He said nothing, and I turned my cheek to rest it against my folded arms as I listened. It was like a delicate dance—his feet shifting along the floor, his hands chopping, and grating, and whatever the hell else he was working on.
Then came the smell of cooking meat and spices—the sizzle, the fat rendering, the seasoning filling the air. It was so much better than his horrible cologne. In fact, I was furiousthat I might have to admit it, but whatever he was making, my stomach was starting to rumble.
It was the first time in weeks I’d become profoundly aware of my hunger.
“Where do you like to eat?”
I lifted my head. “Is that some kind of euphemism?”
“No. When you’re feeling your worst,” he added, “where do you take meals?”
I swallowed heavily, then shrugged. “In bed, I guess.”
“Good. Go get in bed.” He paused, then said, “Wait. Get undressed, and put on something loose and comfortable, then get in bed.”
“Anything else, Sir?”
I jolted when warm, spiced fingers touched the edge of my jaw. “No need for that, Jonah.”
Fuck. Once again, he had me turned around. Once again, I was the opposite of the man in the locker room who had taken what he wanted from this man.
And once again, I was burning with lust for him and needy for whatever he wanted to give me.
“Just do as I say. I know you want to be good for me.”
I hated him because it was true. And I hated him because my defenses were so fucking low, all I could do was hop off the stool and obey. I trailed my fingers along the wall, listening and feeling slightly irritated that he just got back to work in the kitchen as I left.
Was he watching me walk away? Was he pretending like he wasn’t?
I knew I had his attention. He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. There was no way he liked me enough to give a shit that I wasn’t eating properly, so it had to be something else. Maybe the sex really was that good for him too.
Heading into the bedroom, I went to my pajama drawer and wondered if I should get something other than baggy sweats and T-shirts. Something soft. Silky. Slutty. Would that matter to him at all?
I had no idea what he liked other than me being obedient for him, and that bothered me.
But I could at least do this part. I stripped out of my gym clothes and gave my armpits a sniff before slipping into a T-shirt and my softest pants. I had no idea what color they were or if they had patterns, and I had never cared before now.
It was annoying to care tonight.
I had fucked plenty of sighted people. I had fucked mostly sighted people, in fact. But I had never bothered trying relationships with any of them. Even my past girlfriends. Either they liked what they saw, or they didn’t. Sometimes they went shopping with me. Sometimes they went shopping for me.
I never bothered to ask what they were putting me in.
But the thought of Zeki—of Alexio—doing all that?
Fuck, why did it make my insides quake?
It wasn’t because he was a man. There was something else, and it was pissing me the fuck off because I couldn’t put my finger on it. The feeling followed me into the bed, where I got comfortable against the pillows and listened for him.
I could hear him singing to himself in whatever language he spoke, and I was going to have to ask because I wanted to know more about him. His footsteps tapped gently along the wall, and then he opened the bedroom door all the way and froze.
“Do you need a written invitation?” I asked.
He sighed. “Lights are off.”
Fuck. “Right, uh…on the wall, to your left.”
His fingertips scraped along the drywall, and then there was a little clicking sound. The ceiling fan turned on with a soft whirr, which would get cold later, but right now, it didn’tmatter. He shuffled further into the room, then set something on the bed, and I could smell it immediately.
