“Go reheat the pizza, Pookie.” He winked at me.
“I have to go clean up, too.”
“Why?”
I stared at his chin instead of his eyes. “That was a big load and it’s going to drip off my stomach onto the clean floor.”
“Oh, if that’s all.” Stormy slithered down my body. I was in heaven as he lapped the mess off my skin with his warm, pink tongue. He took a long swipe from my pubes all the way to my belly button. “I want you to fuck me later.”
“Yes, Mister,” I gasped. “Thank you.”
* * *
My favorite partof the morning was kissing Stormy goodbye, and this morning was no exception. He’d put my apron on me himself, tying it over a pair of black briefs he’d also picked out and slid up my legs with his own hands—and they were the only clothes I would wear all day.
His mouth was warm on mine as he kissed me and pushed his tongue between my lips, fucking between them like he’d fucked me this morning before I got out of bed to make him breakfast.
Stormy pulled back and smiled so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes slightly. “You’re going to make me late.” He tapped my nose and I closed my eyes briefly. After yesterday afternoon’s shakeup, I was still absorbing the fact that he’d officially called me his boyfriend, at least between us. I knew he probably wouldn’t be able to say anything like that in public for a very long time—fuck, maybe never—but simply having something solid stated had gone a long way to calming a part of me I hadn’t even realized was nervous.
“Sorry, Mister,” I said, but I kissed him again.
He moaned, then pulled back and nipped at my chin. “I sent you a text with a link for a job application in it. I happened to run across it yesterday. It will be perfect for you. I want you to apply for the job, okay?”
I sighed. Another one? He didn’t say it had to be today. Maybe I’d do it a different day—or never. I felt shifty just thinking those thoughts as I smiled and nodded at him. No, I’d do what he said. “Yes, Mister.”
He grabbed my asscheeks in his hands and gave them a hard squeeze that had my cock hungry. I thought maybe he knew, because he stood back and smirked at the lump his rough handling had caused in the front of my apron. “The list of chores is on the counter. There are several today because I want you to pick up the dry cleaning and do the grocery shopping. You can change into regular clothes for that, but I want you like this when I get home, okay?”
“I can’t wait for you to get home, Mister. Maybe you could take the day off.” I leaned in and sucked on his earlobe and he sighed, although not in a way I thought meant he was irritated; maybe he wished he really could stay with me.
“Don’t mess around today. Lots of chores. I don’t want to punish you because you didn’t take me seriously.” He squeezed my ass again, and I got the feeling he would be delighted to punish me.
I didn’t roll my eyes, but it was a near miss. “Yes, Mister. I always do my chores.”
“You’re right, you do,” he whispered and kissed me again. We made out for so long he truly was on the verge of being late, before he ripped open the front door and sprinted for his car.
When I’d turned the lock behind Stormy, I went into the bedroom and picked up my phone off the dresser. Might as well get the most painful part of any day over with: applying for jobs. I was surprised to see I had a missed call from Mark, but he didn’t pick up when I tried to call him back.
“I guess you must be ready to speak to me again? I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve the shit I put you through. Call me.” I was sad as I disconnected because I did miss Mark. I wished things hadn’t played out the way they had.
With my mood killed, I checked the link Stormy had texted. I sent back a heart to let him know I’d seen his message and then opened the link. The second the job alert popped up, I decided it had to be a joke and did roll my eyes, especially since he wasn’t here.Yeah, right.A local celebrity chef, who I liked to watch because he took his time and explained each step of a dish well, was looking for a personal assistant. He was popular and everyone in New Gothenburg, even me, who hadn’t given two shits about cooking until recently, knew his name.
As if.He would be like everyone else and take one look at my application and trash it. Why waste the time?
I was sure Stormy must have meant it as a joke, something to tease me about my cooking, but guilt ate at me as I closed the screen on my phone. I went to the laptop and filled out an application for an office job I knew I wouldn’t get—although, it was mildly less humiliating than having someone with three million followers on YouTube laugh at my application—and then went about attacking the rest of my chores list. Stormy had been right, there were quite a few things to get done, and I was rushing by the end of the day to get dinner ready.
The chicken casserole I was cooking was just coming out of the oven when the front door opened.
“Pookie, I’m home!”
I felt ridiculous as I plunked the glass dish on the stovetop, flipped off the temp knob for the oven, and then raced into the living room. Stormy met me halfway and pulled me in for a kiss. I was so happy to see him, and I opened my mouth for his tongue when he prodded against my lips, happy to swirl mine with his; however, a tingle of guilt started in me. I hadn’t applied for that job today. Since the first day I’d been here, I hadn’t purposefully decided not to do something he’d told me. I’d forgotten an item on a long list of chores once and had begged to be forgiven.
That had ended with a very light punishment, almost nothing, just needing to do some extra chores the next day.
But I’d decidednot to do what he said. I shoved the terrible feeling off.
Stormy glanced around the living room I’d dusted and all the wooden furniture I’d polished. “It looks and smells great in here! I assume you did your list?”
“Yes, Mister.”
