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He stares at me and then looks away, focusing on his pile of food. He eats a lot. More than me. Like a giant. Fee-fi-fo-fum… Probably has a giant ball sack too. Just a swinging sack.
I envision a wrecking ball and someone sitting atop it before slapping that vision away. Ridiculous. I will not think of his body parts. Not for another second.
It’s already hard to stop thinking about him. Especially when my ass is on fire and each jolt of pain reminds me of how I was tied up and completely at his mercy.
It’s bad enough that my dick reminds me on a minute-by-minute basis.
“I hope you have clothes to wear.”
For a second I debate showing up naked. I would do it too, just to piss him off.
“They’re dirty. And there’s no washing machine here….”
“Hm.”
He continues eating, that strong jaw working back and forth. I want to slap it, want to watch his skin turn red from my hand.
But I can’t reach. My arms are too short. And this table is too long and oval. Should be round to give me a fighting chance.
“Fine. Since you weren’t prepared, wear whatever you have.”
“What if I don’t wear a thing? What if I march around naked?”
He runs a hand across his lower jaw and his eyes flash. “Fine by me. Show everyone how bad you were earlier, show them that red ass.”
My cheeks heat as I roll my eyes, continuing to eat until I can’t force down another bite. And then I go and lounge on the couch, my stomach protruding slightly from the amount of food I shoved in me. I am a catch, I tell you. A catch.
“You need to do the dishes,” Skylar says, and I just sink lower into the couch. Can’t he just leave me alone? I don’t feel like fiddling with dishes right now. “Have you ever done a dish in your entire life?”
“What do you think?” I mutter as I turn on the TV. Even in my basement apartment, I have someone come in and clean occasionally. They even do the dishes I leave piled in the sink and fold my laundry. I blame my father. He coddled Angel and me far too much. We were never made to do chores. I don’t even know how a sponge works. I mean, I know how it works in theory, but I’ve never actually held one.
“Come here, Diablo. Let me show you.”
I don’t move, knowing what will happen if I’m obstinate. And really, my body parts aren’t complaining.
I hear him shuffling around and then those footsteps move toward me, deceivingly soft. His body appears before me, and I peek up at him.
“Go away. I’m too full to move.”
He ignores me, reaching down and tugging me upright.
“Come here.”
He pulls me up into him, those thick fingers moving to the back of my neck, holding me in place. I let out a long exhale as his thumb traces the throbbing vein in my neck.
“Now, move your ass,” he says lowly as he walks me to the sink. “I’m going to show you how to do this so you canlearn.”
I hate the way that word sets off a response in me, as if my body is remembering what it felt like for that spoon to land on my ass. About how that was a lesson to help me learn.
I love learning. My dick does too. I am a lifelong student.
We stop at the edge of the sink as Skylar shows me what to do, and I yearn to roll my eyes, to make a joke about this all. But instead, I listen to every word and follow what he says. I do splash him a few times, and purposely slide bubbles across his jaw, but he lets me. Doesn’t even balk at it.
Makes me unreasonably happy.
Makes something in my cold, dead heart flutter.
“There,” he says, wetting his lips, a lingering soap bubble sitting on his chin. “Now you know how to clean a dish.”
