Chapter Fifteen

He cradled her against him like she was the most delicate, perfect little flower he'd ever laid his eyes on. And oh, she was. In his bed, curled up on his chest, tiny fist wrapped entirely around two of his fingers.

Fuck their deal, to hell with it, he wasn't letting her go. Not ever.

Perfect little girl. He was so in love with her that it existed as a heavy entity engulfing his core, his chest, his entire being and soul.

Did he still have one of those?

If he did it was hers now.

He should tell her, confess his love like the thick, unyielding thing it was, but he didn't know if he had the words that could properly convey his gravitation, his devotion, the gratefulness in his chest that overflowed each and every time she looked up at him with those dark, blue eyes that felt and looked like home.

His chiquita.

He was going to take care of her, protect her, dote on her like it was his fucking job. She wasn't alone anymore, would never be again, would never be forced to take care of herself for another day.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the delicate skin of her eyelid, felt the thick fan of her eyelashes flutter against his lips.

Oh God, I love her. Could never, have never loved anyone like this, never will again.

She whined in her sleep, a high little squeal that made his heart ache and pinch.

"Shh." He hushed, running his hand up and down the soft skin of her back, his fingers catching on each knob of her spine. "I'm right here, baby."

"Javi." She spat out, still gripped somewhere in the abyss of sleep, not quite awake, but still aware that it was him speaking, him holding her.

Fuck, the thought that he existed so heavily in her mind made a swirling bout of pride grow wide and unwieldy in his chest.

"You can keep sleeping, chiquita." He whispered into the delicate shell of her ear, then pressed a kiss onto the soft, giving skin of her temple.

She settled, a content hum echoing from her parted lips.

Javier hadn't known what he was going to find when he came to San Francisco all those months ago. He had hoped for some peace, solace, far away from the destruction down in Columbia, from the undeserved praise back home in Texas, close enough to Mexico that he could think about going down there and trying to redeem his image, but not so close that he could feel the tug.

Instead, he'd found her. This little sanctuary that felt like was created just for him. She'd allowed him enough space, enough refuge to feel like he could open up, for the first time since he landed in Columbia. He was beginning to feel like himself again, not just the hard shell of an exterior he'd donned to survive. And now she was opening up too, telling him about her past, allowing him to take her in and protect her in the way she should have been every single moment of the past decade that she'd spent alone.

God, the thought of her having to endure that, the death of both of her parents at such a young age, then the subsequent isolation, it made him physically sick.

"I'm going to take care of you now, bonita." He whispered, tucking a couple loose strands of her hair behind her ear, "you can protest all you want, but I'm not going anywhere."

And like she could hear him in her sleep, she stirred, her eyebrows pinching together as her grip on his fingers tightened before her eyes fluttered to reveal those dark, blue irises that made his chest feel light.

"Buenos días, mi cielito." He hummed, the low baritone of it, along with the soft way he was looking down at her, made her heart flutter a little manically.

"Good morning." She mumbled, turning, and pressing her face into his chest, relishing in the woody scent of his warm skin.

A heavy wave of affection surged up in his core, so thick and crushing he didn't know what to do with it all, so he took her waist in his hands and tugged her on top of him, the slight weight of her body on his felt detrimental, vital to his continued existence.

"Sleepy." She mumbled, pressing her face into his warm neck, his touch feeling like it could drag her right back down into deep unconsciousness.

He ran his hand over the back of her head, hair as soft as silk against his rough palm. "What if I make you coffee, hmm?" He inquired in that deep, brassy tone, leaning down so his lips were close to her ear, "Breakfast?"

"You know how to cook?" She grumbled into his neck.

"I grew up on a ranch, chiquita."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"Yes." He hummed, nipping at the shell of her ear, a little yelp vibrating against his neck, "I know how to cook."

"Mmm." She let out a content hum against him before lifting her head, "I could eat." Her lips pulled up into a sleepy grin that he immediately matched with a smile so wide it felt like his cheeks might break open.

Happy. God, when was the last time he was happy?

"Stay here." He whispered, leaning forward to capture her lips in a soft kiss before he pulled back, eliciting a whine from her as he carefully slipped out from underneath the soft, pliant weight of her body.

