Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Cassius
Every time I recall Saturday morning and the look on Harmon’s face when I came on his pancakes, my dick gets hard.
And it’s annoying at this point because it won’t fucking stop.
It’s been two days. I’ve jerked off so much that my dick is raw, but it isn’t helping.
I considered taking care of it one more time before I have to leave, but if he requests my cum for dinner, well, I need to make sure I have some left.
And the easier it is to provide it to him, the better.
If I struggle to get there, I’m only going to get in my head about it and make it worse—which is the last thing I want to happen.
I want to please him—want to make him proud of me.
“So, any idea when we’re getting out of this shit hole?” Cammy asks as she slides onto my bed to lie beside me.
“I don’t want to rush into things and screw us if this, uh, job doesn’t work out.”
“You mean if your sugar daddy drops you?”
“He isn’t a sugar daddy.”
“Mhmm. Whatever you say.” She drags her finger along the wood above us. “Someone at work mentioned having an apartment for rent. I could ask them about it?”
“Wouldn’t hurt, but ideally, I’d like to buy a house.”
“That’s going to take a long time, Cass.”
“But at least it’ll be paid for.”
“I can’t survive in this house for another couple years while we save to buy a damn house.
We could get an apartment, put money aside, keep working and building our savings—while also looking for another job.
There’s this place that offers CNA classes in a month.
If I could take a month off work, if we could afford that, then that right there could help us.
Places are looking for CNAs all the time. ”
I turn to face my sister. “That’s not what you want to do, though, Cammy. The plan is nursing school—RN. Not CNA.”
She shrugs, still messing around with the wood. “It would only be for a short time. Just for us to catch our breath, get things handled, you know?
I take her hand, linking our fingers together. “Cam, I want us to do everything that we’ve ever dreamed of. That’s why I’m doing this. We’re going to get out of this place, never have to see Mom again, and just be happy.”
She finally turns to look at me.
“That’s hard to believe,” she says, her voice cracking.
“I know it is,” I whisper back. “But I am trying really fucking hard.”
Nodding, she wipes her eyes and brings her attention back to the designs in the wood.
“Ask your friend about the apartment. If it’s cheap, it could work. And if you want to do the CNA thing for now, we will make that work too—but only if you want to.”
“We’ve got this,” she whispers.
I hate how sad she sounds, how… insecure.
Cammy is the realist. She doesn’t let things get her down because she knows she’s going to move forward—and why be mad about something that’ll pass?
She accepts it and goes. Seeing her like this?
It fucking hurts. This life is taking a toll on all of us.
So, I promise myself I’m going to work even harder to make sure Harmon keeps me.
When I get to my room at Harmon’s, the schedule that’s waiting for me has extra lines. In parenthesis, under the dinner slot, it says, “Prepare for something new.”
“Exciting yet nerve-wracking,” I mutter as I toss the paper down. Changing things up sounds like fun.
I search for my uniform on the bed, only it isn’t there. I look beneath the blankets, on the floor, in the drawers… nothing is there.
This hasn’t happened before, and I’m not sure what to do. Did he forget to put it in here? Misplace it? Am I supposed to text and ask where it is? Does this mean he wants me to go out there fully dressed or naked?
Time is running out, and I’ve searched every inch of this room with no luck.
Guess I’m going out there naked…
Seems like what Harmon would want. And if it’s not, well, at least he’ll like what he sees.
I take my clothes off and put them in their normal place before leaving the room, confidently walking down the hall naked, directly to the kitchen.
The menu doesn’t call for special sauce today, disappointing me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t want it.
Maybe he’ll ask for it anyway. I’m not ashamed to admit I thoroughly enjoyed jerking off for him and watching him consume my cum.
The only thing that would have made breakfast better was if he let me get him off too—I’m not an asshole, and I enjoy my partner getting off as much as I do.
Watching them get their pleasure is the biggest turn on.
Had he let me do that for him, I’d have easily come again.
But that probably won’t be happening today, because he’s eating lasagna and garlic bread. I prepare the tray and make my way into the dining area to set the table for him.
I step back, clasping my hands together behind my back to wait for him, fighting off the erection I’m getting from standing here and remembering that I came on his food and watched him eat it.
My dick is misbehaving when Harmon walks into the room, stopping beside his chair to take me in. He smirks.
