Just a Hint of Doubt

Everything fits like a charm. The jeans hug my curves perfectly, and the soft sweater feels like a warm hug against my skin. How did he know my size?

Then again, this isn't the first time he's bought me clothes. They're still sitting in the stalkerish bag they were delivered in, at Penelope's house. Huh. I should try them on.

Now that he's fucked me front, back, and sideways, there's little point in trying to appear standoffish. Besides, he's getting me food.

My stomach growls impatiently.

As I pull on the new socks—because of course he thought of everything—I try to sort through the jumble of emotions swirling inside me. Gratitude, certainly. A hint of suspicion—how did he manage all this so quickly? And underneath it all, a warmth I'm not quite ready to name.