Chapter 11
Knife kept a close eye on the time so he could let her change in the two hours he gave her. She couldn’t know the exact time, but he did, and it was important he hold up his end of the bargain.
With five minutes to spare, she was knees and chest in the middle of the bed, wrist and ankle cuffs connected to each other to hold her in place. He pulled the giant plug from her ass and yanked all three clamps from her nipples and clit in quick succession.
Her screams told him everything he needed to know, and her scent confirmed it — overwhelming pain that still couldn’t hold a candle to her arousal levels.
Extreme masochists are truly worth their weight in gold to an extreme sadist, and he picked up the belt, handy since it wasn’t the first time he’d used it on her this morning.
She was still shaking through the aftershocks of the clamps when the first stroke landed across the lower curve of her ass, and her body jerked hard. The second stroke caught the same territory, and she made a sound that went straight to his cock.
He gave her four more in quick succession, each one precise, placed exactly where he wanted it, and then ordered, “Come.”
Her orgasm started about a second and a half later. Maybe less.
He struck her again. Again. Each one ramped the orgasm higher, and he ordered, “Don’t stop. Come for me, little painslut. Show me who you fucking belong to.”
And then time was up, and he dropped the belt and gave her a different order in the same tone.
“Change.”
And just like that, a wolf was standing in the middle of the bed. She stepped out of the leather cuffs, turned to him, and glared at him.
The wolf wasn’t happy about changing on his orders.
The human obeying his commands was different from the wolf doing so, and he’d need to fix that, but it couldn’t happen until he had permission to show her his wolf. Show her what he is.
Once they were both wolves, he could demand she roll over and show her belly when in this form.
But for now, she’d have to accept the fact he ordered them into wolf form.
He met her gaze and didn’t look away. Let her work through it.
Eventually, she turned away and stretched, long and deliberate, spine arching. Then she changed back and sat up, human again.
“I want eggs,” she said. “Enough to get me through until we can go to the grocery store and then get started on dinner.”
He lifted a brow. “I have most everything here. What do you need?”
“Ingredients you’ve possibly never even heard of.”
This was sudden, but the scene was over, and they’d agreed he was only in control when it came to sex. It made sense that she was reestablishing the balance between them outside of a scene. Reasserting her independence and autonomy.
And honestly, he preferred it this way — Tuesday taking her power back rather than needing him to keep handing it to her. He’d ended the scene by telling her to change, and she was running with it.
So instead of calling her down on it, he merely asked, “What are you making?”
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m chef tonight and you’re my sous chef.
Actually, we can start marinating the beef before we go.
I saw soy sauce in your kitchen, and I know you have garlic.
I don’t remember seeing sesame oil. We’ll need…
” She considered. “We can use peach instead of pear. Yeah, I have enough to start the marinade, even if you don’t have sesame oil. ”
“I do. It’s old, and it’s a small bottle, but it should be fine as long as you don’t need much.”
“I don’t. Let’s get dressed and head down. You can cut a few pounds of beef into thin slices while I scramble some eggs and inhale them.”
- - - ? - - -
Knife knew his way around a kitchen, but he especially knew his way around knives and meat. However, he soon learned the Koreans have different ideas about how beef is sliced. He should’ve picked up on that by the short ribs.
Once she showed him the correct angle to slice the beef into the thin pieces she wanted, he was fine.
She put the marinade together fast while she ate, tasting it with her finger, adding a little more peach along with two more cloves of minced garlic.
When the meat was happily marinating in her concoction, she climbed into his truck without arguing — thank the gods — and directed him to an Asian market he hadn’t even known existed.
At the store, she handed him an empty basket when they stepped in the door and then moved through the aisles quickly, loading the basket without hesitation. She clearly knew the brands she wanted without having to decide.
Back home, thinly sliced liver pieces hit the pan with a sizzle, each one dredged in flour and egg, and the smell was nothing like the chicken livers on the mountain.
Cleaner. More deliberate. She had a second pan going for the bulgogi, the thin beef hitting hot metal and caramelizing fast, and she worked both pans without looking hurried.
