Instead of a comedy, he clicks into a horror and soon a cluster of oversexed teens are attempting to survive a serial killer armed with a pitchfork and a monstrous grudge. It’s corny but predictable and a comfort to have on in the background since both of us swing between tongue-tied and too busy eating to make much in the way of conversation.
“You know your dad won’t change his mind, don’t you?”
The words come out of the blue and I stare at Micah, chewing more slowly at my maodou as I lose all enthusiasm for the flavourful soybeans.
“I don’t know anything until I talk to him,” I say eventually. My appetite has shrunk, and I spend another minute pushing food around instead of eating it, then shove my containers away from me, done.
Micah piles the remnants together, walking them to the kitchen and staying there for a few minutes before he returns with two bottles of beer. “You want one?”
I take it, grateful for anything that will damp down my wrought emotions. It’s strong and my palate fondly recalls the lemonade-dominant shandies that Dad used to pour me on special occasions. I’d love the opportunity to switch to one of those but don’t know what Micah would think of the request. I want him to take me seriously and that might make me appear younger than I am.
We fall into a mutual silence as the movie winds towards its inevitable end. When he finishes his bottle, I volunteer to take it back to the kitchen. Agnes is gone but has left something wonderful smelling on the stove.
There’s a landline in the corner. I didn’t notice it when I was in this room earlier because then I was desperate to avoid eye contact with the cook, so kept my gaze aimed at the floor. Now, I sneak over and lift the handset, happy to hear a dial tone.
If I call the house now, Brianna will be home to answer the phone. She’ll pass me onto Dad, and he’ll have to talk to me. Explain what he was thinking. Why he derailed my life with such careless authority.
“He’ll recognise the number,” Micah says from the connecting door, making me jump. I shove the phone back into its cradle, trying too late to pretend I wasn’t doing the thing that I clearly was.
“I was just looking for—”
He crosses the room and grabs my hand, spinning me closer. “We need to have a little discussion about what is and isn’t allowed in our arrangement.”
His other arm catches around my waist, pulling me hard against him. I swallow but it doesn’t work the way it’s meant to, making my throat bob up and down but leaving saliva pooling in my mouth.
I try again. Better.
My chances of phoning home might be nil tonight but tomorrow, he’ll go out again and I can…
“No.” He gives me a shake. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.” His lips drop nearer my ear, sending a puff of warm ear over the sensitive skin there. “I don’t want to have to punish you.”
That threat again.
The words should horrify me,terrifyme, given what he said to me last night. Instead, they make my stomach knot and send a rush of heat straight between my legs. My cheeks turn up the thermostat, growing redder by the second as they try to envisage what that phrase could mean.
He must read my mind. My wicked, wicked mind because his hand forces me even closer, until the hard outline of his erection nudges into the soft curve of my hip. “Or is that what you want?”
“No.” I shove against his chest and only succeed in my lower body grinding against him as I bend backwards in the feeble attempt to get away. “I’m not a child. You can’t send me to the naughty step.”
He walks me backwards until I bump into the benchtop, then takes his hand off my lower back to curve it around my cheek instead. “What would you suggest I do with a disobedient girl, then? Would you prefer I give you a spanking?”
Shame makes my lower lip wobble until I bite down to keep it steady as my body curves towards his. No. This is not meant to be what I want. Not at all.
“Let me go,” I choke out, not fully grasping everything that’s happening but knowing enough to stop it right now. Out of all the events of the past day, this feels the most out of control. The most dangerous.
He does. Stepping back so suddenly I stagger forward to keep my balance. His eyes look confused. Lost. Like he woke up in the middle of another person’s dream.
Then his hand reaches out to cup my shoulder. “You’re sure you’ve never…?”
A shutter slams down inside me. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“That’s a pity.” His eyes sweep down the length of my body, stuttering when they reach my lips, my breasts, my hips. “I feel like we could enjoy some hate sex right about now.” He moves close again, touching his forehead to mine. “But that’s probably not the best introduction. What about… other things?”
Nerves are sending so many messages around my body that they crash into each other, careening onto new pathways, sparking and exploding until I don’t know up from down. I place my palms flat on his chest, closing my eyes and falling into the same breathing pattern as him. “I-I don’t know what that means.”
Fingers touch my cheek and trace a line down the side of my neck, landing on my collarbone. “Have you ever taken a man into your mouth?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. I remember how big he felt under my hand in the back seat, how large the bulge of his erection had been as I knelt before him last night.
