Chapter Twenty Two #2
I find myself nodding, and I hate it. I’m burning with shame at the lack of control. I've never done this before, but my body relaxes following his command like it's second nature. I fucking hate him.
He places a pillow under my ass. Then, his cock nudges at my hole. It goes in easily. Easier than it has ever before.
He pushes in so slowly, gazing into my eyes. Dark blue, piercing me, baring me open. I want to turn away. I want to hide, but I can't escape him. So open. So desperate. For me.
He groans out loud when his dick is completely seated inside me. “Your body is made to take me,” he growls. “So good, baby. So tight.” He moves his pelvis until he’s hitting the spot that turns my nerves into live wires.
I groan, even though I want to beg him instead. He pulls out just as slow and pushes back in swift, hard thrusts.
“I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
It's too much, too fucking much. I lean up and capture his mouth. He pushes in again, deeper than the last time. His thrusts get faster every time, coming in hard until he can't control himself anymore.
He buries his cock into me again. Our lips touching, sharing air.
I close my eyes. I can't look at him, not now.
I feel like I'm floating. My body making space for him with every thrust. He slides into me again and again until I'm climbing high, higher, our bodies coming together until the tension breaks.
My dick, stuck between our bodies, spreads my cum across our chests.
He fucks me a few dozen more times, using me until he’s coming into the condom, filling me. He growls against my neck, sucking on it. I'm probably going to have a mark in the morning.
I want to push him away. Instead, my hand cards over his ridiculously soft, brown hair.
He slides to the side, taking some of his weight from me, but keeps his face buried in my neck. I softly caress his hair, my other hand moving across his huge biceps.
I’m too tired to do anything but let my eyes droop shut.
I don’t stop him when I feel him cleaning me. He’s tentative at first, but then does a thorough job of it. I don’t stop him when he lies back down and gently arranges me to his satisfaction with my head resting on his chest before I’m dead to the world.
***
I wake up to the smell of coffee, or maybe the loud barking coming from the living room. My feet automatically pad towards it. The coffee smell, not the barking. Too early for the barking.
I slump down on the couch, and my hands suddenly have a cup of steaming, delicious smelling coffee. I take a sip. Then another.
The dog looks happy to see me. It looks so cute sitting there with his tongue hanging out. “Aww,” I coo and take another sip.
The dog doesn’t move.
Wait, why is there a dog in my living room? I blink, and everything comes into focus. The sunlight streaming from the window, my T-shirt that seems too oversized for me, my normal-sized sweats, and the giant shirtless man sliding a plate of what looks like waffles on the coffee table.
My mouth salivates. For the waffles, not the shirtless man. I mean, mostly for the waffles.
“Mickey, you’ve already had your breakfast. Down,” Nicholas’s stern voice says before he sits down next to me, another plate in his hand.
Last night comes to me in segments. Nicholas turning me into jelly until I fell asleep and his status as an unrepentant cuddler. I woke up in the middle of the night, all hot, and had to untangle myself from him to go to the bathroom.
Maybe I put on the clothes then?
“Didn't take you long to make yourself at home,” I tell Nicholas, because we need to establish some sort of boundary at least.
He laughs, a full one. It’s too early for that face. I turn back to my black coffee. There, that my brain can take.
“Glad to have you back with us. And I'm providing free labor, so shut up,” he says.
I mean, yeah, he is. I pick up the plate and take a small bite.
He leans down and plants a kiss on my hair. My hands are too full to swat him away. “I have to leave. Have a team meeting. Are you going to the clinic today?” he asks.
“I wasn’t sure I’d be back by the weekend, so I have nothing scheduled,” I tell him.
“Huh, did you leave the conference early then?”
What conference? I turn to look at his confused face. Fuck, conference. “Yes, I left the conference early.”
“Alright,” he frowns. “I’ll just leave Mickey with you then. I’ll be back by the evening,” he informs.
Wait, what was that now? But Nicholas is already back in the kitchen. Did he just dump all those waffles directly into his stomach?
No wonder I don’t leave my bed for at least thirty minutes after waking up unless I’m startled awake by the nightmares. I have no idea what’s happening right now.
“See you in a few hours,” Nicholas shouts from the door, then I hear it close behind him.
Mickey pads over from the front door, where he had disappeared to see his annoying dad out. Which reminds me, did he leave shirtless? I look down at what I now realize is his T-shirt.
