It’s all a game. All of this. Mind games—that’s what he’s playing. And it’s working.
With a self-indulgent smile, he walks back to the stove and starts cooking some delicious pancakes that make my mouth water when I smell them. Damn, I didn’t know he could cook this good. After thirty minutes, my stomach is killing me and so are my legs, but I can’t falter in my devotion to make him think he’s in charge. Sometimes, he briefly glances at me while flipping the pancakes, smoking at the same time. The smug look on his face makes me blush.
When he’s done, he places them on the table, puts out his smoke, and comes toward me. He unties the leash and gently holds it in his hand, not even tight, as if he expects me to heel. And he’s right, I won’t run because I know I won’t be able to escape his grasp. Not yet. I have to wait until the time is right, until he’s lifted all my restrictions, and his heart is wide open.
Just like it used to be, before I stomped on it.
I must say, I do regret my actions in the past, but I can’t change what I’ve done. I hate how I treated him, but I did it for the right reasons. What he did, however, was not for the right reasons.
Trying to frame me for the murder of my husband. Locking me up in a cage.
He’s turned into a monster.
And now I’m his. The monster’s pet. But he knows as well as I do that it’s not as black and white as it seems. We’re both monsters in our own story. I have spun his heart around my finger and crushed it with my bare hands. A long time ago, he was the pet … and then I became the monster. Now the roles have reversed. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. I just didn’t think it’d be like this, with him literally tying me up, feeding me pancakes with a big grin on his face.
He seems to be enjoying this a little too much.
“Like the pancakes?” he asks, holding up the fork with another slice.
“They’re good,” I say, swallowing.
“Do you mean that, or are you just saying that to please me?” He swings the next bit in front of my face as if it’s a game and I’m supposed to reach out and bite it off.
“I mean it,” I say.
“Hmm … or maybe it’s the hunger talking.”
“Could be. You didn’t actually feed me that often.”
“That’s because you didn’t deserve it,” he muses, pushing another piece into my mouth.
After I chew on it for a bit, I say, “And now I do?”
“Hmm …” He smiles, leaning on his hand as if he’s bored. “You’ve been a good girl these past few days.”
“Hmm … should I take that as a compliment?” I jest, opening my mouth to await the next piece.
He just gazes at me from under his eyelashes. “You know … I love it when you have that pretty mouth of yours open. Makes me want to put other things inside it.”
My cheeks flush, and then he shoves another piece of pancake inside my mouth, preventing me from reacting. When I’ve swallowed it, he pulls my leash toward him and says, “Show your appreciation, Princess. Pucker up.”
I close my eyes as he leans in to kiss me on my lips, his taste mingling with the sweetness of the pancakes. He’s not rough at all, just slow and sensual, which throws me off because I didn’t expect it. At least, not from him. He’s always so demanding and quick, as if he wants to make the most out of the seconds he has, but now he’s taking his sweet time. Licking my lips, groaning between every kiss. His sounds and kisses enthrall me. I’m a puppet to his desires, and I don’t even mind.
“You taste so good, Princess …” he murmurs into my mouth. “Like strawberries covered in honey.” He bites his lip and kisses me again, holding the leash tight as if he’s afraid I’ll move away if he doesn’t. I wouldn’t, not even if he let go of it completely.
“I wonder if you taste like that everywhere,” he says, getting up from the chair to get near to me. He pulls me up for another kiss, putting his grabby hands on my waist. They slowly inch down toward my ass, squeezing lightly as his kisses become