At the back of my mind, I know that instead of remaining in the bed, I should change the sheets, or get dressed, or collect her case from the car, but I know that moving even further away from her is completely out of the question. I silently count each second that passes without her, forcing my attention to alternate between staring at the closed door and the small puddle of our mixed ejaculate that is slowly drying on my stomach.
Usually, I can’t tolerate being sticky, but knowing that the liquid that’s slowly gelatinizing on my stomach is a mixture of me and my mate seems to settle some of my usual textural difficulties. When I estimate that three minutes have passed since she entered the bathroom and closed the door between us, I glance up at the clock on the wall, internally chastising myself when I realize it’s after 1300 hours and neither I nor my doll has eaten lunch yet.
Climbing out of bed, I quickly strip the sheets and remake it with fresh bedding. Even though it’s been decades since I left my parents’ home, the muscle memory and embedded conditioning have me ensuring that the corners of the comforter are perfect and the sheets are tight enough to bounce a quarter off.
Almost eight minutes have passed by the time the bed is remade. She asked for a minute, and I have more than given her that, so I march to the door, vowing silently to myself to never allow a closed door between us again as I open it and step inside.
“Knight, what the fuck?” she gasps, spinning around to face me.
“You asked for a minute. I’ve allowed you eight. Lunch is at 1300 hours. It’s 1325. It’s time to eat,” I say shortly, feeling the discomfort of the disorder squirming under my skin like a swarm of ants.
“I’m not hungry, thanks, and I should go.”
“I usually make soup and sandwiches for lunch,” I say, ignoring her comment about leaving.
“Honestly, I’m fine. I have to find somewhere to live, and I should let Betty and Etta know that I’m in town…” She trails off, exhaling as she turns to stare at herself in the mirror.
Her hair is wet, and she’s wrapped in a towel.
“You showered,” I snap.
“Oh…yeah,” she answers, glancing behind her to the massive shower stall I helped install.
“Next time, I’ll bathe you, like this morning,” I tell her, feeling the rightness of my words the moment I say them. I don’t like the idea that she’s washed me away, even though I understand her need for cleanliness. But I enjoyed helping her in the tub this morning, and I’d like to do it again. In fact, even as I say it, I’m already rearranging my daily schedule to include it.
“Next time?” she squeaks. “What the hell is happening right now?”
“I need to shower, then I’ll make lunch,” I tell her, stepping into the shower stall. Not bothering to wait for the water to heat, I turn the faucet and quickly clean up. Two minutes later, I’m done and drying myself with a towel, but my doll is still in the exact same position, her hands braced against the counter, staring at herself in the mirror.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but her introspection bothers me. Once I’m reasonably dry, I hang my towel up, then scoop her off her feet and into my arms, bridal style.
“What are you doing?” she pants, grabbing onto my neck as I carry her into the bedroom.
“We’ll unpack your clothes after we eat, but for now, you can either stay naked or put on one of my shirts. I have eighteen—six khaki, six white, and six black. I’m happy to assign one of eachcolor for your use,” I tell her, lowering her to her feet in front of the closet that I filled with my clothes last night.
Reaching around her, I open one of the dresser drawers and pull out a pair of boxers. Closing the drawer, I open the one above it, then gesture for her to take a shirt.
“You were serious? You literally have six of each color,” she says, taking one of the black folded shirts from the front pile.
“Yes, six khaki, six white, six black,” I confirm.
“You don’t wear any other colors?” she asks, slipping the shirt over her head, only pulling the towel from around her once she’s covered in my clothes from her neck to her knees.
“No,” I tell her simply.
Her lips purse, and I can see she wants to say something, but she doesn’t and instead simply nods.
“Let’s go and eat. I’ll dry your hair once we’re finished with lunch.” Scooping her off her feet again, I stride quickly out of the bedroom and down the stairs, into the open-plan kitchen, living, and dining space.
“Your house is huge,” she says when I lower her to her feet in the kitchen.
“Our house. I designed it to be big enough for us and our family,” I say, before turning away and opening the refrigerator.
“It’s not our house, Knight. We barely know each other. I think maybe what happened upstairs has given you the wrong impression. I don’t normally have one-night stands. In fact, you’re the first. But it’s been a tough few weeks, and when you showed up at my door…” she trails off.
“I’ve only ever had one-night stands. Until you. That’s not what this is, what we are. You’re mine, Octavia. My mate, my wife. Mine. We’re married, we’ve consummated it, and none of that was influenced by your tough few weeks. My only regret is that I didn’t come and collect you two months ago,” I tell her, efficiently making us both sandwiches while I speak.
“Animals mate, not humans.”
