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I remembered the day we’d found a litter of kittens under an abandoned wheelbarrow in her garden. Their mother had never returned. I’d fetched a cardboard box. Feral as tigers, the kittens had spit at us when we carried them into the animal refuge. I was more a dog person, but cats were cute.
Jodie stared at me, maybe thinking the same.
The cat drew the real back in. It blurred the strange little universe I’d been manufacturing. The universe where I was Jodie’s master and could do what I liked.
The black cuffs showed stark against her skin. Like badges of kink. I took in her predicament, made by me, took in the red lines on the backs of her thighs, also made by me. I stirred the cloth with a fingertip, traced one line as it ran up her ass and disappeared up beneath the white catsuit. She whimpered when I pressed on a bruise.
I should let her go. I should. Neither of us knew where we were venturing.
I blinked and centered.
Should. She hadn’t said to. I’d wait for that. “Cat food?”
“Let me go?”
For a mind-freezing second I thought she was calling everything off. No. She meant the hogtie straps.
“Uh-uh.”
She screwed up one side of her mouth but swung her head toward a cupboard. “There.”
Inside, I found a box with tear-open sachets.
The cat tucked in like it was starving – and it probably was. The fish smell permeated the kitchen.
“Name?”
“I call it Baxter. It’s a boy.”
I gave Baxter a pat, feeling the rumble of a purr vibrating its body even though it barely paused in its eating. “Okay. Fixed one problem. Now you.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
Ah. Opportunity arises. I wasn’t letting this past me. This would make her think.
“That’s one word. I didn’t ask a question. Which means three.”
“Uh.” Her mouth clicked shut and she licked her lips. Frown lines shifted on her forehead.
Fuck yeah. Power.
