Chapter 10 #5
David huffs. “Noah, strong emotions can be hard to differentiate sometimes. When you and Andrew were first getting to know each other, he was doing his level best to be an ass for reasons only he could understand”—I don’t bother to tell him that I understand them too.
It seems so long ago that Andrew and I had that conversation—“and you were dealing with a traumatic event. I imagine feelings of dislike and even hatred were easier for you to grasp and process than anything else.” He stands as we hear footsteps coming down the hall.
“Don’t worry about all of that. The only thing that really matters is if you and Andrew are happy now, even if you bicker like babies. ”
I make an assenting sound, thinking it over. He passes Andrew just inside the doorway, proclaiming that he’ll head out to the store now and to behave ourselves while he’s gone.
Andrew settles a new tray on my lap. “What were you talking about?” he asks suspiciously, which leads me to believe he heard at least some of it.
I look down at the tray, which has pancakes this time, plus more fruit and yogurt. “Oh, nothing,” I say idly, picking up my fork. “David was just saying I could do better than you and offering to sneak me out of here.”
He laughs so hard, I wonder if he’s going to hurt himself. “Nice try,” he finally wheezes out. “If it was anyone other than David, I might even have had a moment of doubt. But the only time David would get between a couple is if abuse is involved.”
I shovel in pancakes and nod sagely, making him wait for an answer while I chew.
“Yeah, he said having to listen to you bitch about the fact that I put your socks in the washer and dryer was akin to torture and that I should get out while I could.”
As I expected, he leaps to his feet. “They were cashmere silk ,” he exclaims. “Running them through the washer and dryer murdered them. You may as well just have slashed at them with a knife.”
“Forgive me,” I intone dryly, “for not knowing handwash-only socks existed. I mean… they’re socks. Most of the time, no one sees them. They just have to be warm and comfortable.”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times.
“Right. I can see there’s only one way to resolve this.
” He spins and marches through a door that leads into a dressing room—which I discovered when I went looking for his bathroom last night.
Lucky I had my eyes open or more of his stupid expensive clothes might have been ruined.
I finish the pancakes and put the fruit aside for later and am just musing over what his reaction would be if I “accidentally” pissed on his shoes—oh, relax.
I wouldn’t actually do it. But maybe I could make him think I did?
—when he storms back out waving… a pair of socks.
They flap from his hand like a flag, because these are the kind of socks you can’t ball up—apparently it stretches the fibers and ruins them.
No, these socks are folded carefully in half and laid in a drawer.
Oh my god, he’s going to lecture me about his socks. Again.
He reaches the bed, but instead of sitting down or even pacing alongside as he delivers his lecture, he rips back the covers.
“Hey!” I automatically go to cover my junk before I realize that (a) sudden movements are still uncomfortable and (b) he’s the only one here and he’s seen everything I’ve got. Instead, I glare at him. “Not very nice.” I give an exaggerated—and entirely fake—shiver.
He doesn’t even notice, because he’s too busy frowning at my… feet?
“When was the last time you cut your toenails?”
I stare at him. “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?”
He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m prepared to make sacrifices to ensure you’re educated properly.”
Before I have time to wonder if that means he’s going to chop off my toenails in some kind of weird vampire sacrificial ritual—he would have mentioned that earlier, wouldn’t he?—he seizes one of my ankles and hoists it in the air.
“Ow! Gently, you fucker!” I shriek in a very mature and manly manner as all the sore muscles in my leg and back protest.
“Sorry, forgot,” he mutters as he… pulls one of his socks onto my foot.
He carefully lays my poor abused limb back on the mattress and lifts the other—gently this time—while I stare at my newly clothed foot in utter bewilderment.
And yep, there’s the other foot. Wearing a fancy black sock.
I blink at my feet. There are several things going through my head right now, and I don’t know how to process them all.
First, I’m lying on the bed naked except for a pair of socks that cost about five times as much as the six-pack of Hanes I get at Walmart.
Socks should not cost that much money. And when you’re trying them on, you should also be wearing underwear.
It’s gotta be a rule, because this is just too fucking weird.
Second, I have to come up with a way to avoid admitting that these socks are the best damn thing I’ve ever felt in my life, with the possible exception of the orgasms I had last night. I’m not entirely sure. It depends how the socks feel once I put shoes on.
I wriggle my toes. Oh, man. Who knew socks could be warm and feel like a cloud on your feet? These things are seriously soft.
“Well?” he demands, smirking. He obviously thinks he’s won. I hate that he’s right. The worst part is, even if I deny it now, he’ll find out later when I start wearing his socks all the time.
“Well, what?” I stall, but the way I rub my socked foot against my calf gives me away, and he laughs.
“You can keep that pair,” he says magnanimously. “Do not put them in the washer or dryer.” Without warning, he grabs the covers and flips them back up over me. “And cover yourself before you catch a cold.”
I push the sheet down from where it slapped me in the face—probably by design—and sniff. “Please. The room is hardly cold.”
He leans down and kisses me smack on the mouth. “Then cover yourself so I don’t have to be tempted by you. You’re not up to the kind of shenanigans I’ve got in mind.”
Oh, now that could be interesting. I do a mental assessment of my body. Maybe tomorrow.
“Shenanigans?” I try to sound coy. I think I failed. Coy doesn’t mean eager, does it?
His brow quirks. “Those socks are soft, right? Silky. They feel good on your feet. Just imagine how they’d feel in other places.”
My dick tries valiantly to stand to attention, but it’s indicative of how much of my energy teleportation sucked away when he can’t. Like… he twitches, but that’s it. I’m so sad for him.
Of course, with the blood still in my head, I’m able to think, and I ask, “You’d seriously risk having your precious socks gunked up with cum?” If he’s going to tease me, he should at least make it realistic.
A wicked grin spreads across his face, and anticipation shivers through me. “No. That’s why you’ll be wearing a cock ring. Maybe a cage. We’ll see. I’m going to go shower. I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me.”
Images… processing… holy fucking wow…
Wait.
“You mean so you can hear me ,” I call after him. After all, I’m the one he’s supposedly keeping an eye on.
He turns in the doorway to the bathroom and looks back at me. “No.”
As the water goes on, I realize what he means. Once more, my dick tries to rally, but to no avail. What else can I do but lie back and enjoy the show?