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DIABLO
I have a problem and his name is Skylar. How he reduces me to a puddle of goo is disturbing. I’ve never felt so weak in my entire life. I need to get my power back, need to take it back with force.
And then you can be punished for being such a bad boy.
I slap that thought away. No one punishes me. I’ve never wanted that a day in my life. And yet, that’s what I think about as I angrily jack myself off in the bathroom after that little showdown in the kitchen. I come in ten seconds flat, exploding across the cabinets and my hand. I make a huge mess and refuse to clean it up.
I’m making a statement. If he gets mad—I shudder in excitement—then so be it. I’ll manage…somehow.
When I reemerge, I see Skylar in the kitchen making breakfast again. The granola has been swept up, and I feel smug for a second as I settle down at the table.
“Hurry up. I’m hungry.”
He ignores me, pretends he doesn’t hear me. But the way his shoulders tense tells me he has. Good. I’m going to keep irritating him to death until I find my footing, until I feel like I’m back on solid ground. I will not beg for him to touch me, to put me in my place. That’s not something I do. Ever.
“Here,” Skylar says a moment later, pulling my thoughts from their filthy resting place. I was not just conjuring up images of him looming over me, my body splayed out on the bed, unable to move.
That isnotwhat I was doing.
“Looks horrendous,” I say, glancing down at the perfectly fluffy eggs and the perfectly crispy bacon. My stomach rumbles in response, and Skylar smirks slightly. He knows I’m a liar. A terrible one.
I shovel the food into my mouth as quickly as I can to distract myself and by the time Skylar joins me, I’m moving away from the table.
“Clean up your spot.”
I ignore him and flop onto the sofa, turning the TV on. Skylar doesn’t try and force me to obey, much to my dismay, and I resist the urge to peek over the top of the couch at him. Instead, I barely blink as I stare at the screen in front of me, wishing I was back home where I feel more myself. This whole thing is throwing me off, making me feel off-kilter.
I hate it.
The sound of the door closing has me sitting up, and I glance around the small space, seeing that Skylar stepped outside. Quickly, I get up and tiptoe to the window, my eyes catching on the table. My spot hasn’t been cleaned up, and for some reason, I feel bad for not doing what he asked. Is it so unreasonable?
I debate it for a moment before remembering that I’m not a doormat. No one tells me what to do.
Instead of wiping up my spot, I tiptoe over to the window, pulling the curtain back and peering outside. Skylar is leaning against the rickety porch post, his phone to his ear. I can make out bits and pieces of what he’s saying.
Abigail.
How’s Abigail? Could it be his girlfriend? Wife? Does he have someone waiting at home for him? The thought makes me irrational…something ugly bubbles up inside of me. I feel like a volcano ready to explode. I am going to burn the fucking world to pieces.
Does this Abigail know that he’s here with me…touching me…spanking me?
My hand clenches on the curtain, and I feel it start to rip apart at the seams. Quickly, I let it go and take a step back. There’s no way I’m getting emotional over this. It doesn’t matter if he has someone at home waiting for him. As soon as this whole fiasco is over, we will part ways. I’ll never see Skylar again and he can go back to his…Abigail.
Such an ugly name. I hate it. Disgusting really.
“What are you doing?” Skylar asks when he reappears moments later. I should have moved away from the window, should have played it cool, but instead, I just stared daggers at him and his bulky, muscular back while he spoke into the phone. I did not lust after the way his body moved nor did I stare at his shapely ass. No, my ears were straining to hear something else, something more. But I couldn’t. Goddammit.
“I want to talk to my brother. You took forever on the phone.”
He eyes me and then reaches into his pocket and hands me the small flip phone.
“Make it quick.”
I glower at him as I swipe it from his palm, our skin connecting for a second, making my entire body flare in response. I hate that he brings this out in me. I’ve never been this needy. This is out of control. It’s gross.
“I’ll take as long as I want,” I say, trying to move toward the door for some privacy, but Skylar blocks me with his large body. I eye him, that muscular chest, those thick thighs. My mind conjures up visions of the way those muscles would flex as he fucked into me. I hate it. Absolutely vile. I will not think of that a moment more.
I reach up and twist his nipple clockwise. It’s all I can do, being so much smaller and without my saws. Skylar doesn’t even flinch, just grabs on to my wrist and yanks my hand away. Hate it when he does this. I hate being dominated.
