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The idea sent one more hard shudder through her, but she took the wet wipes from him with an arch look. "You underestimate how long I plan to keep you down there once I have you between my legs, boy. You might be living on a diet of pussy until dawn."
"Sounds like I better fortify myself with some other nutrition then," he said, plucking out one of the individually wrapped pieces of cake before she could stop him. She snatched for it and he tried to hold it out of reach in the small space, fending her off as she wrestled him for it. She would have tried a punch in his side to get him to lower his arm, but she was conscious of that bruising along his ribs and wouldn't add to it. She rethought that when he resorted to tickling to defend his pillaging.
"What...ah! Quit...asshole..." She was laughing, and he was grinning, the cake juggling between them as they both tried to secure it without crushing it. She snatched it back and tossed him a glare. "You are the rudest man I've ever met. Ask nicely."
"Please, Mistress, may I have some cake?" He said it with a straight face, a betraying hint of mischief in his smile. She sighed and handed it over.
"Pain in my ass. That's what you are." She stroked his hair again as he settled in to eat the cake, and watched his strong profile.
He was built like a man, top to bottom, thank the Goddess. But inside, there was so much little boy. She didn't say that, but it puzzled her, and she really did want to ask some questions. She couldn't ask about the animal
cruelty charge, but thought she could find the truth a different way.
"When did your father go to prison?"
"When I was twelve. It took several years for his trial, and then he's been on death row a long time while some anti-death penalty lawyers tried to appeal his case. A few months back, they told me it was a pretty sure thing the last appeal was going to fail. Like I should be sorry about that." He scoffed.
"Can I ask what he did?"
"He raped and killed a woman. Stabbed her, strangled her, tortured her. Not in that order."
The comment came out flat, though he'd obviously intended to sound flippant. She gave him points for not being able to pull it off. Marius looked as if the cake had become particle board. He picked up his Coke and took a swallow. "At the end of the trial, he told reporters he would have been a bigger serial killer in Florida than Collins or Dahmer. Said it like it was the world's loss he was too stupid to avoid getting caught on his first kill."
She remembered realizing he had no frame of reference for having a favorite band as a teenager. In much the same way, she had no frame of reference for this. Not as his Mistress, nor as a lover, or even a friend. As he spoke, he was becoming more remote, drawing back into himself again. He wrapped up the rest of the cake and set it aside on the dash, returning to a broody stare at the structure.
"What time do you go in?"
"In about ten minutes. I go in that way, over there." He nodded. "They'll take me to the witness gallery when it's time."
He didn't want to be touched now. He was slouched against the other side of the car, elbow propped on his knee, Coke dangling from his fingers. Regina turned toward him on her hip again, drawing her legs up farther onto the seat.
"Did he call you Marius or Duncan?"
Surprise flickered in Marius's eyes, but he answered her. "Neither. Called me boy. Not like you do it. Sounds like a different word when you say it." He tilted his head and looked at her, a small victory, though his eyes seemed distant. "I like how you use it. The shadow called me Duncan. She was scared of him."
"The shadow?"
"Yeah. She was scared of everything. If the house was clean and I had the basics, she stayed in her room, with all the lights off, in the bed. I thought she was a live-in maid or nanny, hired help going through the motions. One time when I was five, I asked my dad who my mom was, where she was. I asked that in the kitchen, in front of her. He thought that was hilarious."
He jammed the Coke in a plastic cup holder. "This is fucked up. Go home, Regina. Please."
All of it dropped. The submissive, the charmer; every layer she'd seen covering him since this had begun between them. What she saw was a tired man whose eyes looked like they belonged to an eighty-year-old. "Really. I need you to go."
"I think that's the last thing you need. I'll go sit in my car if you want, but I'm not going." She spoke firmly, calmly. Not aggressive. Not right now. Just resolute. "When you come out, I'm going to be here, as I said. I'll be anything you need then, even if it's someone to sit with you without saying a word."
He stared back through the windshield, and she saw his throat work. "Ok. But...do me a favor."
"Anything, sweet boy. Except leave."
He closed his eyes and was silent a long moment. Then he opened them. "Will you make me breakfast again sometime? With those cinnamon buns?"
"Yeah." Reaching across the console, she ran her knuckles along his biceps, up to his short shirt sleeve. She caressed beneath it, knowing she was touching the armor tattoo. The cinnamon buns were the canned kind she broke open on the counter, peeled apart and put in the oven, with a packet of icing to melt over them when they came out, but she agreed, they were good. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
She pulled his keys out of the ignition and tucked them away into her bra. "I keep these for now. All right?"
He eyed her. "Putting them there only makes me want to take them back."