She watched him tug on a pair of sweats, sans underwear, and pad out of the room on bare feet. Domestic. It all felt domestic and comfortable? Safe, even?

Safe.

She hadn't truly felt safe in so, so long.

But Javier... he was strong, and so fucking competent, and when he held her, she felt like nothing in the world could ever reach her, nothing could harm her when she was wrapped up in the steel embrace of his arms, he protected her. She'd always hated that, loathed it, rejected it. But with him, it just felt like she was fighting the inevitable, fighting giving in and finally feeling cared for, for the first time in a fucking decade.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing one of Javier's button-ups from the closet and slipping it on as she walked out into the living room, then quietly tried to sneak up on him in the kitchen, where he was standing over a pan of scrambled eggs, the muscles in his back rolling underneath the golden expanse of his skin with each movement.

He turned, just slightly when he heard her enter the room, a small grin on his face as he took in the sight of her, hair all tousled, eyes still partially lidded, clothed in his shirt and only his shirt.

"I told you to stay put, little girl." He called over his shoulder.

"You know I'm not a good listener." She crooned, clearing the space between them, and leaning forward, resting her cheek against his back, arms sliding around his torso.

He lifted the pan off the burner, placing it on the counter before he turned around, taking her delicate mandible in the large palm of his hand. "Only a good listener when I've got you spread out and begging for me." He growled, tightening his grip just enough to dig his finger into the bend of her jaw.

A low, little whimper churned its way out of her throat as he watched her pupils dilate, her thighs quivering, her cunt clamping around nothing as he tugged her neck straight, so her head was tilted back slightly, face turned up toward his.

"Go sit down, baby." He ordered, leaning down, and kissing the tip of her nose before releasing her jaw.

She stood there for a moment— a small tremor working its way through her body— until she could move, shuffle her way over to the table near the window, where she sat and watched him dish out the eggs onto two plates. He grabbed toast from the toaster when it obediently popped out, while she watched, chin in her palm. He buttered them, then finished decorating the plates with a couple pieces of bacon.

She was probably in love with him.

That was the only thought swimming through her mind as he placed the plates down on the table, the enticing scent of it swirling in the air, making her mouth water as he padded back into the kitchen to retrieve two mugs of coffee, hers, she noted, already swirling with cream and sugar.

He sat across from her, fork looking comically tiny held in his large hand, shoveling eggs into his mouth, wide shoulders slightly hunched over his plate, pretty, brown eyes flickering up to her when he felt her staring.

"Eat, chiquita." He barked the demand as he lifted a piece of toast to his mouth.

She immediately picked her fork up, stabbing at the eggs and forking them into her mouth. A low moan tumbled out of her as she swallowed. When was the last time someone had cooked for her? At least ten years ago. Her mother had been a horrendous cook, that much she remembered. Years of burnt casseroles and unseasoned chicken. But she tried, she'd had Emma young, had been forced into a domestic role, labored over cookbooks and family recipes that she'd never really had the time to master. But god, those eggs were good, and by the little smirk curling up the corner of his lips, Javier knew they were.

She finished her plate in haste, all but chugging her coffee. It was the best meal she'd had in ages, and it was just eggs and fucking toast.

"Still hungry?" He asked as he stood to collect their dirty dishes.

She shook her head, staring up at him with the same submissive expression she regularly wore when he fucked her. It made his cock ache.

He turned toward the sink before she snapped out her seat, her chair scraping the ground as she did. "I can wash the dishes."

His heart pinched in his chest, "I've got it, chiquita. I'm going to shower; do you want to meet me in the bathroom?"

"Okay!" She blurted, turning, and scampering down the hall.

He chuckled, placing their dishes in the sink, and quickly washing his hands. She was waiting for him when he got to the bathroom, perched on the edge of the tub, completely naked, his shirt hanging up on the hook on the door.

He groaned, low in his throat, his eyes flickering down from her face to her perky, little tits, down the milky skin of her belly, to her knees, which were pressed together, hiding her soft, pretty cunt from him.

