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“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I…I’ll be right out.”
“Okay.” I chuckled and stepped back, tempted to take matters into my own hand too. Literally. But the truth was that masturbation for me would just feel like a pale imitation of her gripping wet heat on my dick, and it would do nothing but make me hungrier for her.
So, instead, I turned around and went downstairs. A few groceries had been delivered to my house yesterday, and that meant I could make breakfast.
I took deep breaths to calm my body down as I started putting together the ingredients for a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and potatoes. Typically, I didn’t eat much except just a bagel and a cup of coffee for breakfast, but now that I had someone else living with me, I thought I should make a little more effort.
I wasn’t much of a chef, but I always saw this scene in movies, and it always seemed so peaceful. As my breathing exercises turned into a slow humming, I found that it was kind of therapeutic, especially knowing I was making the food for someone else.
A wife.
Who would have thought I would have one of those?I thought in amusement.
In about thirty minutes, Emily emerged in a baggy shirt and pajama bottoms, covering her body in every way imaginable. Then, she sat at the table, but it was the adorable hint of redness staining her cheek that made me want to drag her into my arms for a soft, gentle kiss.
It was definitely an odd thought to be having about my captive.
“So,” she mumbled tentatively, trying to get comfortable. “What’s the agenda for the day?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “I have some work things to cover and supervise, but you’re free to roam around and do as you please.”
She frowned and then smirked. “That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never really had much free time to myself before.”
“Well, now you do.” I cocked my head at her. “Don’t you have any hobbies? Cooking, writing, art?” Suddenly, a memory came to me. “Your father told me that you used to be quite the artist.”
She snorted in response and said, “Please. Painting fruit every once in a while does not make anyone an artist.” Then, she glanced at me and added, “But I can’t believe he remembered that, though.”
“He did,” I told her, and I thought about it a little bit more before I added, “I know your dad wasn’t the perfect man, but I do believe he cared about you in his own way.”
She glanced up at me again.
“Then why, in all those years, did he never visit me?” she asked, sounding more curious than anything. “Why did he barely call?”
I didn’t have the answers. I could only make an assumption. “He probably just thought it would be better for him to stay away.”
There were a few seconds of silence.
“He was probably right,” she said simply and then watched me closely before asking, “What was your family life like?”
Her question took me aback a little because it was the first time she’d asked anything private about me.
“My mother died giving birth to me,” I said. “So I never knew her. And my father was distant. Don’t think he ever quite forgave me for killing the love of his life.” I just shrugged when I saw the sympathy in her eyes. “I was close to my half-brother growing up. He’s my father’s second wife’s son. That was my family. His mom was okay, too, I guess.”
“Was?”
“She passed away a few years after my dad.”
She nodded. “Are you and your brother still close?”
“Yes,” I said as I checked my watch to make sure I still had time.
“Is that why you insist we eat meals together?” she asked, bringing my attention back to her. “Because you miss your family?”
