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Petting me.
The realization should be humiliating, but screw it. It’s just the two of us here, and besides, I’ve already decided I’m the one playing him in all of this, so none of it really matters.
I open my mouth again, but this time, nothing meets my lips.
“I’ve got some bacon right here. Would you like some of that?”
I nod my head up and down.
Xavier tuts his tongue at me. “What do you say, Pet?”
Oh my God, I’m definitely crushing his balls when all is said and done. “Yes, Master,” I manage to get out through my thick throat. “Sir, may I please have the rest of my breakfast?”
“That’s right,” he says soothingly, his hand returning to my head. “That’s a good girl.” The next thing I know my taste buds are exploding with the flavor of maple-smoked bacon.
Next comes more eggs, then bacon again.
“Suck my fingers,” he orders. “Suck every last piece of juice off.”
He shoves his thick fingers in my mouth and obediently, I suck.
He pumps them slowly in and out, eventually pulling them out with a pop and shoving his thumb in instead.
It’s just a show, I tell myself as I suck greedily at his thumb. I just need to make it look convincing or he might decide the meal is over before I’m ready.
“Now for something a little sticky and sweet.”
Why does every word out of his mouth suddenly sound like the dirtiest thing in the English language?
He sticks several slices of tangerine in my mouth.
“Bite down,” he instructs.
The slices are a mouthful and when I comply, juice spurts out and down my lips. I duck my face and lift a hand to wipe at the juice, but Xavier’s swats me lightly. He grabs my hair and exposes my throat in that way he’s so fond of doing. I chew and swallow some of the tangerine pulp, but juice continues dripping down over my chin.
I startle when I feel Xavier’s tongue on my neck, licking upward to catch the trail of juice. He must be down on the floor with me. Up and up his tongue traces, all the way to my bottom lip.
My breath hitches as he licks the last of the juice from the corner of my mouth. Then he nuzzles his cheek against mine. “That’s right. Shhh, you’re doing so, so well.”
When he sticks another piece of egg in my mouth and his finger lingers after I finish the bite, I suck without him even asking.
By the end of breakfast when my formerly empty stomach feels full to bursting, I’m near to crying with the confusion of needs he’s stirring up in me.
He hauls me up from the floor. I stumble unsteadily on my feet, unused to sitting in a position like that for half an hour. His strong arms set me aright. I think that he’ll take off my blindfold and let me go up to bed.
Of course nothing ever goes like I expect with this man. The blindfold stays on and when he hefts me into his arms again and takes me upstairs, we don’t stop at my bedroom on the second floor. My head falls against his shoulder as I feel him carry me up to the third floor.
Oh God, what now? I’m finally full but no less tired. If I could just sleep for a week, that’d be awesome right about now.
He pushes open the door to his large suite and I brace to be dropped unceremoniously onto his giant bed again. I squeeze my eyes shut underneath the mask.
It only makes sense, though. I’m here for a reason and we haven’t been up to any baby-making activities for almost three days now.
But he keeps walking once we’re inside the room. Then I hear his boots on tile. His room is carpeted. We must be in the bathroom.
He sets me down on my feet and I stumble a little, disoriented.
“Lean against the wall for balance,” he says, and then I hear the sound of a faucet being turned on and the echo of rushing water.
A bath. He’s running me a bath.
My body sinks against the wall he indicated beside me. Oh God, a bath does sound divine. I don’t even want to think about the layer of dirt and grime and God knows what else that’s coating me. Ugh, I shudder just thinking about it.
Even when Xavier was stroking my hair earlier, his fingers kept getting caught in tangles. My hair is barely four or five inches long—there’s not that much to get snarled. Still, personal hygiene hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities the past couple of days.
The bathwater turns off a few minutes later and Xavier’s hands return. From behind, he starts low at my knees and his fingers skate up my outer thighs, higher and higher until he lifts my dress up over my head. Without him asking, I lift my arms to help him get it off. He murmurs approving noises—not even words, just positive vocalizations.