"Spread your legs for me, baby." He hummed, taking a step toward her before dropping to his knees in front of her, gazing up at her like she was some kind of angel, an exalted figure created just for him to worship.

She obeyed, she always did when presented with the opportunity to cum, letting her knees drift apart as Javier leaned closer, wrapping his hands around her delicate ankles, thick, boiling need bubbling up in his core at the sight of her already all dripping and desperate for him.

"What's got you so worked up, honey?" His voice was low, his hands beginning to trail up her calves, making her want to squirm. "All I did was make you breakfast." He teased.

"Javi." She whined, leaning forward, and knocking her knees into the hard plane of his chest.

"Oh, I know, baby. Pretty little cunt just needs some attention. You'll get it, I promise." His voice was almost mocking, but his eyes betrayed his domineering tone by looking up at her all soft and eager and desperate.

He stood, then leaned over her, lifting her onto her feet with two sturdy hands on her waist. He held her close to his side, reaching into the shower and yanking on the hot water. Emma pawed at his chest, her pelvis quivering with need as he slowly trailed his hand up and down her back, his other hand held out underneath the spray of the water, testing the temperature on his palm.

When it was warm enough, he tugged his sweats down and lifted her up in one fluid motion, a little squeal echoing out of her throat as he carried her into the shower with him.

He did want to fuck her, of course he did, with her all soft and naked in his arms, glittering with droplets of water like a little water nymph, but he also wanted to take care of her, prove his earlier promise as genuine in any way he could. The necessity felt just as intense as the desire to fuck her, prove that she was his with her pussy stuffed full of his cock.

"Lean your head back for me, bonita." He hummed, brushing his thick fingers through the front of her hair.

She did, eyes fluttering closed, hands clutching his arm as he wet her hair, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw as he stared down at her with a kind of marveling amazement.

The water was almost as warm as his feverish skin, and his fingers felt so fucking good in her hair, but her pussy was aching, desperate for him to touch it with his fingers, his mouth, fill it with the devastating length of his cock.

"Javi." She whined, wanton and desperate.

"Hush chiquita. Let me take care of you first." He whispered, leaning down to place a kiss on her damp forehead before grabbing the shampoo bottle, squeezing out a palmful and beginning to work it through his hands before stepping behind her and massaging it into her scalp.

She felt her belly go all warm and liquid as a quivering moan echoed from her throat. Her balance wavered a bit before she bumped against him, leaning back against his chest, eyes fluttered closed as his strong hands worked the shampoo into her hair. Oh god, it felt so fucking good.

"Mmm." Emma hummed involuntarily as he moved her back under the water, beginning to wash the shampoo from her hair.

"Does that feel good, baby? Do you like it when Papi takes care of you?" His voice was a low rumble vibrating her chest as he spoke.

Taking care of me.

That's what he was doing.

That's what he had always done, despite her urge to fight against it, despite her nagging insistence that she didn't need him.

Maybe she didn't need him. She had proven to herself, and to everyone else, that she didn't need anyone. She'd taken care of herself for so long, kept herself alive, fed, sheltered. But when was the last time she had felt as safe as she did with him?

Never, she thought with a kind of stinging realization deep in her chest. She'd never felt safe. Every day that she existed as a singular entity strewn out into the world felt like a day the ball might drop, everything might end. There were many times, when she was living in her car, that she thought someone might break in and murder her. She had lived with harrowing the truth of just how alone she was, that if something were to happen to her no one would know or care. She would simply show up as a Jane Doe on the local nightly news report, another one of the sad, forgotten numbers in the crime statistics. She lived her life clutching a bottle of pepper spray, scraping by on tips and credit card debt, waking up every day and swallowing the bitter pill of isolation like it was the only viable option.

"Answer me, cariño."

He'd moved her back out of the water, was working conditioner through her hair, placing gentle kisses on the curve of her shoulder.

"Yes Javi." She whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

His heart clenched at the sound, and he carefully turned her around, tilting her chin up with a hooked first finger, the cramping in his chest morphing into an agonizing burn as he took in the crimson rimming her eyes.

"What is it, Em?" And oh, his voice was so soft, those pretty, brown eyes glazed over with concern, care. He cares about me, and he's going to keep me safe, and I'll never be a Jane Doe again because I'm his. He calls me Em, and he calls me chiquita, and he knows me. He knows me.

