I swallow. “Well, the thing is, sometimes I buy one for Wyn, and if I’m going over to Luke and Jessie’s, I pick up a couple for them too.”
Stuart steadies his breath and squeezes the bridge of his nose again. He repeats the whole process for my spending on alcohol and going out, Ubers and Lyfts, and the amount I spend on takeout.
Given that my spending has decreased so dramatically since I started living with Stuart, I was fairly confident he wouldn’t find many issues. Boy, was I wrong.
Geez. Shit adds up.
Stuart goes through all my expenses painstakingly and explains how I can do better. He sets new budgets for me for each expense category, patiently explaining how and why he’s arrived at each amount, not moving on until I’ve agreed with his reasoning.
I can see now that this is something I should have been doing myself. I’ve definitely heard Will and Jessie talk about budgets at length.
Just didn’t realize they applied to me too.
Since everything Stuart is saying sounds profoundly reasonable, I agree to all of it. If there’s one thing I’ve proved by trying to manage my own finances, it’s that I’m complete shit at it. He tells me I can go out as often as I like to hang out at friends’ houses, and I can go out for drinks or a meal once a week. He leaves me with no doubt whatsoever that paying for dinner for the entire table isn’t going to fly anymore.
“And obviously, the only smoothies you’ll have for the foreseeable future are those I make for you.”
“B-but, Daddy…” My bottom lip juts out involuntarily, and I have to make a conscious effort to pull it back in.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Twenty dollars per week on bought smoothies. That’s one ridiculously overpriced smoothie or two reasonably priced ones from the place down the road. The choice is yours and the offer is final.”
I mean to argue, but he’s started to lay my bank statements out on the desk in front of me, taking his time to make sure they’re neat and placed parallel to each other. I’m met by a sea of text, the majority of which is underlined in pink.
Stuart is on his feet beside me. I don’t look up, but I can feel him towering over me. I hear the soft chink of metal on metal and the swift sigh of leather whipping through belt loops. The nervousness that’s been my companion since I stepped into the room rachets up. My back stiffens. My ass cheeks clench hard.
Stuart folds his belt in half and then folds it over again. He lays it on the desk next to a particularly excessively highlighted page. Though I’d dearly love to, I’m unable to tear my eyes off his belt. It’s dark brown. Soft, worn leather. It looks supple. Very supple. It looks like the kind of thing that has a nasty bite.
Cold dread runs through me, settles in my groin, and then turns hot. My heart pounds and my breathing is suddenly erratic. The hems of my work pants quake at my ankles. This is a threat. A clear threat. There’s no getting away from it. Stuart is fully threatening to whip my ass with a belt. I should be horrified. I should bolt out of this room and call any of my friends to come and get me. They’d be here like a shot. Luke would be horrified. It’s obvious that’s what I should do. I don’t though. For whatever reason, the way I’m put together makes me see the belt and react precisely the same way a dog would if you used a high-pitched voice and cried, “Walkies!”
Before I have time to unpack all that, Stuart says, “Next month, we’ll be back here.” He gives me a long, warning look. His mouth is still a line, but ice blue sparks and heats up. “Only next month, for every pink stripe on the page, I’m going to give you a stripe across your backside. Understand?”
Ungh.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good.” A switch flicks. All hint of menace is gone, replaced by something much softer. “In that case, let’s get dinner started. Tonight, I’m going to teach you how to make Bolognese.”
The heat in my dick expands and warms me from my head to my toes.
He sets out a chopping board and hands me a knife once we’ve both washed our hands.
“We’re going to start by finely chopping the onion, carrot, and celery.” That should be enough instruction for most people, and it kind of embarrasses me that it isn’t enough for me, but I don’t mind completely because he stands next to me and watches as I start on the onion.
“Yeah,” he says, “that’s it. Make sure you get the whole peel off and then slice it in half so you have a flat surface to work with.” He stands so close to me that I can smell his hair when I breathe in. Herbs and honey. His shoulder isn’t quite touching mine, but I can feel the heat from it sink through my shirt sleeve. I hold the onion firmly with one hand and start chopping with the other. He moves behind me and wraps his hand around mine on the knife. His hand is so big and broad it envelops mine, making me feel small. For once, I like it.
“Tuck your fingers back like this,” he says, showing me how to ensure I don’t risk cutting myself. He rocks the knife up and down on the board, and I watch, transfixed, as we slice the onion together. He lets me try the carrot and celery by myself, but the second I falter, he’s back in place. Behind me. Hot breath on my skin. The fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end when it happens and my vision swims with the effort it takes to stop myself from grinding my ass against him.
“What’s next?”
“We sauté the veggies until the onion is golden. Start with a good dab of butter in the pan and toss all this in as soon as it’s hot.”
I do as he says and chase the ingredients around the pan with a wooden spoon, jumping out of the way now and again when the butter spits. Stuart smiles when I do it. The whole room smells amazing. It smells like Luke’s house in winter. Homey and safe.
Jesus. Did I just make sautéing my bitch?
I feel a ridiculous flurry of pride, which doesn’t diminish as we brown the meat—browning meat is no sweat either, literally just toss it around in the pan until it turns brown—and add the tomatoes. While the Bolognese simmers, Stuart and I head out to sit on the back porch with Sadie. I throw a ball for her a couple of times, but each time she seems mildly annoyed and looks at me as if she expects me to fetch it.
Stuart is telling me all about how he adopted her from a local dog shelter. Sadie seems to enjoy the story because she’s stretched herself across one of Stuart’s feet and rolled onto her back.
