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"Thank you, sir."
"Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime."
There wasn't quite as much turmoil plaguing her, she realized when Braun strolled away with the bottlenecks hooked between three fingers. Sometimes it helped to have an outside opinion guiding her, steering her away from the giant black holes of despair.
Well, no one said loving the resident sadist would be easy.
The TV had switched to commercials, but otherwise the living room was quiet. Bodie was probably still asleep, catching up on what she'd missed in the hospital. Archie didn't want to go back in and disturb her, so she resigned herself to hanging out in the kitchen until dinner was ready. That was okay—she still had water to boil and the rice to cook, the chicken to baste.
The clock to watch.
*
Just over an hour later, Braun laid his cutlery on his empty plate and pushed it a few inches across the table with an appreciative groan. "That was delicious, thank you, Archie. You've got the magic touch with food."
"I'm seconding that." Jasper patted his flat stomach in satisfaction.
The men had cleared their plates effortlessly; Bodie was pushing her food around, eyes blank and unfocused. Archie had done pretty much the same, nibbling disinterestedly at the food she'd made because her stomach was too full of nervous butterflies to even consider eating.
"Our girls don't seem to be hungry," Braun stated, giving Bodie a frown.
Anarchy wilted under Jasper's disapproval. Before he could say anything, she bounced out of her seat and hurriedly gathered the empty dishes along with her own. Taking them to the sink, she was tempted to just throw all of them in there and bolt upstairs, but Jasper wouldn't allow that.
She took her time scraping off the dishes even though the men's plates didn't need it, then meticulously rinsed them and placed each one in the dishwasher. One by one. Another plate, Bodie's, landed on the counter next to the sink, then arms came around her and Jasper's chin rested lightly on her shoulder.
"I think I know where you learned to cook, kitten. Grandma taught you well."
"She liked to cook, and bake," Archie mumbled.
"Mmm-hmm. Did she also teach you how to shut down when you're scared?"
No, that Grandma hadn't done. That was all Anarchy—depending on her level of fear, she either clammed up or sprayed attitude like shrapnel. "I'm not scared."
"Liar, liar, kitten on fire," he taunted with a rough laugh. "One wrong word and you'll be through that wall over there, the outline of your body left in the drywall." His lips skimmed her neck. "Leave the dishes, we're gonna go sit down and spend some quiet time together before we head over to Avalon. That is, if you still want to play?"
Archie toyed with the cutlery still in the sink. "Yes, Sir."
"Yeah, that's convincing." His arms changed position, and he scooped her up without the smallest grunt of exertion. Carried her from the kitchen—the empty kitchen, she noted in confusion—into the living room, and dropped down onto the couch with her.
They'd been busy. An armchair and side table were gone, and the bed was in their place, tucked into the corner of the room. Braun was tucking his sub under the covers, murmuring to her and stroking her face before her eyes shut. He settled himself next to her, long legs stretched out along the mattress.
"I can't stay here, Jasper," she whispered, squirming restlessly. "This is too intimate. We should give them some space."
"Braun doesn't mind. All I'm asking for is an hour, Archie. One hour to sit quietly, holding you. Because later on, when you're busy hating me, I want you to remember this. I want you to remember I'm not a monster, even through the pain." Sadness tinged the low throb of his words.
She'd signed up for this, Archie reminded herself. From day one, there could be no misconception about his sadism. She'd accepted that, pursued him regardless of that, and loved both parts of him. The sjambok was throwing her off-kilter, that was all, and casting shadows on her trust in him. She couldn't afford to let the darkness drive a wedge between them.
Archie closed her eyes and curled into him, letting her body purge some of the tension strangling her shoulders and back. His scent was strong, warm, filling her senses with sandalwood. "I guess an hour isn't too much to ask."
"Thank you, kitten."
She found herself counting his breaths. Matching her own to them. Slow and easy, until she was floating on the rhythm, drifting on a river of sandalwood.
*
Poor little kitten, all het up and frightened.
Jasper leaned his head against the back of the couch as Anarchy slept. He'd asked for an hour, but he'd let her have more if she needed it. She'd been strung tight every time he saw her today and had only gotten worse during dinner. To the point she'd eaten three forkfuls of rice and half a chicken breast.
