Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
*
I sit in bed, wearing sleep pants and no shirt, back against the headboard, door locked, waiting for Sir’s call. Each day this week he’s asked me what I’ve done for myself, and I never had an answer. I’m proud I have one today, but I hope it’s good enough, hope he sees that this is me trying and it’s all a process.
My ringer is off, but exactly on time, my phone buzzes from where it’s been glued to my hand for the last five minutes. Tendrils of nerves twist through my gut as I answer his video call.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hey. How are you this evening?” He’s shirtless, his blond hair messy like it often is, but wet, his skin glistening too. He just got out of the shower, and I can’t deny the part of me that wishes I’d been in there with him. Sir ordering me to my knees to suck him off, fucking my face, not letting me come until he says…
“Fine,” I answer. It’s always like this in the beginning—me with short answers, getting used to us again.
“What did you do today?”
“Got up and had breakfast, went grocery shopping before it got busy, then came home and cleaned the house, planned meals for the week, and went over assignments my TA had questions about.” We don’t talk specifics about his class, and having my TA grade the assignments preempts any questions of fairness or favoritism.
“That sounds busy. I went over to my mom’s. My brother, Dakota, was there with his girlfriend, Elena. We had a barbecue and just hung out. Then I came home and did some homework. One of my professors is a little assignment happy.”
“I don’t give a lot of work,” I argue, and he laughs.
“I wasn’t talking about you. Funny that you assumed I was. Did you follow all my rules today?”
My belly heats, my skin prickling with excitement. “Yes, Sir.”
“You know I’ve got to ask you, and I’m really hoping you’ll say what I want to hear. I’d hate to have to punish you…well, hate is a strong word because I would actually like to be able to punish you, and I think you would like that too.”
I fight back a moan because I would very much like that.
“Were you a good boy today? Did you do something just for you?” His voice is lower now, an edge of seriousness to it, expecting an answer and it better be what he wants to hear. I break out in a full-body flush.
“Yes, Sir.” No matter how much I try, I can’t bite back my smile, proud of myself.
Sir smiles too. “That’s good. I’m so fucking proud of you. What did you do?”
“I went for a walk,” I say, and see the question in his eyes, know he’s wondering what it is about a walk that’s just for me.
“Why is that something for you? I’m not doubting you, but I would like to know—and you know what to say if you don’t feel comfortable telling me.”
I like that Sir reminds me of my colors, that he wants to make sure I know that even though he’s in charge, I still have a choice. For a moment I consider saying red, feeling silly about the why of the walk and what I did there, but then I think about Sir telling me I’m a good boy, being proud of me, seeing that pride in his expression, and I yearn for it so fucking much.
“When I was a kid, things weren’t good at home. I’m sure you’ve gathered that much. It was only my mom and me, and she was…terrible, to say the least. Anyway, sometimes it would be so chaotic at home, so overwhelming, that I felt like I was losing my mind. I needed to escape, so I’d go on these walks. I’m not talking a normal walk—I would do it for hours on end…just keep going. I would create stories in my head the whole time, new lives for myself, find this place in my brain where I could create a new me, and it helped. I haven’t done it in a long time. I haven’t needed to, really. Even though things at home aren’t the way they used to be, they have changed with the kids being here, and today I just wanted to walk and clear my head.”
“What did you dream about today?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I want to get to know you. The better I know you, the better Dom I’ll be for you. Now answer the question, James.”
“Yes, Sir.” I rub a hand over my face. You can do this. It’s only Colton. You need to do this to be his good boy and make him proud. And God, I want that. “The kids, mostly. I imagined us closer…that they trust me. That we weren’t separated and I knew about them. That I’d saved them from Sandra long before she died. That we’re a normal family.”