Page 51 of Hunting Little Hope
Tyrell’s brows dipped. “For what, exactly?”
“For—” I gestured vaguely. “All of it. The crying. Missing breakfast. Being so dramatic.”
Lee’s hand stilled on my stomach.
“You weren’t dramatic,” he said quietly, his voice no longer sleepy at all. There was steel laced through his tone.
In front of me, Perry made a soft sound and shifted closer, but he didn’t wake. His face was still relaxed, lashes fanned against his cheeks.
“How long was I out?” I asked, trying to push past the lump rising in my throat and ignoring Lee’s firm declaration.
“Couple of hours,” Tyrell answered gently. “You clearly needed it.”
A couple of hours. Oh fuck. “I completely messed up breakfast.”
Lee huffed softly behind me. “We can all survive skipping one meal, sweetheart.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Tyrell cut in, not unkindly. “You don’t get to feel guilty about falling apart, button.”
“I should at least get up,” I insisted weakly. “Let Perry sleep properly. I can?—”
Lee’s arm tightened immediately. “No.” His tone wasn’t harsh or angry.
It was firm in a way that made my breath catch. Stupid of me to forget that Daddies were Doms too.
“You’re going to let us take care of you. Even if, after today, you decide you don’t want anything to do with us, you’ll give yourself this one moment.”
Something in my chest wobbled dangerously.
Tyrell stood then, moving quietly toward the bed. I hadn’t even noticed the small paper bag sitting on the bedside table until he picked it up.
“We brought reinforcements,” he said lightly.
My eyes tracked the bag suspiciously, and a hint of amusement flickered across Tyrell’s face as he reached inside and pulled something out.
A pink pacifier.
A pink pacifier with the prettiest, sparkly bow on the front instead of the usual ring on the shield.
It was delicate. Beautiful. Ridiculous.
Not. Made. For. Me.
But oh, it was perfect.
My heart ached as I stared at the small, delicate binky in his large, masculine hands.
My stomach swooped, and I felt a definite ache and clench between my legs.
“Whose is that?” The words were out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking them. What did it matter whose it was? I couldn’t use it.
“Hmm,” Tyrell said. “Perry doesn’t share, and I don’t see any other Little girls here, so I guess it must be yours.”
As if summoned by his name, Perry shifted again, mumbling something unintelligible and burrowing closer into my hip.
Tyrell held the pacifier out toward me.
