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“Spring water, not purified,” he explains, when my brow furrows, and I grin.
“Someone took Zac Efron’s lesson to heart,” I reply, reminded of the episode we watched this morning about the different kinds of water, and how purified bottled water is actually really bad for you.
“Learning occurred,” he confirms, and he lowers his towering frame until he’s sitting cross-legged and facing the TV. “Dig in, beautiful.”
My face heats at the compliment, and I reach for one of the salads, asking him to pass me the ranch dressing. We eat and watch the next episode, and I can’t help but take in how natural this feels, eating and watching TV, topless no less, with Nate on a Saturday afternoon. As exciting and new as it is, it also seems like we’ve done this a million times.
“Let me try,” he states and leans in my direction, opening his mouth while his hands are full of pizza. I get a bite on my fork with a little bit of everything in the salad and feed it to him, and I beam when he hums with pleasure. “Now that’s a damn good salad.”
I nod, smiling shyly as I look down into my plastic bowl.
“Here, try this.”
I look up to see the pizza in front of my face, and my eyes meet his as I lean forward and take a bite. “Mmm,” I moan and nod while I chew. After I swallow, I lick my lips. “That’s really good. What toppings are on that?”
“Ground beef, red onions, and green bell peppers,” he replies, watching my lips.
I smile again, saying softly, “Please put that on my list of food choices.”
“Done, little mouse.” He says it so nonchalantly that it settles all the anxiety that was still lingering after I thought he wasn’t coming back.
When we’re done, we work side by side to clean up the mess, even though I offered to do it while he relaxed. He just gave me a stern look that shut me up, and everything was back to the way it was before we ate in a matter of minutes.
I go sit down on the couch in the living room, and he disappears down my hallway, coming back a moment later with a scowl on his face. I sit up straight in alarm he looks so serious. “What’s the matter?”
He crosses his arms over his chest and lowers his eyebrows, and I shrink back into the couch at the look, having no idea what would cause him to look at me that way.
“There’s no laundry in the dryer,” he states, and his tone makes me swallow.
“I-I… well, you were taking so long, and I clean when I get worrie—”
He cuts me off, “I told you I would fold everything once it was done. No matter the circumstances, I feel like… I feel like there should be some type of punishment for you disobeying me.”
I bite my lip, taking in the emotions warring in his eyes. This is all new to him. This is a part of a Dominant’s life I’ve never seen before, the path they’ve taken to become the trained and professional Doms I’ve only met at Club Alias. I don’t know any of their backstories. I don’t know what led to them being the flawless and perfect leaders they are now. It’s like… it’s like Nathaniel is a baby Dom, finding his way, finding his voice, finding his strength and getting used to this new skin.
I think of the book I love, the one by Red Phoenix, and how it followed the heroine in her training to become the perfect submissive. And at one point, they had to scene with the Doms in training, who were in a separate class. It reminds me that Doms don’t just… materialize as perfect beings. They have to be taught just as I had to learn how to be a proper sub.
It makes me realize that if we truly want to make this work, he’s going to need someone to teach him, and that someone can’t be me.
I nod, sitting up straight and placing my hands in my lap. “Yes, Mr. Black,” I finally say, and he reaches behind him and rubs the back of his neck.
“Um… so, uh… come here.” He crosses his arms once more, and I stand and walk over to him, wondering what he’ll do. He doesn’t look like he even knows it himself. When I’m directly in front of him, he looks down at me, and we stand there looking into each other’s eyes for long moments, the tension growing thick.
Finally, he shakes his head. “We really need to figure this out, little mouse,” he murmurs.
I nod slowly, hiding the relief I feel that he’s mature enough that he wants to take this seriously, that he doesn’t just take this as some role-playing game to liven up his sex life. “I know someone,” I tell him softly.
