Page 73 of Haden

I’m glad we keep a nightlight on because I don’t have the wherewithal to find the switch. I aim straight for the toilet, drop to my knees, and expel everything in my stomach.

In seconds, Haden’s hand is on my neck. He gathers my hair and wraps a scrunchy around it to keep it out of the toilet. Without a word, he wets a washcloth and squats down next to me to rub my back again.

I’m panting. A clammy sheen of perspiration covers my forehead.

After a few minutes, Haden gently leans me back and wipes my face. “Feel better?” His brow is furrowed.

I nod.

“Let’s rinse your mouth out.” He helps me to my feet and guides me to the sink, where he holds up a cup of water.

I don’t even touch the cup. He does all the work.

“Rinse and spit, baby,” he says so gently I nearly weep. Every sign would indicate he intends to dote on me like this for the rest of my life. I hope so. I’m nervous. I don’t want to do this alone.

It’s suddenly hitting me hard. I’ve known for a few days, but I haven’t let myself fully accept it. It’s overwhelming. My body is no longer my own.

“Do you want some mouthwash, baby?”

“Yes, please.”

He pours an inch of green liquid into the cup and tips it back for me. “Don’t swallow it, jitterbug. Just swish it around and spit it out.”

My knees feel weak from his words. He is always subtly bossing me around, even in ways I couldn’t possibly need. I know how to use mouthwash. But he tells me what to do anyway. And it’s endearing.

“Good girl,” he praises after I spit again.

He guides me to sit on the toilet. “Don’t pee yet,” he orders.

I shudder as he opens the cabinet and pulls out a box. He tears into it, and a moment later, he’s holding a pregnancy test.

“Spread your knees, baby.”

Trembling all over, I follow his command. There’s no sense in arguing with him. He always wins. Arguing only lands me over his lap. I’m not in the mood to be spanked this morning.

Haden holds the end of the test an inch from my urethra. “Okay, baby. Now you can pee.”

It only takes me a few seconds to relax my bladder. After four weeks with Haden, I’ve lost all sense of modesty. He’s nearly always with me when I pee. Sometimes, the man accompanies me to the bathroom in the middle of the day. If he’s around when I get up from my desk, he rises at the same time, ushers me into the bathroom, pulls down my jeans, and squats in front of me.

He’s intense. I doubt there’s any other man on Earth who is as overbearing as mine. So fucking hands-on. Often, he doesn’t even say anything. He simply holds my thighs open and watches while I empty my bladder. He wipes me, helps me stand, redoes my jeans, and washes my hands. After returning me to my desk, he kisses my forehead, smiles, and says, “I love you.”

How could I not be turned on by his brand of dominance?

Okay, most people wouldn’t. But I’m not most people. I’m Haden’s girl. He’s over-the-top, and it works for us because it turns out I love over-the-top.

We both watch as my urine hits the stick. When it’s sufficient, he pulls it away and sets it on the wrapper on the vanity.

I don’t dare move. I finish peeing and let my man clean me up. He helps me to my feet. My legs are wobbly from vomiting. I wonder if this is going to be my new norm or if I’m going to start my period in a few hours instead.

Haden guides me to the sink. I notice he tucked the stick in the wrapper so we can’t see it. He washes our combined hands, his huge body folded around mine.

When he’s done, he closes the bathroom door and turns us to face the full-length mirror. He’s behind me, cocooning me in his embrace. His feet are planted outside of mine. He lifts my arms and tucks them behind his neck.

I watch his face as he admires my body in the mirror. So reverent as if I’m a precious gem. More precious than the pink stones on my finger.

His hands cup my flat stomach before moving up to cradle my breasts.

I wince when he gives them a gentle squeeze.