Mickey nudges his head against my knee. I keep my mug down and give him a few scratches, keeping my plate firmly out of reach.
Breakfast, two hours in the gym, and a shower later, I’m just as confused. Thankfully, not about what’s happening around me. I’m very well aware that Nicholas just pawned off free dog-sitting on me. But I like Mickey enough to forgive him for that.
No, I’m confused about what to do now. Maybe I can clean my house? But I’ve been doing too much of that since Nicholas started showing up with no notice.
I don’t remember the last time I had free time. All the time I wasn’t in the clinic or in bed was spent hunched over a computer, familiarizing myself with my next target or physically being around the target.
Now that Sam has refused to send me any more work, I’m completely at a loss. Yes, I texted him and begged him to reconsider.
He was completely heartless about my predicament. He suggested joining a craft group, the sadist.
I look at Mickey snoozing peacefully on his giant bed. It’s so big and doesn’t go with my living room at all. I pick up my phone to order one, surrendering to this becoming a regular thing. Might as well deal with it now and get this cartoon character-covered monstrosity out of my house.
But that only takes up twenty minutes, and I have a nice monocolor appropriately sized dog bed coming my way in three to four business days. Maybe I can get lunch started? I look at the time. No, too early for that, especially since I’m just going to whip up a salad.
I switch on the television. People waste hours on that thing, right?
I can find something that’ll be entertaining enough to make me forget about my complete uselessness.
Maybe sports? They have sports on weekends, don’t they?
The fact that I can’t name a single one I want to watch isn't a great sign for this experiment.
I’m proven right after half an hour of surfing through the channels.
I even looked through the subscription platforms Nicholas has logged into on my television.
The sitcom he likes to watch is good, but I don’t want to watch it without him in case he wants to continue from where he left off.
He started with episode one the first time we watched it together.
I look at Mickey again. He may need a walk. I’m sure Nicholas took him to one before I woke up. But exercise is good for dogs.
I nod and nudge Mickey awake. He’s cranky but quickly gets on board with the plan when he notices the leash.
Mickey is surprisingly calm on the walk. With all that chaotic energy, I expected him to cause some serious trouble. I guess I was right about Nicholas being really good at this.
I take him to a park near my place. I prolong going back home for as long as I can. But then Mickey gets tired, and we have to start the trek back to the sad, empty place.
Mickey goes back to snoozing as soon as he’s finished with his lunch, while I pace around the house looking for something to do. I scroll through my phone on the forgotten clinic's social media page. It’s boring. Everything is boring.
Animal videos of any variety typically work well at lifting my mood, but I only catch a few between tasks. Watching them when I have all the time in the world, and no stress, dampens their effects.
No stress. That’s what has changed. I’ve been trying to pinpoint this feeling of freedom and the sudden onset of boredom all day. I’m not worried. About anything. Huh. When was the last time that happened? Probably never.
I keep scrolling through videos absentmindedly until one catches my attention.
A quick muffin recipe. I can make that. I can totally make that.
Maybe I should? What’s stopping me, really?
I’m sure Nicholas will finish it even if it comes out badly as long as it’s sweet, considering his coffee order.
I quickly place an order for everything I need, and get to work.
***
“Oh my god, did the Pillsbury Doughboy bleed out in your kitchen?” Nicholas says when I let him into the house.
He’s overreacting. I look around. There is just a little flour on the counter and some on my clothes. A spatter of batter on the floor and… on the wall? How did it even get there?
I still roll my eyes. “I made seven-step simple chocolate muffins. Skip them if you’d rather just complain,” I say.
He raises his palms placatingly. “Let’s not be hasty. I was just surprised,” he says, picking a muffin from the tray and taking the biggest bite. “Fuck, this is good.”
I smile down at the batter. “I made dog ones for Mickey, too,” I point at the other tray on the counter. Had to look that recipe up. Yourbakingqueen777 didn’t specialize in canine confectionery.
Nicholas stares at me while inhaling his second muffin. “I’m surprised you like to bake,” he comments.
“Tried it for the first time today,” I tell him, soaking in the compliment, hoping against all odds that my face isn’t blotchy and red under the batter and flour.
His eyes go worryingly wide. He takes another bite. “Wow.”
“I might try cupcakes tomorrow,” I tell him proudly. Turns out there are other things that take up a lot of time and make me happy. The world doesn’t look as boring anymore.