He walked out and stopped in front of me, on the other side of the kitchen island. He had changed into loose clothing, and wore a ginormous t-shirt that practically swallowed him. It made him look almost cute.
“What are you cooking?”
“Pasta. Obviously.”
“I’ll have a bowl, thanks.” He flopped onto the couch.
“Hey!” I said. “You can’t expect dinner from me. If anything, you’re the one who should be cooking for me.”
He raised a brow.
“You lost the competition. You’re my slave now, remember?”
“Right,” he said, sinking into the couch, looking unbothered despite the fact that I owned him for the rest of the year. “I’ve been thinking. That competition doesn’t count.”
“What?” I was so outraged, I dropped my wooden spoon into the pan of pasta sauce. “What are you talking about? I won fair and square. You’re just pulling this crap because you lost —”
“Hear me out,” he interrupted. “We said it was a dirty talk competition. Not an act-like-a-camboy competition.”
My cheeks burned. I didn’t want to think about the fact I’d pinched my nipples and moaned like a slut, in front of another guy no less. For the past few days I’d been very determined not to think about the whole affair at all.
“There was no rule specifying I couldn’t touch myself. The only rule was that I couldn’t touch my…my dick.” I stumbled over the words. Sometimes I couldn’t believe what I was talking about, with Taylor King. We’d sat on the couch. He’d been inches from me. I’d watched him cum. And it had been the hottest—
“The fact that it’s called adirty talkcompetition should make the rules obvious enough,” Taylor said. “Or are yousuch an idiot that you need everything spelled out?”
“If it was so obvious that I was breaking the rules, why didn’t you say anything at the time?” I demanded.
He tapped his fingertips against the arm of the couch. He had long fingers with neatly trimmed nails. “I was…distracted.”
“Distracted?” I echoed. “Ha! You were on the verge of —”
“The point is,” he interrupted, “the other night doesn’t count. And even if you didn’t break the rules, it was only the first round.”
“Hold the hell up,” I said. “We said nothing about rounds.”
He was acting like a child in kindergarten, the kind who’d lost rock paper scissors, then suddenly claim it was best of three. I wasn’t falling for it.
“Maybe I forgot to mention it,” Taylor said. “But it’s common sense. Sex isn’t just about dirty talk. At some point, you have to actually reach out and touch your partner.” His lip curled. “Or didn’t you know that…virgin?”
“I’m not a virgin!” I yelled. “I made you cum. I won. End of story.” I picked up my wooden spoon — thankfully the handle hadn’t gotten dirty — and started stirring the pasta sauce again. “Besides,” I added after a minute. “How exactly would we continue this competition? We’re both guys, and it’s not like I can show off my skills with you.”
“Why not?” Taylor asked calmly. “You didn’t have any trouble talking dirty to me. Telling me this intricate story of how you would get down on your knees and —”
“Shut up!” I realised my hand was shaking and forced it to still. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’ve only had sex with women.” Lies. All lies. “Therefore, I’m experienced with women. I don’t know the first thing about gay sex. And anyway,” I hurried on, “there’s no way I’m touching you. I wouldn’t even hold your hand. You’re disgusting.”
“Hm.”
“Hm?” I echoed. “That’s all you have to say in response?”
“Listen, Archie,” Taylor said, straightening up, so he was no longer slouching against the couch. “I’ve only had sex with women too. And, believe me, the thought of rolling around in bed with you disgusts me just as much as it does you. But this way, the competition will be fair and square. Neither of us will have practised doing it with a man before, so we’ll be on an equal playing field.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I almost exploded. “The whole point of this competition is to see who’s more skilled, which is partly due to past experience. Putting us on an “equal playing field” as you call it totally negates the whole point. Stop talking shit. I thought someone as clever as you would be able to make up a half decent excuse, but no, you’re just making up random crapto keep me playing, because you don’t want to face the fact that you lost. You lost because you came to the sight of me playing with my chest. Now isn’t that pathetic?”
Before, Taylor had looked calm and nonchalant. Now his eyes were fiery. “Admit you broke the rules.”
I rolled my eyes, tired of this. “Fine, fine, I broke the ‘rules’ even though they weren’t properly laid out because this competition thing is stupid. If you’re so sad about losing, let’s just forget it happened. The competition didn’t count, and you don’t have to be my slave anymore.” I returned my attention to my pasta, stirring more aggressively than I needed to. I wanted to finish cooking, eat in my room, and ignore Taylor for the rest of the year.
I should’ve seen this coming. There was no way Taylor would actually have become my slave.
