“Thank you, Mrs Bennett,” he says softly. “Everything looks wonderful.” He swallows audibly and my cock hardens in my pants.
“Call me Dot,” she chirps like some 1940sfemme fatale. What the hell? Dot?
“Dot?” I muse, reaching for the rosemary-roasted lamb chops.
“Sure,” she says, shrugging. “Why not? I can be a Dot, right Benjamin? Don’t you think I look like a Dot?” She pushes a golden curl off her forehead. Benjamin nods eagerly, sitting up as straight as a ruler. “Yes,” he breathes, licking his bottom lip. “You can definitely be a Dot. Like Dorothy Lamour,” he says solemnly. “I bet she went by Dot on occasion.” What the fuck is happening?
“Dorothy Lamour,” Mum exclaims triumphantly, glaring at me. “See? Benjamin knows what he’s talking about, don’t you, sweetie?” Then she starts singing, “My heart keeps crying,” and Benjamin chimes in with something that sounds like, “I’m all a-tremble over you.” Mum laughs, then lifts her glass, gesturing for us to do the same, clinking her glass against Benjamin’s first, then mine. “Here’s to Dotty and to l’amour!”
“To love,” I grumble, because I refuse to toast to a 1940s starlet named Dotty. Or Dorothy. Or whatever. Mum puts down her glass, her gaze coasting across the table.
“Here.” She reaches for a dish of what appears to be honey-glazed zucchini and shoves it in Benjamin’sdirection. “Have a zucchini. Or two,” she giggles. “I can’t believe my Easter brought home a fellow lover of classic Hollywood cinema. Who’s your favourite?” she continues.
Benjamin blurts “Hedy Lamarr! Or Lauren Bacall. Don’t make me choose, Dot.” My heart warms at seeing how relaxed he is now, compared to the nervousness pulsing off him in the car.
“‘Don’t make me choose,’” Mum laughs. “I would never.” She holds a hand to her chest, and I think I have a mini-stroke. “You’re not eating, darling.” She tilts her head at me. “Why aren’t you eating, Easter? You look flushed, darling. Are you coming down with something? You should eat.”
“I’m eating.” I pout like a kid who has just had his favourite toy stolen right in front of him, stuffing a huge piece of rosemary lamb into my mouth and chewing it spitefully.
“Good, good,” she muses. “How’s the zucchini, Benjamin? Youdolike zucchini, right?” Benjamin hums around a generous mouthful, his eyelashes fluttering in near ecstasy, sticky golden honey dripping down his chin, and I think I whine because Mum looks at me funny. Benjamin’s eyes connect with mine across the table, a sudden devilish spark in the light greyish-brown. Licking his lips exaggeratedly, he half-moans, “It’s absolutely divine, Dot. You nailed it!”
“Oh, stop.” Mum, who’s still wearing her rainbow apron, beams brighter than the sun. Then directed at me, Benjamin continues, “I just love a big juicy zucchini.” That little incubus! “Wanna taste, East?” He blinks at me, feigning innocence, his grey-brown eyes ablaze. “Or are you more of a turnip kinda guy?” He smiles endearingly, pushing a plate of oven-baked turnips in my direction. “Look how plump they are,” he murmurs. “I bet they’ll just melt right on your tongue.”
“Oh, they will, darling. They absolutely will,” Mum joins in on what has proven to be either 1) the day Easter Bennett came in his pants at his mum’s lunch table or 2) the day Easter Bennett choked on a piece of roasted lamb. “You should try them with the gorgonzola sauce.” She clasps her hands together with glee. “It’s so creamy and salty and I think I really nailed it this time.”
“I bet you did, Dot.” Benjamin smirks at me, confident and glowing.I did this, my heart gallops. My love did this, and it’s the most powerful rush ever. It’s like a drug to witness the proof of my love for him. How he’s changing, transforming right before my eyes into this confident creature. “I bet younailedit,” he smiles.
“Have some.” She reaches for the sauce.