She shook her head, the motion a weird little wobble as she let her face fall forward onto his chest. "Nothing, I— I just really do, really do like... it." She mumbled, unable to repeat the exact wording.

"Really do like what, baby?" He inquired, wrapping his arms tightly around her, rubbing his hand firmly up and down her back.

Her face felt prickly and hot buried against his chest. She didn't know how to speak it out loud, just wanted him to read her mind. Admitting that she liked, wanted him to take care of her, protect her, look out for her, was like abandoning everything she thought she knew about herself. Part of it felt like defeat, but a larger part felt like relief... maybe all of it was relief, and she just didn't know how to process it quite yet.

She was about to open her mouth, try some pathetic mumbling again when he spoke, low and brassy, the baritone of it vibrating against her cheek.

"You like it when I take care of you." He reiterated, hand clutching the back of her neck so he could feel when she nodded.

He used that grasp to tug her head away from his chest so he could look down at her, heart still aching at the sight of her glossy, red eyes. "Tell me why you're crying."

She gnawed on her bottom lip, gazing up at him like he was the only person in the world she trusted.

I am. He thought, the realization crashing into his chest like a ten-ton truck. I am the only person she trusts.

"Just— just feel— feel relieved? I guess? I— I just— No one's ever taken care of me, Javi. Not since my parents died. I haven't let anyone and you just— you make me feel— make me feel safe."

He was going to burst. His chest was going to rip apart and his heart, heavy and teeming with adoration for her, was going to fall out onto the floor like an offering.

"Chiquita." He rumbled, grabbing her jaw, and fusing his lips to hers in a kiss so heated and ardent, she immediately had to grab onto him to keep from falling onto the floor of the shower.

She whimpered into his mouth, little fingers digging into his wet biceps, trying to get onto her toes to press more of herself against him as he nipped at her bottom lip, tugging her jaw open and licking a claim over the soft, wet skin of her palate.

"I'll keep you safe, always keep you safe." He muttered as he hoisted her up, a moan tumbling from his throat as his erect cock pressed into the soft, supple skin of her ass.

She tangled her fingers into his damp curls, tugging at them as he nosed her neck up to nip at her neck, prolonging that mark above her clavicle that he'd kept there for months, then lapping at the hurt with his tongue as she whined, pressing her perky little tits against the hard plane of his chest.

"Please fuck me, Daddy." She wailed, her words making him groan as he swore, he felt her cunt pulse against his pelvis.

"Fuck." He grunted, moving them to the back of the shower, where he pressed her back against the tiled wall, "You want me to fuck you like this, chiquita?" He huffed, his chest heaving as he held her up with one arm, using his free hand to direct his dick toward her leaking little hole.

"Yes, pleasepleaseplease." She cried, clawing at his shoulders, her cunt aching to be filled, filled by him, only him.

The sound of her begging was his fucking kryptonite. "Okay, shh. I'll give you what you need, little one." He grunted, carefully lowering her onto him, breaking her open as she sank further and further onto his cock, fluttering around him as he stretched her open, both of them moaning into the echoing space of the shower.

"T-that's it, fuck you take me so well. Feel so fucking good." He gritted, teeth bared and clenched together as he took her waist in both his hands, beginning to thrust up into her against the wall of the shower.

"Da-ddy." She trembled, dark eyes fucking blown out, puffy lips parted as she dug her nails into his shoulders. He was driving into the end of her, hitting her cervix so deliciously she already felt herself clamping tight around him.

"Daddy's perfect little girl, perfect pussy, all mine." He growled the word and her cunt clenched so tightly around him he was almost pushed out as he tried to thrust back up into her. "Fuck." He groaned, head falling forward against her pillowy tits, "You get so fucking tight when I tell you that you're mine. You love that don't you, pretty girl?"

"Y-es, yesyesyes. Oh fuck, Javi. I-- feels so good."

