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Why does he hold me like he never wants to let me go?
Why does he care at all?
And did he do something so terrible I can’t let the thought form in my head without guilt?
Pushing it aside, I set the table for two and fill our plates. He makes coffee and we sit opposite each other. He tries the gravy and his brow goes up.
“You’re quite the cook,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I know.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. We eat in silence, and I manage to sip half a cup of his coffee even though it's so strong it could stand up on its own. When our plates are clean, he puts them in the sink.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
His gaze flicks up and holds. “Depends.”
“What…what did the Garrisons do to you?” I whisper.
The towel he’s drying his hands on slips to the table. My heart beats against my ribs like a scared bird. Have I ruined everything?
“Why do you want to know?” he says finally.
I hesitate, chewing on my lip. Once upon a time, when I was young and hadn’t tasted how cruel the world was, or how harsh men could be, I was braver.
Now I know life is so much colder and lonelier than I could have imagined. But I hope there’s a spark of warmth in Sovereign.
I’ve felt it. I swear I have.
“I feel like you’re a tangle of threads…it all leads back to the Garrisons,” I whisper. “Clint was my husband and that means something to you. But I don’t understand what.”
His eyes flash. “Sir. When we’re alone, you call me sir.”
His walls are back up, good and hard.
I stand, tired of him being evasive. “Alright. I don’t understand what the Garrisons mean to you.Sir.”
He hears the bite in my tone. His hand comes up and he beckons me with two fingers. I go, but only because I signed my name on a dotted line. His big hands wrap around my waist and he lifts me onto the countertop.
I’m still shorter than him. He brushes back my hair and goosebumps rise down my arm and his fingers skim around my back. He unhooks my bra and slips it from my breasts. Methodically, he lifts my hips and takes my panties down my legs, pushing them into his pocket.
He’s going to fuck me because he doesn’t want to talk. I’m not doing that tonight.
“I want the contract completely off,” I blurt out. “Just so I can talk to you without anything between us. Just for tonight.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
His hand closes around my throat and my hips tighten. The countertop is cool beneath my bare pussy and I know I’m wet.
No, fuck being wet, I’m soaked.
Our eyes lock.
“Did you like being fucked with my gun, redbird?” he says, jaw tight. “Is that who you want me to be with you?”
I swallow past his grip. “I want you to stop being afraid. Stop hiding behind your contract.”
