I sigh. “Fine, Papi. Whatever.”
“There’s my sassy girl. I will use the serum when we enter the transport vessel so that you’ll sleep all the way home.”
This time I stop breathing. “Why?”
“It takes six months to get to Eleadia, Little one, and your human body needs to be in stasis for the trip. You wouldn’t survive otherwise.”
My voice rises. “Six months?”
“Yes. You won’t even know it. When you wake up, it will seem like you just slept through the night.”
“Will you be asleep, too?”
“Nope. I’ll be taking care of you.”
I’m stunned. I never thought about this fact.
“Now, I’ll give you a choice because I know how much you like choices.”
I growl at him. I already know I’m never going to like his “choices.”
“You may either be cooperative and let Papi bathe you, or I can inject you with enough relaxant that your body goes limp in my arms while I wash you. Which do you prefer?”
He does not fight fair. I want to point out that he has a third option—let me go home. But I don’t. I’m pretty sure my snarkiness is starting to wear on him.
He releases my arm to cup my chin with one hand. “Can you be a good girl for me while I wash you, Little one?”
Something about his tone and the way his gaze is penetrating mine suggests I should let go of this battle so I can retain the ability to continue to fight the war. Plus, my body reacts strongly to his words. That particular tone and the way he says “good girl” and “Little one.”
“Fine.”
“How about you try something a bit more agreeable like please give me a bath, Papi.”
My breath hitches. This is the second time he’s ordered me to ask him to do his bidding. It’s so bossy and over-the-top dominating. The thought of begging him to Daddy me makes me grip my knees together.
He speaks again. “I promise to be a good girl while you wash me, Papi.”
I swallow.
He waits.
Can he smell my arousal? My pussy is under the water. I hope not. I’m sure he can feel my increased pulse, though. He’s overly sensitive to such things. Bracing myself, I give him what he’s demanding. “I promise to be a good girl while you wash me, Papi.”
His smile broadens. “See? That wasn’t hard. Not as hard as your nipples are from asking.”
Damn him. Damn, damn, damn.
He releases me, and I hold the edges of the basin while he lets the cool water out, replaces the stopper, and runs warm water in. While the water rises, he picks up a large cup and fills it. “Tip your head back for me, Little one, so I can get your hair wet.”
“I don’t want my hair wet, Papi.” Maybe if I’m agreeable, he’ll listen to me. “I washed it today. I don’t have any way to style it again. It will get all wavy and frizzy.”
He lifts my chin with a finger. “I’m going to wash all of you, Baby girl, including your hair. You will feel so good when we get all the chemicals off your body and hair. The water alone should already be affecting you.”
“It’s not normal water?”
“Sure it is. But it’s Eleadian water. We bring it from our planet. Your water isn’t healthy or safe. Ours is pure and clean. We don’t touch yours or drink it. You won’t anymore either.”
“But can’t you leave my hair alone this time?”
“No, Little one. It would be silly for me to wash only part of you. Tip your head back and stop arguing with Papi.”
I’m fighting tears as he pours the cup of water over my head. I doubt he has a hair dryer or gel or any other product I need in this apartment. I hope they at least have them on Eleadia.
“Take a deep breath, Baby girl,” he orders in a soothing voice. “I know you’re nervous. I promise I’m going to do everything in my power to help you adjust. All Little girls have trouble accepting a new way of life at first.”
“I bet Mia’s not,” I grumble. “She’s Little. She’s probably giggling and happier than a clam.”
“That’s rare, Ava. If she’s adjusting that easily, good for her. But most Little girls need time. You’re not an anomaly.”
“I’m not Little,” I remind him again.
He doesn’t respond. What he does do is massage my scalp in such a way that I’m nearly panting. How does he make washing my hair so erotic? I never want him to stop. It feels so good. His hands are huge, and his fingers are strong. He applies the perfect amount of pressure and takes his time.
When the water level is high, he turns off the faucet and continues massaging my scalp until I’m practically putty, and I nearly groan when he’s done. He takes great care to rinse my hair thoroughly, using the cup and one hand at my forehead to keep water from running into my eyes.
I reach up and stroke my hand over the length of thick hair when he’s done. It’s softer than I’ve ever felt, and he didn’t even use conditioner. I don’t see any. Just the one type of soap.
He puts more in his palm and rubs his hands together. “Tip your head back and close your eyes, Baby girl. The soap won’t burn if it gets in them, but I don’t want you to get water in your eyes.”