Oh, he’s so gonna get it later and I make sure to mouth it to him across the table.You’re gonna get it.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Dot.” Benjamin grins at my mother as he accepts the sauce, but I know it’s directed at me. “Yummy, yum, yum!” He smacks his lips as I dig my knife into a turnip, stabbing it furiously. I’m gonna wreck that hole later. I’m gonna make it sing around my cock as I fuck my cum into him. Then, when that little pink pucker is drooling withmygorgonzola sauce, I’m gonna fuck him again. And again. And again.
“Save some appetite, darling,” Mum warns when I stuff a whole turnip into my mouth, the blasted gorgonzola sauce exploding on my tongue. Fuck, itisgood. “There’sspotted dickfor dessert,” she says, putting the final nail in the coffin. Benjamin snorts a mixture of zucchini and gorgonzola sauce, his eyes watering. “There, there.” Mum pats him on the back a couple times. Then she looks at me, her eyes watery. “He really is lovely, darling. You did good, Easter. I’m proud of you.”
My elaborate and, dare I say, genius plan to finally shut Benjamin up is slowly but surely falling to pieces. I thought he’d be terrified, or at the very least, stunned into silence by the massive dark chocolate dildo that I made just for him. But he simply regards it with awe and hunger, licking his lips hungrily.
“Is that for me?” he moans, and I nearly drop it to the floor. I nod. “Wow, East. It’s even bigger than your mum’s zucchini.” I cringe, trying to wipe that image from my mind. I might need bleach. Or acid.
“Please don’t sayzucchiniandmumin the same sentence, Benjamin,” I groan.
“Ooops.” He grins, looking smug, like a cat who caught a canary dipped in cream. “Sooo,” he muses, his gaze running up and down the dildo, tracking the fat vein that I carefully moulded into it. “Are you just gonna stand there, waving it around, or are you gonna fuck me with it, Master?” Jesus.
I love this version of him. The one that exudes confidence and a sexy-as-fuck brattiness. My chest bursts with pride and a sense of overwhelming contentment. I did this. I made him believe in himself and the power of his sensuality.
“Just because you wrapped my mum around your little finger, doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do,” I warn, raising a brow at him. “Last time I checked, I owned that ass, and if yesterday wasn’t a good enoughreminder of that, then I guess I’m just going to have to show you again, won’t I?” I keep my voice low, as I move towards him. “Now, be a good little Bunny and get on your knees for me.”
He nods eagerly, heat flaring in his eyes and last night’s love bites glowing on his neck against the paleness of his skin. They’ll stay for days and when they fade, I’ll mark him again. And then again. An image of Benjamin wearing a pink leather collar flashes before my eyes, and I just know I’ll be prowling Amazon later when he’s asleep next to me like the possessive motherfucker that I am.
“Yes, Master,” he breathes, his eyelids heavy with need. “I’ll be a good Bunny now. I’ll beverygood,” he promises as he drops to his knees in front of me. He regards me wide-eyed, his head tilted back, as he awaits my next move. I frown because something’s off. “What’s wrong?” he asks, scooting towards me on his knees, leaning in, resting his left cheek against my right thigh. My hand flies to his hair on instinct and I pet him gently.
“Your ears,” I grunt. “Wait right here.” Reluctantly, I release myself from him and sprint out the back door and upstairs. Rushing down the hallway, my skin itches to be with him again. It’s dreadful, really. It’s like a sickness, this urge to be next to him all the time. In my bedroom, I pull out the third drawer, rummaging frantically through the flimsy, fluffy content until I find his bunny ears. My heart settles somewhat and I hurry back downstairs.
My heart nearly melts in my chest when I see him, still kneeling on the floor in the exact spot where I left him. His pants are stretched around his hard-on, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Here we are,” I hum as I move towards him and carefully place the bunny ears on the top of his head. “There’s my Bunny.” He near-purrs, leaning in against me again, seeking the connection.
“Here I am, Master,” he says. “YourBunny.” I grab the chocolate cock from the counter, moving it towards his mouth. Although we’re hidden behind the counter, tucked away from the outside world, I’m still conscious of the fact that the nice, warm spring evening has brought the people of Nettle Green out into the streets. My cock hardens at the thought of fucking Benjamin in the town square in front of everyone, claiming him as mine. Would he let me? If I asked him to? I’m sure he would, but I know I’m way too possessive for that. No fucking way anyone is gonna see what’s mine.
