I really thought I was going to break the cycle of my family, but it’s starting to feel like I’m just doubling down on it in a way none of my poor forebears would have managed.
I fall asleep before I can dedicate too much more time to worrying.
When I wake up in the morning, Sam isn’t in bed with me. There’s a brown and red patch where he was lying. I think about cleaning it up for a moment, then remember he said he was going to replace the mattress completely. He’s going to have to do that today because it’s going to start decomposing.
I get up and go to the kitchen, where I find Sam is wearing black jeans and nothing else. His hair is hanging in his eyes as he fries up some eggs.
He looks like a completely different person, younger, less psycho, or maybe more so given how many bandages are on his body. They’re not bleeding now though. The doctor did a good job of patching him back up. There’s something else too, though. I look at him for a long moment before realizing what it is. He has a day’s worth of beard growth on his face. It’s dark black and it adds an attractive shadow to his face, making him look even more dangerous and masculine than he usually does. The illusion of a refined professor is starting to disappear in front of me.
“Hi,” I say, feeling suddenly shy. This is my apartment and he’s in danger, but it feels like he owns the place. And me. God, I am in so deep. I want to run my hands over his rough face. I want to…
“Sit down,” he says, gesturing at the kitchen table. “I’ll get you some eggs and toast.”
“Our second breakfast together,” I say, sitting down. “We’re starting to make a habit of this.”
He smirks in a sexy kind of way. I am nervous, that’s why I’m being so cheesy. He’s so fucking hot. He has always been hot. He has always excited me, but there’s a whole new side of him that I am seeing right now, a kind of domestic, broken, but still so fucking absolutely hot side. When he’s in his suit in class, making his presentations, he’s so polished. Right now he’s rough and he’s practical and I kind of love it.
“Eat up,” he says, putting a plate of pretty perfectly done eggs in front of me. “You’re going to need your strength today.”
“I am? Why?”
“Isn’t today your full day shift at the restaurant?”
I feel myself go hot. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to tell him I got fired. It’s not like he’s such a good person he’ll be horrified by me not having a job right now. I just feel guilty about it, I guess, and I know he won’t approve.
“I, uh, no,” I say. “They changed my shifts.”
That’s technically true, the best kind of true.
“Did they,” he says, abandoning the pan on the stove for a moment to come over to me and tilt my chin up toward him. He looks into my eyes with an inquisitive gaze. “What aren’t you telling me, Laura?”
“I got fired,” I admit.
“So you tried to lie to me just now by saying they changed your shifts.”
“No. I mean, um, I guess, technically.”
He pulls my chair out with me in it, takes me by the arm, and leads me over to a corner of the kitchen next to the door. “You can stand there,” he says. “And think about what should happen to little girls who lie.”
Well, this is embarrassing, but like most things he does to me, kind of hot somehow. I never know what Sam is going to do next, which should really create anxiety, but somehow only ever leads to anticipation. There’s probably a study paper in that somewhere.
He goes back to the kitchen. I hear the drawers open, listen to the rustle of a paper bag as he reaches for some ingredients he must have had delivered while I was still asleep. My eggs are going to get cold, but I stay in place anyway, wondering how long he’s planning on keeping me here…
“Bend over,” he says. “Palms on the wall, feet apart.”
I lean forward in that position he demands, and feel him slide my pajama pants down, spread my ass cheeks with his hand. Something organic feeling presses up against my anus, then starts to push in.
“What is it? What is happening?”
“This is ginger root,” he says. “This will feel hot inside your naughty, lying little ass.”
“I don’t lie!”
“That’s right. You certainly won’t be lying as long as you’re in my care,” he growls in my ear, twisting the ginger root slowly inside my butt in a screwing motion.
I whimper, but that has never done me any good where Sam is concerned. He seats the ginger nice and deep inside me, then releases my cheek and slaps it.
“Stay there,” he says.