“I see you got my message.”
“I chose correctly?” I ask.
He takes his seat and doesn’t answer. As he usually does, he unrolls the silverware and puts the napkin on his lap.
But instead of digging into his food, he turns to look at me, and as if he’s telling me about the weather, says, “I’d like you to climb onto the table, get on your hands and knees, and stay spread open for me while I eat. ”
“Wh—seriously?”
“One of these days you won’t be surprised by what I ask of you.”
I huff. “I don’t know about that.”
He grins, pleased with himself. I’ve learned he likes it when he shocks me and he likes when I’m inexperienced and unsure. He likes watching me learn.
“Come on,” he says with a slight jerk of his head. “On the table.”
I move to the side of the table and climb on top of it, something that is awkward as hell because I’ve never done this in my entire life—I’ve never had a kitchen table to climb on.
I crawl to the center of the table, trying to be sexy but probably failing because I have zero experience in both being sexy and bending over on tables.
“Come closer.” I back up slowly, afraid of kicking him. “More. You have a lot of room.” I move back more, still going slow. “Spread your legs more. There, that’s good. Just like that.”
I move back until I feel the edge of the table with my toes, which means I’ve got to be right over his food.
“What a beautiful sight,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers along the inside of my thigh. I get goosebumps, and shiver. “Rest down more. On your forearms so your ass is up higher.”
I do as he says, and my dick is aching. It’ll likely leak all over the table, which I’m sure he will love. He drags a finger over my sac, a low growl vibrating from his chest. I can’t stop the moan that leaves me, though I am grateful it isn’t loud.
The sound of silverware on porcelain fills the air as he eats his meal. My knees burn from the hard surface, but I won’t move. There is something about this that is…
I don’t know what it is, but I like it.
Making him proud. Knowing he likes this. Giving him what he wants. Doing something right. It’s not that I’ve had a life of doing things wrong, I’ve never had the tools and opportunities to do things right. But now I can. I am. I’m being given a chance and I’m doing a good job.
I like the way he looks at me, the way I make him proud.
So, I feel good like this, spread open in front of him despite how vulnerable I am. The first few days, I felt shy. Now? I’m confident. I love the way my body warms under his gaze.
The wooden legs of the chair scrap against the floor, and I hear him stand.
“I could look at you like this all day.”
I hear the clanking of the dishes. I assume he must be stacking them to the side.
“Turn around. Sit on the edge here.”
I try my best not to look like an unbalanced baby animal as I turn myself around and move to the edge of the table—that my ass is sticking to, so it isn’t easy to scoot.
His gaze is on my dick again.
“You’re enjoying what we do.”
“Yes,” I say, looking up at him, but his eyes are still on my leaking cock.
“So am I.”
His eyes flick to mine, the brightest honey color, and his fingers brush along my jaw.
“You didn’t shave your face today,” he comments. Not as if he’s upset. It’s an observation.
“I didn’t have time,” I say.
His hand settles on my neck, and he steps closer. I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, but all he does is smile, his eyes holding mine before stepping back and dropping his hand.
“Follow me.”
I hop off the table, leaving the dishes behind, and follow him out of the room.
I assume we’re going to the sitting room, like we usually do after eating, but we go to the foyer, and then to the stairs…
I’ve never been upstairs before. He said I wouldn’t need to go up here, so he never gave me a tour.
I want to ask where he’s taking me, but I keep my mouth shut and go. I don’t want to ruin it.
Upstairs looks much like downstairs only it’s one long hallway with quite a few doors.
He leads me into a large bathroom with a standalone tub and a spacious stand-up shower with a partition and not doors or a curtain.
The toilet is hidden behind a privacy wall, and the counter is sparkling with a rectangle sink.
A mirror fills the wall with not a single fingerprint or toothpaste splatter on it.
“Here,” he says, patting the counter.
“You’re going to have to sanitize every inch of your house.”
He smirks as he digs through a drawer and pulls out shaving cream, a towel, a straight razor, and a bottle. The lights above us go on when he flicks a switch on the wall beside him. He organizes the items he’s gathered, laying them out in just the right way.
I didn’t have a father to teach me how to shave or watch to learn on my own. I just… figured it out when I realized I didn’t like hair on my face.
