Maybe he didn’t like my body being torn up and bruised. That was the only thought that went through my head as I moved as quickly as my limbs allowed me to. Once I was dressed, the pants threatening to fall from my boney hips and the shirt hanging off one shoulder, did Sir step up closer to me, fixing the clothes to what he wanted.
The tips of his fingers touched my shoulder briefly, but he pulled back before telling me to follow him.
Chapter 6
Dakota
While the bathroom had been white and nearly perfect in cleanliness, the kitchen was on the darker side. The floor’s grooves of the tiles were soothing under my toes as I squeezed them along the lines, waiting for orders.
From what I could see, the cupboards on the bottom were a dark blue, almost gray, just a few shades lighter than the floor. The countertop was white marble, just like what the bathroom had. But what got me was the sink full of dishes and some pans out on the stove.
My need to clean up the mess was so engraved into my skull that it took everything in me to stay still and not move a single muscle.
For the most part, it was clean. Just cluttered and in need of tidying up. It reminded me of my parents’ house, the mess, I mean. Not the feel of the kitchen in the modern-day perfectness. No. My parents’ kitchen had been old, with missing doors onthe cupboards and needles among the trash on every surface of the counters.
“They weren’t kidding when they said you were the perfect slave.” The muttered words weren’t for me. Sir moved about the kitchen, putting things out of the way on the stove and making something else—clattering of dishes from a cupboard out of my sight. A drawer opened, then closed. “God dammit. Just sit or something.”
I knelt on the floor right where I stood. Slaves weren’t to just sit. I was to kneel, which is probably what I should have done instead of just standing there like some idiot with their thumb up their ass.
Sir’s sigh was loud. He wasn’t pleased. What did he want from me?
Letting most of my weight fall to my thighs instead of my knees, my butt touched my heels. This floor and the grooves, as small as they were, dug into my already bruised skin and bones. I couldn’t stop from shifting every few minutes to change the pressure from one to the other.
“Here. At least use that.” A thin pillow was dropped in front of me. “You are to only kneel on that if you want to be down there.”
Easy enough command to follow.
Once I was on the pillow, it cushioned my knees more than carpet ever would. I stopped moving, settling in to wait as Sir returned to making whatever he was throwing together.
With my hands on my legs, head down, I waited. I listened to Sir moving about with both ears. His muttered grumbles seemed so normal.
If I knew how to cook, maybe I’d offer to do so. But that was one thing that had, so far, not been required of me to do.
I could clean and be used to ten ways to Sunday, but cooking or anything other than being a slave wasn’t something anyone wanted from me. Mostly, I was just a toy to be used and played with.
“Thank you, Sir.” I wasn’t sure he’d even heard the words, but I wanted him to know I appreciated the pillow.
A moment passed before he stood in front of me again, his bare feet inches from the pillow.
“You are to be comfortable here.” The words were spoken as an order.
I nodded, even though my comfort wasn’t meant to be. I was here for him, and him only.
“Breakfast is almost done. Go set the table. Plates are on the counter.”
In one swift, practiced move, I stood. Sir stepped back, giving me space as I passed him. I heard him follow me, going back to finishing up the food while I spotted the two plates and matching forks.
“I want a cup of milk.” A blue cup sat on the counter.
Without words or much noise from me, I did as he commanded. The smaller table was just feet away and easy to set up. By the time I was done, Sir took a pan there, setting it in the middle.
I waited off to the side, out of the way, as he went back and got a few more things, adding them to the table. When he sat, I stayed standing, hands clasped before me.
I looked his way when Sir released a sigh. What had I not done? Setting the table wasn’tsomething I did all that often, but I should have known better. There’d always be something I couldn’t ever do right.
“Sit, slave.” I went to kneel where I stood, but his voice stopped me half-bent. “In the chair. Right here.”
Oh. Keeping my gaze down, I walked to the table and took a seat on the padded chair. Holding my hands in my lap, back straight, I strained my ears as he plated food on one plate. Then the second one.
