Ask Edith about creating a discount for music theory and history majors.
Send the red dress to the tailor and see about taking it in at the waist.
So many random scraps of paper with no rhyme or reason to where they were stuck. So I stacked them all and placed them next to the sheet music.
When my men got back with the groceries, I sent them away then started the stew, chopping the vegetables and browning the meat, which took a few minutes. Once it was going, I straightened up her kitchen. Washed the dishes I had used, put them away, then cleared the clutter off the counters.
Her pots and pans were of decent quality but looked brand new. I had a feeling they weren’t new at all, but were just not being used.
My little songbird hadn’t been taking care of herself, surviving off of takeout and God only knew what else.
Anyone else and I would take all of this as signs they were lazy, but not her. Something about her led me to think it had less to do with laziness and more to do with not knowing how to take care of herself.
Had no one ever taken care of her?
By the time she had gotten out of the shower, I had restored order.
The stew was simmering, and the apartment was neat. It gave me back the illusion of control and structure. And I needed it like oxygen.
Anna finished half of the stew before she started fighting me again.
“I can feed myself,” she argued. “You didn’t need to do this, and you didn’t need to straighten my apartment. You have no right.”
I had every right. I had every right because I took it.
She had no idea how much I really needed to do it all.
But fine, if she wanted to be a brat, that was how I would treat her.
I said nothing. I got to my feet and without warning, I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bedroom, blanket and all.
“Put me down,” she argued, but she didn’t fight; she didn’t squirm.
I wasn’t sure if it was because her body accepted my control, or if the blanket she was cocooned in was wrapped too tightly for her to fight.
“I swear to God if you don’t fucking put me down, I’m going to?—”
“What?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “What exactly are you going to do to me,maya soloveyka?”
Her face flushed that same pink again. Now that she knew for sure what I called her, I couldn’t tell if she liked it or was embarrassed by the reminder that I’d heard her sing.
“Put me the fuck down,” she said between clenched teeth, trying in vain to regain some authority, some control.
I understood the impulse, but unfortunately for her, only one of us could have power, and it would not be her.
I dropped her unceremoniously onto her bed. She bounced once on the mattress as I pulled the blanket from her body. Leaving her in nothing but a towel and those diamonds.
I could take her again, bury myself in that sweet cunt, give her another lesson in obedience. Tonight would be easier with a fresh reminder of who owned her. She looked so damn tempting, clinging to the towel that barely covered the tops of her honed thighs and her perky tits.
Even without makeup, she was simply beautiful.
But we did not have time.
If I took her again, it wasn’t going to be the quick fuck that we had in the bathroom. No, I wanted more. I wanted to take my time taking her apart piece by piece. Learning every curve and cataloging every single way she responded to my touch.
I reached for the towel, and she clung to it with desperate fingers.
“No,” she whined.
