Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“You don’t like having people here, but you keep begging me to come back?”
“It’s different, with you.” Vic flashed him a lazy smile as he padded to the kitchen island. “I just…need somewhere to be tired without people judging me or looking for my weaknesses.” His voice drifted back as he opened the fridge and standing pantry, peering inside. “You actually invite me to be weak. You make it safe—which makes it safe for you to be here.”
Amani curled up comfortably with his shoulder propped against the back of the couch and his legs tucked against him, watching Vic. “I can understand that.”
“Do you have anywhere like that?”
“Not really.” He toyed with the fringes of the throw, playing them between his fingers. “I think that place, for me, would be less a location and more a person.”
Vic paused, just looking at Amani across the space between them. “Have you ever found that person, then?”
“I don’t know,” Amani admitted.
Pregnant silences. They had a talent for pregnant silences, full of questions neither of them would ask—and once again it was Amani’s turn to look away first, pressing his hand over the hollow, quietly hurting spot on his chest where his heart should be.
After a moment, Vic asked, “Vegetarian all right?” the very softness of his voice seeming to offer an apology for that weighted stillness, followed by a gentle laugh. “I don’t think the Kobe beef I have in the freezer is halal.”
Amani flushed. When he’d said small things could be powerful in the right situation, he’d never thought it would be him lingering with warmth on the fact that this obnoxiously rich not-so-straight boy paid enough attention to him to remember these things and ask him. “Nothing with animal fat?”
He picked a bottle of glimmering golden oil up off the counter. “One hundred percent vegetable oil, nothing with a pulse involved.” He set the bottle down, then, and retrieved a large wok-style skillet from under the counter. “Breakfast vegetable stir fry work for you? There’s a grocery store in the basement, too, if you want to go shopping so I can make something you’d like.”
“No.” Amani shook his head, and peeked back through the curtain of his hair to watch Vic move around the kitchen with casual ease. “Stir fry sounds perfect.”
l
THEY ATE AT THE COFFEE table in companionable silence, nothing but the clink of forks and the sound of tea cups setting against the glass. As Amani finished the last bite of his surprisingly delicious peppered stir fry and cradled his tea mug between his hands, though, he caught Vic watching him, toying with his fork, and smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Vic laughed sheepishly, dropping the fork and rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just wondering…”
“Out with it, pet.”
“I…do you get anything out of this?” Vic asked, almost shyly. “Other than not having to worry about tuition.”
Amani wrinkled his brows. “What do you mean?”
“This is…” Vic gestured between them. “It’s a life-changing experience, for me. The colors of the world have changed, etcetera, etcetera.” A self-mocking smile broke through. “I’m trying not to be too flowery and poetic. But I just…I wonder if being with me like this, having me as your pet, fulfills anything for you. Or if you’re just doing your job and teaching me.”
Reaching out to set his tea mug on the coffee table, Amani considered that, turning it over carefully as he pulled the throw tighter around himself, against a hint of morning chill. “I’ve never been with one submissive twice. Never even seen one submissive twice,” he finally said. “So it’s different. When you take the time to know each other. To…to learn each other. To learn together. It’s different in here. New.” He clenched his fist and pressed it over his chest, his heart. “So yes,” he admitted, and he would never tell the nerve it took to say that, to keep his voice from shaking. “I do find something in this.”
Vic regarded him for long moments, winter-blue eyes searching, before his smile warmed, slow and deep. “Good,” he said, and stood to gather the dishes.
Amani held his tongue, just letting his gaze follow Vic’s easy, confident movements. In some ways it startled him, even after their last few sessions, how easily someone like Vic fell into submission, embracing it as if he’d been born to it…but in other ways it made him so lovely to watch, someone that one day some Dominant would want to capture and keep.
Amani only hoped they weren’t the type to try to subjugate and break, when Vic—for all his contradictions—was perfect just as he was.
But as Vic was piling the dishes in the sink, his phone buzzed from his jeans, He retrieved it from his pocket, tossing Amani a smile from across the room. “Sorry,” he said, then swiped the call. “Hey.” But he’d hardly spoken before he went pale, raking a hand back through his hair, his voice turning harsh. “At this time of morning? Fuck.” He paused, white-knuckling the phone, pacing, then asked, “Did you call the police?” Another pause, a frustrated sound, a curse, and he was already moving quickly across the room, bending to grab his T-shirt and drag it on around the phone, dropping down to stuff his feet into his shoes. “No. No, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me as soon as you hear anything.”