time of year for something like this. It has spaghetti straps. I wonder why she even owns it considering all the rest of her wardrobe consisted of jeans and cotton shirts.

  Even the dress is cotton. It’s soft. Pale blue with tiny white flowers. The bodice is fitted and the skirt is loose. The truth is I’d rather see her in this than anything else she owns. So, I’m not giving her options.

  This could backfire on me, but I’m praying it doesn’t. I grab a pair of white panties next and tuck the two items under my arm. When I return to her room, she hasn’t moved. She follows me with her eyes.

  I head for her bathroom first and set the dress and panties on the counter. Her jeans are folded up in the corner. Fortuitous. I grab them and tuck them under my arm. As I do so, I notice her bra was f
olded into the jeans. The strap is sticking out. Even better. What she doesn’t have, she can’t wear.

  I return to her side, settle on the edge of the bed, and hold out the stuffed animal.

  Her face lights up and she wiggles her arms free from under the covers to take it from me. She pulls it to her chest. “Bunny,” she murmurs before looking back up at me. “Thank you.” Her voice is small and caught in her throat.

  I cup her face and lean in to kiss her forehead. “You’re welcome, sweetie. He looked like he missed you, so I grabbed him from your apartment.”

  “Bunny is a girl,” she blurts out. Her face flushes as she looks away.

  My cock stiffens painfully. “My bad.” I pat the stuffed animal, Bunny, and clasped Britney’s hand. “Won’t happen again.”

  She giggles. God, I love that sound.

  Once again, I have to force myself to break our stare. I must leave this room. I stand, keeping her clothes from yesterday tucked under my arm. “I set some clothes for you in the bathroom so you can get dressed in the morning. Tomorrow we’ll see about getting you some new things.”

  She blinks again. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I lean down and kiss her forehead again, saying nothing.

  I leave her, not even looking back as I close her door, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  Chapter 9

  Britney

  A ray of sun is streaming across the room when I open my eyes. For a moment I’m confused. My sheets are too soft. My pillow is too fluffy. Everything smells fresh and clean. I open my eyes wider and take in the room.

  A second later, I remember. I’m at Davis’s house. It all comes crashing back to me. My boss. My fear. Sleeping in my car. Davis finding me in the parking lot. Charles. Cindy.