“We are. I knew that. I didn’t know that you knew that.”
Her eyes run their full-circle course. “I’m notthatstupid.”
“You’re not stupid at all, and I wish you’d stop saying that you are.”
Divot. “I wishyouhad better self-control.”
I touch my thumb to the dip beneath her lip. “Do I not?” Behold, me, not even begging her for kisses. What is self-control, if not this?
“Staying the night with you feels like playing Russian roulette. I don’t know which of us is going to break first. Which sucks.” Her forehead drops against my chest, and then her body follows, melting into me. “Because right now? I want this. In bed. With hot chocolate. For maybe several hours…but probably several days.”
My breath hitches, but I manage to wrap her up in my arms without losing my nerve—or my impeccable self-control. Soft, so as to not frighten her, I say, “We could always get married.”
“If divorce weren’t a thing, that’s almost a solution, isn’t it?”
“Divorce is long. Exhausting. I don’t think I have the stamina for it. So that ‘option’ is practically non-existent, if you ask me.”
She shifts, arms hanging at her sides. “I’m spiteful, bitter, and volatile. Not exactly goodwifematerial.”
“Yeah, well. I’m messed up and like being bullied. So you’reperfectwife material for me.”
Her face lifts, chin propped on my chest, divot on full display. “You like me…because I’m mean to you?”
“I hide it so well, don’t I?”
Sadness drowns her eyes before her face buries itself against my chest again. This time her arms circle me and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
I shudder. “What new level of bullying is this, mistress? You’ve learned my kink, so now you’re withholding my meanness in an elaborate feat of 3D harassment? I’m not sure my body can withstand such depth of antagonism. If you’d like to betrulycruel, you should kiss me, though.”
“I don’t want to be cruel.”
Pity.
“I do want to kiss you, though.”
Oh?I rescind my previous remark.
Forgetting what she’s just said, she crushes me, then leaves me chilled. Returning to her discarded laundry basket, she hefts it up and peers at me.
Tilted against the wall, arms empty, I peer back at her.
“Would you still like me if I’m nice to you?” she asks.
“That depends.” I tuck my cold mistress-less hands in my pockets, to keep them warm. “Doesbeing nice to meinclude explaining what’s wrong with you today?”
Her eyes narrow. “What’swrongwith me today?”
“I said what I said. Even if it has nothing to do with me, something’s up. I know that much at least.”
She huffs, and turns, and stomps away.
I don’t move. “Why do you care about being cruel all of a sudden?”
“Why do you think it’s all of a sudden?” She whirls. “Am I really a terrible person, and you just like that the abuse is familiar or fun? Am I really just holding your attention because of the dopamine rush you get when dealing with my attitude?”
Ouch. “Who knows why I like yourattitude? Also, I don’t think you’re a terrible person, but I do think when you’re mean to me, it’s on purpose.”
“And if it’s not? If I’m justmean?”
