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"Is that right?" He smirks.
"Anything you want, Seb. Anything."
He holds my gaze for a second longer, then releases me. He leans back. "No," he says in a cold tone.
"Wha… what do you mean, no?"
He pushes away from me, then grasps my waist and lowers me to the floor. "On your knees, Princess."
I sway closer to him and he puts more distance between us. "Get on your knees." He lowers his voice to a hush, and the hair on the nape of my neck rises.
Only when my knees hit the floor do I realize I’ve obeyed him. I push aside the pain from the impact and peer up at him.
"On all fours," he orders.
I lower my palms to the floor. The ring on my left hand thunks when my fingers connect with the wood. OMG, I’m married to him. I. Am. Married. To this guy who is bent on breaking me down.Iasked him to make me submit to him, so why do I feel so confused about it? Is it because I’m not used to showing this wanton part of myself to anyone except strangers? Only, he's not a stranger anymore. He’s my husband.
"Now, stay there." He walks over to the refrigerator, pulls out eggs, milk, cheese, then places them on the kitchen counter before reaching for a skillet.
"What are you doing?" I snap.
"Making breakfast."
"And you want me to stay here?"
"Right. As you are, baby." He busies himself at the counter. I hear the sound of the whisk clinking against the bowl. Guess he must be beating up the eggs. Then the lightwhoompas he lights the flame under the skillet. Within minutes, he has abialettion the flame for espresso, bread in the toaster, and I hear the sound of the egg mixture hitting the skillet. A few more minutes and he pours himself a cup of espresso, plates the omelet, and the toast, brings everything to the island, and draws up the stool nearest to me. He sips the espresso, then balances the cup and saucer on my back.
He’s using me as a table. He expects me to stay still and allow him to use me as needed. An inanimate object, in this case. It’s demeaning and a classic lesson in subjugation and I, surely, can’t find it arousing. Can I? He reaches for the cup of espresso, takes another sip, then places it back on the saucer on my back. The sound of cutlery hitting the plate reaches me, and the scent of the food almost drives me out of my mind. My stomach rumbles and the backs of my thighs and butt feel like they're on fire. The weight of the cup and saucer on my back is a reminder that he expects me to obey him. Anger twists my guts, even as heat flushes my skin. He reaches down and holds out a piece of omelet on a fork to my mouth.
The scent is delicious, but I turn my head away. "How long are you going to make me stay like this?" I snarl.
"Until you’ve learned your lesson. Eat now," he orders.
I stare at the food, then open my mouth. He pops the piece of omelet between my lips. I chew on it, swallow, then eat the next mouthful of food he feeds me. He continues to feed me until my hunger is assuaged. He takes the cup of espresso and holds it to my lips. Since I can’t tilt my head back, I slurp from the surface. The strong taste of the brew revives me. He lets me have another sip, then brings it to his mouth.
I start to straighten, but he places his big palm on the small of my back. He applies enough pressure that I have no choice but to stay down. He removes the saucer from my back, and I hear it clink on the counter. Then, he slides off of the stool and stands in front of me. Wide feet, tidy nails, the edges of his sweatpants that brush his ankles. My belly quivers, my core contracts, a-n-d it's official... I have a foot fetish, and a butt fetish, and a cock fetish—when it comes to this man.
"How are you feeling?" he drawls.
"Like I want to sink my teeth in your skin and bite you," I snap back.
"So damn spirited." There’s a note of wonder in his voice. He crouches down then grips the hair at the back of my head and tugs. I have no choice but to tip up my chin.
"You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?"
"Let me up and I’ll show you just how beautiful I can be," I spit out.
He laughs, then releases me and straightens, only to walk around to stand behind me.
"What are you doing?" I glance over my shoulder to find he’s studying my backside. He bends his knees and crouches behind me, then massages the curve of my arse. Pinpricks of awareness dot my skin. "Seb please," I groan as he runs his fingers over my skin and between my legs. He plays with my pussy lips, and a whine bleeds from my lips.
"So fucking wet." He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. "So sweet."
"Oh, god." I lower my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Pleasure convulses up my spine. My toes curl. So annoying that I find everything he does to me such a turn on.
He runs his fingers down the seam of my pussy, and my entire body jolts. He slides a finger inside my sopping wet channel, then adds another. A moan wells up my throat, and I bite the inside of my cheek. I will not plead with him. Will not. If I do, he’s bound to say something stupid like I haven’t learned my lesson yet, or something similar. I flex my fingers into the floorboards and push out my butt, trying to chase that sensation of having his fingers inside me.
He chuckles, then begins to weave his fingers in and out of me. Each time he thrusts his digits inside, a shudder grips me. My clit feels swollen, and I try to squeeze my thighs together.
