Chapter 19
Grimes
Idon’t go inside until shadows start to fall.
The house is quiet, no sound of singing from anywhere.
That makes it feel empty, though I’m sure Florian is here somewhere.
I get started on dinner, praying that when he appears he won’t mention what just happened between us.
It would be a minor miracle given his personality, but I can hope.
I haphazardly peel some vegetables, my mind elsewhere.
I’ve always been a strong man. Not just in fights.
Until now, my self-control always overruled my sexual urges.
I’ve never been able to understand people like Florian, people who surrender to the purely physical.
Seeking pleasure wherever they go, with people they barely know, barely respect.
Falling in and out of bed with strangers.
Until him, I had no such temptation. I never fell for a pretty stranger’s wiles.
Especially not for one I hate. But now I can’t stop thinking about him.
The look in his eyes as he lay underneath me, offered to let me watch him climax.
It’s sick. I’m betraying Jos every time I think like this.
Every time I look at Florian’s tight ass in those little breeches.
Jos is too kind-hearted; he told me he disapproved of my revenge scheme against Florian, and I believed him.
But that doesn’t mean that he would approve of what I’ve been doing, either.
Letting Florian rut against me, take his pleasure from me.
Spanking him when I knew fine and well it was for our own enjoyment, nothing to do with punishment.
I’ve stopped short of kissing him, or letting him pleasure me, but who am I fooling?
I’m involved now. Thinking about him as I get myself off. The man who put me in prison.
I’ve had a rough existence, but even so the night of Jos’ beating was the worst of my life.
I came upon him being attacked by a prison gang and rushed in to help, taking several injuries myself.
I was soon overpowered by the greater numbers, but the prison guards got there just in time to break things up.
That’s as far as their assistance extended.
The guards saw me lead Jos back to our cell, both of us stumbling like new-born foals.
I was too wounded to even carry him. They knew he’d been badly hurt.
They knew he had done nothing to deserve it, except refuse to join the gang. Still, no help was forthcoming.
Our cell door was locked at seven o’clock, as every night.
Jos and I were alone inside the cell with no medical help.
All I could do was watch over him and pray his head injuries weren’t enough to take him in the night.
It was the longest sleepless night of my life.
When the light of dawn trickled through the barred window and he blinked at me with a weak smile, I felt ill with relief.
He survived through sheer luck and maybe the force of my prayers, though I’ve never really believed in such things.
It should never have happened. He should never have suffered like that.
I hear fast footsteps behind me. Something covers my eyes: a hand. Another inmate, an attack. I ram my elbow into his stomach, turn, and shove the attacker to the floor.
“Fuck, Boss. I think you just broke my tailbone.”
It’s a plaintive, posh voice. A pale, long-haired young man looks up at me with big blue reproving eyes.
The prison recedes to the past. My own kitchen comes back into focus, filled with all the little personal touches Florian has added from his shopping trips to brighten it up.
He stares up at me, confusion on his face, real physical pain in his eyes.
I’ve imagined punching him thousands of times, but now his real physical hurt is right in front of me, I recoil from it.
“Are you all right?” I say.
He rubs his back. His other hand is over his stomach; he’s winded.
“Yeah. I’m all right,” he says, short of breath.
I’m relieved. Because I need him for work. That’s all.
“Come on, get up.” I haul him to his feet and he holds onto me, still shaky.
“I-I thought you were someone else,” I say.
“Who?”
A fair question. We’re the only ones here.
“Not anyone in particular. Just, you know, an instinct.”
“Uh-huh. An instinct. Why are you so jumpy?” he complains. He flips his hair over his shoulder, pouty and offended, which proves he isn’t badly hurt at least.
I turn away. “Being cautious was sensible in my previous residence.”
“A place you’re always very cagey about, by the way. Where was that?”
I ignore the question and go on the attack with one of my own. “Why did you creep up and cover my eyes, anyway?”
No answer. I turn back to glare at him. He stares at the ground, suddenly more awkward than me.
“I was going to kiss you,” he whispers.
My awkwardness fades. Anger rises. Fast.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” I demand.
He shrinks in on himself, misery on his face. “Because... you know. After…”
After I let him rut on me like a fool, just because he pleaded so prettily. He’s my servant. Idiot. I’m an idiot.
“Florian, nothing has happened, and nothing is going to happen between us.” I grit out the words through my teeth.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Sorry.”
He sounds scared. He won’t look at me. His hands are tense and his face is paler than ever.
He’s hurt, not physically this time. In those soft and vulnerable feelings of his.
So what? He has no right to be. He’s spoiled and oversexed and conceited, and he got the wrong idea about me.
I took pity on him, that’s all. He was whining so much about needing sex that he got to me and I let him take care of himself.
If he thought I want more—if he thinks no one can resist him—that’s not my fault.
How dare he assume he has the right to kiss me?
I’ll work him even harder tomorrow. Until he gets it through his thick skull that he’s my servant and nothing more.
“Go and do… something until dinner is ready,” I tell him. I’m too angry and discomfited to even think of a task.
“Yes, Boss.” He flees my sight without another word.
I turn back to the vegetables and start stabbing them viciously, but it does nothing to assuage the rage in my belly. Kiss me. What the hell.