“Okay.”
“Yes,Sir,” he corrects.
Two emotions simultaneously vie for superiority—need and rebellion.
Need wins out.
Easily. “Yes, Sir,” I repeat.
“Good boy.” He reaches over and doesn’t just ruffle my hair. It’s like he’s massaging my scalp, and it feels so good that my hands still and my eyes drop closed, my head bowing as he does it.
“See?” he softly asks. “This isn’t all about pain and beatings. Not unless you want it to be.”
I might literally kill anyone who tried to interrupt us right now. Contentment flows through me as I breathe, basking in…this.
Whateverthisis.
His hand slowly slides down the back of my head and closes around the nape of my neck, resting there. “Finish the dishes, boy,” he quietly says. “Then come meet me in the living room.” It’s not his usual tone of voice. It bears the edge and firmness of that night when leaving Mom’s, but it’s also tender.
“Yes, Sir.”
I can’t suppress my disappointed moan when he releases my neck and leaves the kitchen.
I have to shake myself out of the spell and hurry to finish, to get the dishwasher going and to wash and dry the items that don’t go in it. It takes me less than ten minutes, and I scurry out after Carter.
He’s still wearing his boxers and nothing else, and watching TV from where he’s lounging on the end of the couch. When I emerge from the kitchen, he points at the floor in front of him, and despite knowing I’ll be blocking his view of the TV, that’s where I stand, right next to the end of the coffee table.
He looks up at me. “Beyond what we’ve talked about, here are my rules to start with.” He ticks them off on his fingers as he lists them. “Full honesty, even if you feel embarrassed. You follow my orders when I give them, or you flip into vanilla mode and explain why you can’t, as the situation warrants. You will not date anyone. From this moment on, I handle your mother. Thoughts?”
“I’m not dating anyone, so that’s easy. But how are you supposed to handle my mother?”
“It means you bring everything to me.”
“I’m supposed to text her every day.”
“Is that her rule, or something you started doing because she expected it?”
I think about it. “The second.” He arches an eyebrow at me and I realize what I’ve done. “The second, Sir.”
I’m rewarded with a playful smirk. “Good boy. Does she reply every day?”
He knows this, but I answer anyway. “No, Sir. She usually doesn’t.”
“What happens if you don’t text her every day?”
“I honestly don’t know, Sir. I know she’ll make life hell for me.”
“How?”
“She would probably withhold my allowance.”
He slowly nods. “So that’s the only hold she has on you?”
“It’s a pretty damn big one, Sir. I’d have to get a job.”
“What if it wasn’t an issue?”
I’m not sure what he means. “I don’t understand.”