And all the while, his task was to cook the noodles, which had a name he wasn’t going to try to pronounce, but google told him they were sweet potato glass noodles.
She’d also bought chopsticks at the market, which he washed before setting the table.
She’d taken over his kitchen, and that was a good thing. He wanted her to move in. Wanted it to be their kitchen instead of his, and she wasn’t wasting time making that happen. The odd ingredients he’d never even heard of before. The chopsticks. Her pans. Her favorite knife.
She’d put her brand on it already, and this pleased both the man and the wolf.
They were eating long before he expected. The meal came together fast and looked like something you’d get at a restaurant.
She lifted the chopsticks and ate with them like a pro, closing her eyes and just experiencing the flavors.
He lifted a piece of liver with his fingers and tried it first, and nearly closed his eyes to enjoy the experience. This was better than any Southern-fried or Appalachian-style liver he’d ever eaten. By far.
He struggled with the chopsticks, but managed to get a bite of the bulgogi into his mouth — and truly did just sit back and close his eyes this time.
“The peach works,” she said. “Supposed to be pear, but I think I like it this way just as much. What do you think?”
“No idea what it’s supposed to taste like, but this is phenomenal. So many flavors, but they work together. They don’t fight. It’s beyond good.”
A corner of her mouth lifted, but he wasn’t finished. “I want this to be our place, so thank you for starting the process, putting your stamp on the kitchen. There’s more to go, but ingredients I’ve never heard of is a good first step.”
She stared at him, and he realized she hadn’t grasped what she’d done. “This is us,” he told her. “Upstairs with my pulleys, and downstairs in the kitchen. Two sides of the same coin. Thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for inviting me in.”
He looked at her across the table — loose-limbed, hair flowing around her face, completely at home — and everything felt right with the world.
She fit into his life so perfectly. Someone who broke for him beautifully and then put herself back together afterward, cleanly and without drama, and sat across from him like an equal because that’s exactly what she was.
- - - ? - - -
The week passed quickly, and Knife woke well before the crack of dawn for his long workday on Thursday.
Surprisingly, Tuesday woke with him, and left when he did, headed to her apartment for a day of filming.
She was going to try to do it all in a single day to keep from having to go back, and she warned him she might be there pretty late.
It made him resolve to figure out the lighting for her in his kitchen, so she’d make the change sooner.
Sure enough, when he called it quits around ten that night, she was still at it. She’d texted him around nine to let him know she’d be bringing lots of food home for them to eat, but it might be close to midnight.
And wow, she hadn’t been kidding about the food. She’d cooked collard greens, which he isn’t a fan of, but he tried a taste and they weren’t half bad.
There was a potato dish he really liked — ground chuck, caramelized onions, garlic, beef broth, and sour cream, layered with thinly sliced potatoes, sharp cheddar on top. So good.
And then the lamb shoulder braised with pomegranate and several ingredients he’d never heard of, but it was beyond good.
And that’s what he’d figured out about her channel when he’d watched pieces of different episodes — she mostly shows recipes with normal ingredients people likely already have in their kitchen, but she also tosses a few exotic, fancy recipes into the mix.
Like the lamb. No matter what, though, she focuses on clean eating.
There are no canned soups or flavor packets in her recipes.
He really liked the chicken dish, which she told him was braised in white wine, garlic, fresh thyme, and whole grain mustard.
But the absolute best was the duck confit. Simple but so fucking good. Duck legs cooked in their own fat with garlic and who-knows-what herbs, cooked until the outside was crispy and the inside was tender and juicy.
She only fixed him a little of each, to taste, but he finished off the duck with her help, and then they both crashed. Hard.
- - - ? - - -
Tuesday came home to the gate opening on its own when she pulled up to it.
Knife had told her it would. He’d put a device on both her vehicles so the security would recognize her, but after filming all day and coming home exhausted, it’d made leaving her old home and arriving at her new one nearly bring tears to her eyes.
He really wanted her here.
She was looking forward to opening the door into the house, but he was waiting on the porch when she pulled up, and came down to help her bring things inside, knowing she had a lot of dishes.