“Sit up straight,” Harmon says quietly.
My pulse quickens as he steps closer to me, his hip brushing my leg. His musky cologne somehow smells stronger in here, or maybe it’s because he’s so close.
“This would be easier if I had a proper chair,” he says as he pulls a white towel from a drawer on the end and puts it around my jaw. “Maybe I’ll invest in one.”
“It’s warm,” I say, my voice muffled.
Harmon chuckles. “It’s a lovely thing when getting out of the shower.”
“Rich people,” I mutter, trying to be funny. Thankfully, his smile doesn’t die, so at least I didn’t offend him.
As he holds the towel to my face, he studies me. I let him, pretending like I don’t know what he’s doing as I look up at the tall ceiling, but I can feel the weight of his gaze.
A few moments later, he removes the towel, the cool air kissing my skin. He puts shaving cream on his fingers and gently works it along my jawline, his touch slow and purposeful, like he’s done this a thousand times.
My eyes fall closed.
“You tense when you’re nervous,” Harmon says, his voice soft. He isn’t teasing or mocking, just noticing. He likes to point things out about me, but not in a way that makes me defensive. It makes me feel seen.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Maybe not of me shaving you, but of being so close.”
I open my eyes, noting that he somehow got even closer. The look in his eyes is unreadable but warm. He continues to spread the shaving cream along my throat with care, moving it around evenly and maybe even a little too much… like he doesn’t want to stop touching me.
I could hope.
Could I?
Why do I care?
When he pulls his fingers back, I miss his touch. I can’t deny it.
He rinses and wipes his hand, then picks up the straight razor. Now, I will admit that does make me nervous. How easy it would be to nick my artery and kill me.
But why would he do that?
The comment that Cammy made about him collecting poor people to kill since no one would notice them gone jumps to the front of my brain.
“Stay still,” he says.
So, I guess I actually jumped too.
He holds the tool lightly, bringing it closer to my face.
“I’m skilled with this, but you need to keep still.”
I say nothing, because even speaking would make me move. I pretend I’m a statue, even taking care when I breathe.
Harmon brings the blade to my skin, the stroke is slow and delicate. I inhale sharply, because holy shit, this is intimate.
More so than sex has ever been.
His free hand rests along the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, his thumb pressing against the spot right below my ear, searing my skin.
“Good boy,” Harmon murmurs. “You’re doing so well for me.”
For him?
Fuck. There goes my dick again.
Harmon makes each stroke with purpose and skill. Everything else around me disappears, and it’s just his soft touch, his even breathing, and the scent of his cologne and the shaving cream.
He’s so focused, as if he too is completely here and not a single thing is bothering him.
He wipes the blade, then brings it back to my skin.
“This requires a lot of trust. It’s not something you let just anyone do,” he comments.
My eyes flick to him, blinking, and give the slightest nod when the blade is not on my skin.
Something flickers in Harmon’s eyes—something warm and almost vulnerable. The blade glides over my neck, slow enough that I feel every single inch of movement.
Harmon’s breath ghosts over my cheek with every exhale. The air in the room thickens, filling with tension, just like I remember it being last Monday.
Harmon sets the razor down, then wipes me up. He doesn’t step away but takes my chin between his fingers and moves me this way and that.
“Beautiful,” Harmon says quietly, almost as if surprised he said it aloud.
I’ve noticed he does that a lot—says things then looks like he regrets it or doesn’t understand why he said it at all. Yet, I believe everything he says is true. It’s almost like he’s hiding… or trying to hide. But from what?
“I thought I was supposed to be doing things for you,” I say, giving him a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“This isn’t about you doing things for me. It’s about control. Giving yourself to me. Trusting me. Letting me dictate what you do and when you do it. Control, my sweet slave.”
He brushes his knuckles down the smooth skin of my cheek.
“You give me a lot of freedom for someone who wants to control me.”
“You’re still learning.”
“I think you shouldn’t take it easy on me.”
“I think you don’t know what you’re asking for. An intense relationship between us would have me dictating every aspect of your life, not only while you’re with me.” He pauses, searching my eyes. “I don’t think that’s something you’re capable of.”
“Honestly… that sounds like Heaven.”
All he does is give me a small, sad smile… and walk out the door.