LAINE
He towels me dry and helps me into my knickers and nightdress. My socks, too. He gets me a glass of warm milk and takes me through to the sitting room, pats his knee as he lowers himself into an armchair, and I join him, my ass pressing into his lap as his arms wrap me up and hold me tight.
His lips press to my shoulder. “You smell so clean, Laine. Sweet, like cherries.”
He breathes in my damp hair and I still can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe that someone loves me like this.
He takes a brush from the side table and its bristles feel so nice against my scalp as he works it through my hair. He’s gentle, but firm, with long smooth strokes to my shoulder blades, pulling loose any knots with short, sharp tugs. He’s done this before.
I’m surprised when he splits my hair int
