I opened the fridge and didn’t really know what to do with any of the food. There was a bag of chicken in the freezer. I found a glass pan in a cupboard near the stove and dumped the frozen breasts in. There were four, and that seemed like enough. I had no idea how to make it edible, though. Shrugging, I turned on the oven and shoved the pan in. Chicken was chicken, right? It couldn’t turn out that badly.
There was a scrape of noise from the living room—a key in the lock—and my heart raced. I was unreasonably excited as I bolted across the apartment to stand near the door. I felt stupid, like a dog rushing because my master was home, but that wasn’t significantly far from the truth. He was my Mister, not my master. I tried not to think about our arrangement, just like I’d sort of blocked all that from my mind last night while I was falling asleep. What was I doing with my life?
Stormy came in and I didn’t want to angst about my situation anymore. The beautiful smile that lit his face and sparkled in his eyes smacked the breath out of me. He lifted a piece of paper in his hand and waved it around while a plastic bag he’d slung over his arm smacked him on the chest. “My new schedule! I might even get to travel with the team occasionally, isn’t that neat? I love hockey!”
My mind blanked and I searched for an appropriate response. “Uh, yeah. I’m happy for you. Good job.” I wanted to say something else, but I couldn’t bring myself to be truly excited. I was an asshole, but I was jealous, too. What the hell was wrong with me? “You must have nailed the interview.” I winced. “I mean, the actual interview, and not the person doing the… oh, fuck. Congrats.”
Stormy chuckled and came over to press his warm lips to mine. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
He ran a hand down my side and smiled. “Because I said so.”
There was no threat in his words or on his face, and I obeyed him just because I wanted to keep him happy with me. I liked it when he looked at me like I was special.
There was the rustling of a bag, and then I was startled as something was draped over my head. The apron that fluttered down along my front had pink polka dots on a field of black, but otherwise wasn’t particularly feminine. I glared down at it.
“You were serious?” I asked, and my face heated as he snagged the strings at the waist and tied them firmly behind my back.
“I thought this one would be nice to start with,” he said with a chuckle. “But there were some other ones I think would have been cuter on you.” The slap he gave my ass had me straightening.
I smoothed a hand down the apron, oddly pleased at the way it laid against my front, and turned to scowl at him over my shoulder.
“You know what I discovered today while you were out getting a job?”
“What’s that?” He fussed with the bow he’d tied, and I stood still and let him without being ordered. Part of me wanted to rip the apron off, and the rest of me wanted to let him get the ties perfect.
“I’m not actually fucking good at anything.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Stormy said and pressed his body along my back. He worked his hands around my front under the apron and then down to cup my groin. I leaned back against him even though he was shorter, slighter, and by all rights should be bottoming and letting me do these things to him.
But he wasn’t.
And somehow, I didn’t fucking mind—hell, I even enjoyed this.
“I can think of a couple of things you’re wonderful at.” He nipped my earlobe and exploded sparks of excitement in my gut. “Go get on the kitchen table.”
“What? On?” I tried to turn around, but he latched onto my earlobe again, and I couldn’t move. I breathed through the rush of pain that only managed to make my cock struggle against my boxers as heat washed through me.
He let go and the relief was almost worse than the pain. He slipped his hand higher under my apron and tweaked my left nipple. “Drop your boxers first.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a lightning strike.” He snickered.
“Har-de-har-har, you’re hilarious, Storm.”
“I thought so.” He smacked my ass, and this time it wasn’t a love tap; it stung. There was a second where I considered not doing what he’d said, but when I spun toward him, he looked so good, and so much excitement gleamed in his eyes that I shoved down my boxers. The apron hid my happy cock, but it was strange and arousing to bump against the thick fabric.
“Come on. Up on the table.”
He walked behind me on the way to the kitchen and tickled the top of the crack of my ass as we went. I reached back to chase him away from there, but he only doubled down and slid his finger directly between my cheeks. I stumbled, and he stopped teasing to grasp my arms from behind.
“Pay attention, Pookie.”
The wooden kitchen table was sturdy, or I never would have climbed up because I wasn’t some lean boy. Hell, Stormy should have been the one doing this because he could have hopped up on just about any table and been fine. But the furniture had solid legs, and I eased myself onto it. He gave my ass an encouraging pat as I slid directly into the middle of the tabletop. When I was in position, I awkwardly stretched my legs out in front of me and shrugged.
“Now what?”
