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Don’t people who live together have conversations about their problems and help each other solve them? That’s what happens in books and on television shows. I try to explain it patiently. “You understand what makes people tick. I don’t. So you can help me with this situation.”
She rolls her eyes and shoves a bite of filet mignon into her mouth. “Well, I’m just riveted,Joshua. What is your problem at work?”
“My CFO’s husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack ten days ago. It is affecting her work product.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawns on her face, and she nods, and I see a glimpse of the old Tamara. “You want to help her through this. Well, first of all, I’d give her at least a month’s paid leave, maybe two. And of course, make sure she knows about all the counseling options that are available to her, but I’m sure you already have. And then— What?” She stops, because she sees the look of annoyance on my face.
Why doesn’t she get it? “I need to know the most efficient way to fire her, to reduce the chance that she will file a lawsuit against my company, and also how to ensure that her replacement doesn’t pull the same crap.”
Her face wrinkles in horror and disgust. For some reason, that makes me angry. Why? I’ve never cared what anybody thought of me.
“You’re going to fire a woman because she’s sad her husband died?”
Why are prey so stupid? Do I need to spell it out with crayons? “No, I’m going to fire her because it’s affecting her work performance.”
She slams her plastic fork down on the table. Anger sparks in her eyes. “You’re a horrible, repulsive monster.”
“I thought we established that a long time ago.” I reach forward and grab her chin, squeezing hard. She winces, and tears of pain shimmer in her eyes. “And by the way, every time you insult me or disrespect me, it gets added to the list. I’ll fucking bury you in a coffin and leave you there until your oxygen runs out if you keep this up.”
She manages to wrench her face from my grasp. “God, I hope so. Can we get started? I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll never have to see you again.” Then she shoves her plate away. “Were you actually trying to have a normal conversation?” She sneers. “Because that was an epic fail.”
That interests me rather than angering me. I am always willing to learn from my mistakes. “Explain.”
“I said something that you didn’t like, and you threatened me with harm.”
“Well, obviously. What’s your point?” Again, it’s that Martian-speak that dribbles from people’s mouths when I’m just trying to have a simple conversation with them.
She takes a deep breath, then lets it out very slowly. From my studies, I know what that means. She’s angry with me, but she’s trying to calm herself down. “You’re sitting there trying to make me think we’re in some kind of relationship. People in relationships disagree on very important issues from time to time. If one person goes nuclear every time that happens…well, the relationship’s not going to last.”
“I don’t know what made you think that. This isn’t a relationship, because that implies that you and I are equals. We’re not. Andyou willspeak to me with respect.”I blast her with the look and the tone of voice that have made grown men shit themselves.
It bounces off the icy bedrock of her new flesh. “I’d have to actually feel respect for that to happen. Come on, Joshua Smith, admit you failed and just end it for me.”
She wants me to surge toward her in fury, to whip her or snap her neck. She wants to control me by making me angry. For the time being, I won’t give that to her.
I lean forward and lace my fingers together, examining her face, trying to figure this out. “Before I put you in the cellar that last time…you were happy when I rewarded you with my approval and conversation. Now you’re not. What changed?”
In reply, she tries to stab me in the eye with her plastic fork.
I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
I bat her hand aside easily and growl “That’sit. You want punishment? I’ll punish you, baby.”
I leap to my feet and sweep the dishes in front of her aside. I bend her arm back and yank her pants down. My arousal has taken over. I can’t contain it.
“Are you wet for me, sweetheart? I know you are.” Her hair spills down over her shoulders, half hiding her face. With my free hand, I slide two fingers inside her tight sheath. I curve them up to meet her G-spot, and slowly, tauntingly, move them in and out. Her inner walls swell, closing in on my fingers as I lovingly torment her sensitive core.
She clenches her fists, and her head is twisted to the side, and her face melts into a look of pure ecstasy. She’s sucking in deep breaths and whimpering with each stroke. I feel her sheath clenching around me as I drag my fingers over her G-spot again and again.
Finally, she pants, “Let go of me. St-stop that.”
“Now how many minutes did it take you to remember to say that?” I taunt her. “I lost count.”
I slide my fingers back out and give her ass a tremendous smack as I keep her pinned down on the table. She cries out, a hoarse sound of pleasure and pain, and my raised red handprint blooms on the white globe of her right cheek. I have marked her as mine. I smack her again and again, her flesh quivering and jiggling beneath me, until I’ve laid an entire garden of those red, red roses on her pale flesh.
Arousal floods through me, and I fumble with my pants and bury myself in her wet heat.
I’m sliding in and out, in and out, and hot waves of pleasure flow over me. She squirms wildly underneath me, whimpering in protest at first, then settles down and pushes back. I love it when she does that, when she surrenders to me completely, her body gone helplessly wanton and needy.
