Chapter 65 Elliot
Elliot
I’m curled up on the sofa, waiting for Stuart to get home.
He texted a while back to say he was stopping for lunch but would be home soon.
Every time I hear a car, I jump up and crane my neck to see down the street.
Pam from next door has started looking at me funny when I do it, but it’s okay.
I haven’t been doing it all that long. Thirty minutes, give or take, I’d say.
Sadie sidles in from the backyard and plops herself down on the sofa beside me.
Strictly speaking, she isn’t allowed on the sofa, but since spending a little time with Luke and Jessie’s cockapoo, Adrian, I’m pretty much convinced Sadie’s a saint of a dog, so I’ve let it go.
Adrian’s cute, but God, he’s a handful. It’s kind of funny to see Luke and Jessie lose their minds over every little thing he does.
They both seem firmly under the impression that he’s gifted.
Meanwhile, Sadie probably really is gifted. She can understand big words like turmeric and prosciutto and, “Don’t tell Stuart I let you up on the sofa.”
Being home alone without Stuart hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.
I’ve called and messaged him all the time, and he hasn’t left me on read or let a call go unanswered once.
He’s called every morning to make sure I’m awake—and that I’m eating a good breakfast—and he’s called every night at eleven to make sure I’m in bed.
Mat, Will, and Trouble came over for dinner the other night, and I made Bolognese.
It didn’t work out exactly the same as it did when I made it with Stuart, but I added all the cooking wine I could find in the freezer and an extra tin of tomatoes, and I think that did the trick.
Mat and Will had seconds, and Trouble didn’t complain at all. He just asked why it looked lumpy.
I look down at Sadie and say, “Don’t tell Stuart I let you up on the sofa,” again for good measure.
I hear a car in the distance and press my face against the windowpane in an effort to see if it’s turning up our street.
Pam eyes me nervously. Sadie lies on the sofa and watches me without making any effort to hide the judgment she feels for me.
Can’t say I blame her. I’ve been at it well over two hours, after all.
It’s fine though. I’m fine.
I glance at my phone and start typing a message.
Me: Hi, Stuart. Please can we talk about the Daddy arrangement?
Ugh. No. Too sniveling. Delete.
Me: Daddy, I want more from our arrangement.
Hmm. Too demanding. Think that might be worse. Delete.
Me: Please help me. I’m losing my mind.
Jesus. No. Just no. Delete.
Me: Daddy, please fuck me up the ass until I black out. Please. Thank you.
Ha! Delete, delete, delete.
Like I said, everything’s fine. I’m not worried at all. I mean, yeah, I have spent most of the week typing and deleting messages like this, but I think it’s normal.
It’s perfectly normal to behave like this.
You know, perfectly normal for someone who’s accidentally managed to become obsessed with their dad’s best friend.
Sadie’s ears prick up before I hear the car, and she slinks off the sofa. I dash to the window and see Stuart’s car rounding the corner.
“Sadie! Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” I cry over and over.
I know, I know. I can hear myself, and it’s terrible.
Can’t do a damn thing to stop myself though. Wish I could, but I can’t.
I yank the front door open and race down the driveway.
The second he’s out of the car, I throw myself at him full-bodied and wrap my arms and legs tightly around him.
He supports my weight easily and lets me cling to him until I’m done adding several humdingers to the catalog of stupid things I’ve said in my life.
He laughs softly. A gentle, rumbling sound that travels through his chest into mine.
He feels good against me. So good. Solid and strong.
Unshakable and hard in all the right places.
I feel my hips tense and threaten to start rocking, so I quickly disentangle myself from him and step onto the ground.
Pam would lose her mind if I started dry-humping Stuart in broad daylight, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
“Did you tidy your shoes away?” he asks as soon we get inside and he sees the shoe rack.
“Yeah, it’s no biggie. I just took the shoes I don’t wear very often upstairs.”
Stuart looks at me as if I’ve just solved world hunger. “Good boy.” His voice is soft and gruff. Completely sincere. It rushes through my veins and goes straight to my head.
“I also tidied the living room,” I say. “And I did the laundry. I ran into a small problem, but it isn’t a big deal because most of the clothes affected were mine, and I like pink.
It’s one of my favorite colors, so I’m not bleak about it.
Plus, I know where I went wrong. I won’t be washing whites with reds again. ”
I’d called my mom in a panic when I opened the machine and found a load that looked like an ode to Barbie to ask her what I’d done wrong.
“Jesus, Elliot,” she’d said. “Didn’t Joyce teach you how to do laundry?
” She laughed when I said no and told me not to worry because she’s never been great at it either.
“We’re having Bolognese tonight,” I tell Stuart, moving on swiftly. No point in dwelling on things that can’t be changed. “I made it the other day, and we’re having leftovers for dinner.”
Stuart looks rapt. His brows are arched high and his mouth is slightly ajar. “I can’t believe how much you’ve done.”
“Oh yes,” I say, waving expansively around the room, flicking my wrist boastfully at each of my extraordinarily ordinary achievements. “Wiped down the counters. Took the trash out. Puffed up the throw pillows.”
Stuart walks over to the kitchen and inspects the counters. “I swear, it looks like we’ve had a cleaning service in here.”
My thoughts blur out and I lose focus of everything that isn’t Stuart. My heart is beating harder and faster than normal. My limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated. I recognize the signs immediately. It’s a feeling I know well.
I’m drunk. Blasted. Totally baked. Bombed on nothing more than Stuart’s potent praise.
“This is amazing, Elliot. I’m so proud of you.”
Oof.
My head spins and good feelings swirl around in my ribcage until I feel dazed. I’m not just drunk on praise now. I’m mainlining it. Snorting it. Chugging it down gulp after gulp.
A little slut for praise, that’s what I am.
“I let Sadie get on the sofa,” I say when I run out of tiny achievements to point out. Sadie tilts her head sharply to the side when I say it. She blinks at me as if I’m the dumbest fuck on the planet.
Told you she was bright.
Turquoise blue clouds over. Stuart takes me by the wrists and places my hands firmly on my knees.
He slides my sweatpants and underwear down, but instead of pulling the waistbands away from my body like he usually does, he slides the palms of his hands down the swell of my cheeks and works my pants down with much more skin-on-skin contact than normal.
The second his hands make contact with my ass, I’m alight.
Hot and tense and frozen with arousal. He smooths a hand over both cheeks, dusting them lightly, lifting my cheeks this way and that. Spreading me and looking me over.
I know what he’s looking for, and I know what he’ll find. Sympathetic purple smudges he made with the bath brush. Marks I feel strangely possessive of. Marks I’ve been watching in the mirror as they fade a little more every day, leaving me strangely bereft and unsettled as they do.
He spanks me lightly and fast. Very fast. Soft little blows that are no harder than a firm pat. A quick little series that tattoos pure pleasure onto my rear. Pleasure with no pain. Pleasure with nothing but a small side serving of shame.
“That’s it?” I ask dumbly as soon as he stops.
He shows me his teeth and a softness I haven’t seen before. “The punishment has to fit the crime.”