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Jordan’s finger traces my lip, picking up the residue cream. In a moment of weakness, I wrap my lips around his finger, and I lick the cream off. He groans, and he tells me, “Are you coming back to me already, pet? I thought I’d have to work harder for it.”
I shift in my seat, moving away from him. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”
“Good thing that you’re myfriendand not my therapist anymore,” he says. I swallow thin air. I’ve been drawing all evening to calm myself but sitting here next to him, I’m dumbfounded by his presence. “Do you accept my apology?”
“You brought mecoffee stuff,” I remind him. I’ve put on my comfy clothes that are soft and loose, but there’s a tension inside of me. “I think you’re on the right path.”
I take a deep breath, and I take over the conversation before I start rubbing myself all over his body just because he sits there like he’s myowner.
“Look, I think we should make a schedule,” I tell him.
His eyes wander over my body briefly. Jordan responds, “Wouldn’t a schedule defeat the purpose of me relaxing more?”
“We’ll make a schedule that’s appropriate for your needs,” I explain. I reach for my white notepad on the coffee table. With my pen, I write on a blank page.Jordan’s schedule.
“What do you know about my needs?” he asks, and his voice is too low, too close. I can feel vibrations inside of me, an aftershock of his statement.
“I know a lot about them since I’ve been your therapist for five years,” I claim, drawing a thick line underJordan’s scheduleon my notepad. “Plus, we’ve been intimate. I’ve sucked your dick in public. We’ve had our moments, so, yes, I’m intricately familiar with your needs.”
“Tell me. What do I need then?” He sits still, and he watches me, ready to attack at any moment. I’m like a deer in headlights,his needy little doe. I can’t find the strength to pick up my pen and write something of substance on the notepad. He’s paralyzing me with a glance.
“When do you wake up?” I quickly ask before the silence overwhelms me.
“Five. Sometimes four,” he responds casually.
“You live next door to your workplace. Why do you need to wake up so early?”
He answers, “I can’t sleep for longer.”
“6 AM. Jordan wakes up,” I say while writing it on my notepad. My muddled letters embarrass me. “How long do you need for breakfast?”
“I don’t eat breakfast unless it’s a family event,” Jordan reveals.
“7 AM. Jordan eats breakfast.” I scribble it down, and he scowls at me. “If you can’t cook something for yourself, ask the staff. Kamila’s told me that there are tons of cooks in the palace. It’s their job to feed you if you let them. When do you start work?”
“Jordan typically starts work at 6:30 AM,” he says, mocking me with a grin on his face. I pout, but I don’t let it deter me.
“8 AM. Jordan starts work,” I say, enunciating each word proudly. “When do you take your first break?”
“I don’t do breaks unless the family wants something from me. I prefer to get things done and rest later,” he says. I’m scribbling notes, but I know it’ll take more than my notes to get him to stick to the schedule. If I’m honest, not having a schedule would be best, but I must compromise.
“From now on, you rest for ten minutes every two hours. At 1 PM, you take an hour off, and you leave the palace.”
“I can’t leave the palace for an hour,” he argues. If he’s furious, he doesn’t show it. He remains calm.
I insist, “You can, and you will.”
“What do I get out of it? I lose an hour and a half of work,” Jordan claims.
“You can visit me, and we can have a break togetheras friends,” I offer. He shifts in his seat. His thighs part even further, and I want to take my eyes away from his dick print, but I can’t. He’s inviting me to sit on his lap, and my insides urge me to take the leap.
I don’t, though. “We can eat lunch, and then you’ll go about your day. When do you get off work?”
“It depends on the day.”
“Tell me about your longest and shortest day in the past month.” Gradually, my fingers stop trembling. I grip the pen tight, confident in my role here.
“I left work to come here at six. That must be the earliest I’ve been out of the palace in weeks,” he confesses. It fascinates me that he doesn’t see the issue with this. “My longest day was nineteen hours. I went home at 1 AM. That happens quite often when there’s an emergency.”