"I know, sweet thing. Hard to think when you're stuffed so full of cock. Daddy's going to fuck you so full of cum." He leaned forward to catch her lips in a hard embrace, swallowing a moan out of her mouth as he did. "Cock hungry little girl, going to fuck a baby into you, make you all round and perfect with my baby. T-ake care of you both, never-- fuck-- never let you go."

Oh god, his words were like lightning straight from his mouth to her cunt, and she fluttered around him, everything going tight and hot, a coiled string that had her arching back against the wall of the shower, then springing forward, spilling around his shaft as she screamed.

"That's my girl, that's my good girl." He praised, the feeling of her squeezing his cock rocketing him toward his release, something between a whimper and a moan flooding out of his mouth as he held her tight against him, thrusting his spend up into her as she milked him through the end of her orgasm.

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek, then gently set her down, mumbling something about needing to see it. Her legs shook, daring to send her on the floor as he knelt in front of her, letting her rest her hands on his shoulders as he ducked between her legs, watching in awe as his cum leaked out of her, mingling with the slick of her own sex.

"Take it all, querida." He grunted, gathering the bit leaking out of her with two of his fingers and shoving it back up into her aching entrance.

She whimpered, fingers digging into his skin as he stood back up, locking her to his chest. "Open your mouth." He demanded and she listened, puffy lips popping open so he could shove his fingers in, groaning as she lapped up the remaining cum with her soft, wet tongue.

"Good girl." He hummed, watching her gaze up at him with that look of deep trust that made him feel like he was going to keel over.

His fingers exited her mouth with a pop, and he flashed her a soft smile, that dimple emerging on his right cheek, his dark hair wet and dripping onto the strong bridge of his nose.

Oh god, he's pretty. Oh god, I'm in love with him.

I'm in love with him.

There was no denying it, no suppressing it, no way she could wrap it up and present it as something else. She was in love with him, and the realization felt like coming home. 

"Come here, chiquita." He whispered, taking her back under the water and rinsing the conditioner from her hair, then grabbing the soap and working it through his fingers before he began massaging it into her back, down her arms, over the hills of her knuckles, to the tips of her fingers. He washed every inch of her, so gently, so thoroughly. When he washed her feet he tapped the back of her knees, encouraging her to lean forward onto his shoulders so she wouldn't fall, then lifted her into his arms so she would slip once her feet were all lathered up.

When he was finished washing her, he wrapped her in a large, white, fluffy towel, lifting her up and placing her on the counter, instructing her to stay while he washed himself.

She watched him while he did, locked in place while he tilted his head back, his eyes closed, his profile likening him to some kind of Native god, his shoulders so impossibly broad, the muscles in his arms and torso deliciously firm underneath his golden skin. She was done for. There was no questioning it anymore. There was no deal. There was no just sex. She was in deep with no means or desire to escape.

He shut the water off when he was finished, tousling his hair with a towel before wrapping it around his waist and stepping out of the shower to gather her little form in his arms, carrying her back into the bedroom where he collapsed onto the mattress with her still wrapped up against him.

It was quiet for a moment. Her face pressed into the warm skin of his neck, smelling like his body wash and his shampoo. She was his. The thought, no matter how many times it occurred to him, sent little shock waves through his system. He had told her countless times with his face between her thighs or her spread out on his dick, but he needed to cement it, finalize it, claim it while they were fully clothed and not wrapped up in the throes of pleasure.

He was going to make her his. Then he was going to make himself worthy of that claim, only because he couldn't wait and do it the other way around, couldn't wait another fucking minute.

"Go on a date with me." He whispered. It was a statement, but a pleading one, his brown eyes gazing desperately into hers when she lifted her head.

"I thought Javier Peña doesn't date." She retorted, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest as a little smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"I've decided to make an exception." He reached forward to tuck one of the wet strands snaking off her head behind her ear. "Please, go on a date with me."

This was his way of confirming that the deal was off. This was their way of giving in, letting this consume them, admitting that it already had.

She lifted her head, just enough so she could press a soft kiss onto his lips, his mustache tickling her nose as she pulled away just enough to speak. "Okay." She whispered, soft lips sweeping his, still close enough that she could feel them pull into a grin.

"Okay." He reiterated.

The driver of the Pinto parked outside Javier's apartment lowered his binoculars.