Page 69

“Did I tell you you could read?” His voice was featherlight, yet dominance saturated each word, command.
My hand hovered above the cover, my fingers twitching in defiance, my inner walls clenching in desire at the sudden barriers closing in around me. Everything I did was under Elliot’s control. I was no longer making decisions that could get me, my family or some innocent stranger killed if I made the wrong one. Having that weight off my shoulders felt amazing. And terrifying. And arousing. The cocktail of feelings swimming through my body crept up my throat like heartburn.
I turned to look at Elliot, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.
“I don’t get to read?” I injected sass into my tone so I wouldn’t display just how deeply this interaction was shaking me. “I just … sit here?”
He nodded painstakingly slowly. “Yes, Calliope. You just sit. Alone. With yourself. No distractions.”
His response had me wanting to claw my clothes off, strip naked then tell him to fuck me and get it over with.
He watched me, as if he could see my discomfort. I tilted my chin upward, refusing to let him glimpse any weakness.
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
“I’ll reward you if you manage it.” His words tickled at my inner thighs.
And aforementioned thighs twitched in anticipation.
My hand fisted over the book before I brought it back to rest on my lap. The obedience didn’t grate me or shame me like I thought it would. It felt … nice. I had nothing to do but sit there.
Elliot observed me for a handful of seconds longer, not seemingly to test whether I was going to obey his order—I’d shown I was doing that—but to look at me with … tenderness. Approval. I’d made him happy.
My muscles melted at the simple thought of getting his approval just by sitting in that chair. Just by listening to him. Nothing more was required of me.
Just for tonight, I told myself. Just for tonight, I’ll obey his every order so he can look at me like that and so I can experience breathing without a hundred-pound lump of dread sitting on my chest.
Tomorrow. That’s when I’d end it.
“You allergic to anything?” Elliot asked me, unaware of the bargain I’d made with myself.
I shook my head.
“Good.” He nodded, gave me a once-over then turned to the kitchen.
I watched him walk into the space, which didn’t take long since it was such a compact house. But it didn’t feel stifling or suffocating, the same way the command to stay in the chair didn’t.
For one night, the outside world didn’t exist, and I could sit in a chair and watch Elliot cook.
My stomach was rumbling by the time I was sitting at the small, round dinner table tucked into a corner window.
Watching Elliot cook without a book, a phone or other source of entertainment—otherwise known as distraction from my thoughts—was not as boring as I thought it might be. It wasriveting, watching him move around the space with confidence and ease.
Though it was a toxic trait, I couldn’t stop myself from comparing him to Jasper. Jasper was the only other man I’d known intimately, the only other man I’d let into my life. And wherever he was, even if it was his apartment or mine, he was on guard. He was mindful of his every move, always calculated. It was while watching Elliot that it hit me that Jasper was never truly at ease, never comfortable. Especially not with himself.
It caused a spear of pain to radiate through my chest. Something close to pity, if I possessed enough emotion to direct it Jasper’s way.
After that, I forced myself to remove Jasper from my mind. He didn’t deserve to be there, in Elliot’s little house that was inexplicably becoming sacred.
“I thought your brother was the chef?” I asked Elliot as I settled into my chair. I reached for the water he’d poured for me, and for once in a long time, I didn’t wish it was a cocktail to shave off the edges.
I didn’t need to shave off the edges of this interaction. And if Elliot wanted me to drink, he would’ve poured me one. That choice wasn’t mine. How freeing that was. I could just … be.
“He’s the one who gets all the glory, but I’m not too shabby.” Elliot set a plate down in front of me. “My father is the great chef. Taught us both.”
My empty stomach panged at the fragrance emanating from the plate—garlic, butter, seafood. All the scents mixing together, somehow not forming an off-putting smell. All of it was piled on a roll with coleslaw on the side, my plate bursting with the colors from the different vegetables.
The lobster roll was drizzled with a rich and creamy-looking sauce. Although the uncomplicated meal had my mouth alreadywatering, I didn’t snatch it into my hands and shove it in my mouth as I wanted to.