laughter.
Yet still hot.
He fixed his own with somehow even more butter before coming close. Rather than handing one to me, he set them both down and moved to stand between my legs with his arms on either side of me. Caging me in. It became obvious why when he spoke. “I’ve got an extra toothbrush, and I like you in my clothes. But do you need to run home for any meds?”
The appetite I’d grown thanks to the buttery, crusty bread disappeared as my stomach dropped.
It was stupid to be so self-conscious about my mental health. It wasn’t like he’d magically forgotten who I was, where we’d met, or that I was all sorts of messed up.
The thing was, I forgot when I was with him. He didn’t treat me like I was a freak. Or, even worse, like I was a ticking time bomb. He didn’t watch what he said or brace after every word or use my issues to gaslight me and discount my feelings.
My face burned as I shook my head.
“I don’t mind. We can pick up milkshakes on the way back.”
“I don’t take any meds.”
He didn’t look shocked, nor did he try to tell me I needed them. He didn’t mansplain my illness. And he didn’t earn himself a swift kick in the junk by telling me it was good I was unmedicated and that I could fix all my problems by being positive, getting fresh air, or—worst of all—relaxing.
Instead, he handed me my plate and asked, “What do you think about watching movies today?”
“Sounds perfect.” Picking up my toast, I bit into the buttery, salty, crusty sweetness.
Way better than the cardboard shit I buy.
Practically inhaling the whole piece, I ignored my mother’s voice lecturing me about how many carbs and calories I’d just ingested. Then, for some insane reason, I shared without being forced. “Before my parents died, they’d ship me off to these,” I lifted my hands to do air quotes, “wellness spas. Because, you know, spa sounds so much better to rich clientele than mental health facility or rehab. And since their rich clientele’s bank accounts were more important than their wellbeing, they’d prescribe medication like it was Pez and call it a day.”
“Fuck, flower.”
I picked up my tea and blew on it. “I spent too long in a drugged stupor, I haven’t been able to bring myself to try meds again.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said, and it was the exact right thing to say.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“Were you asking because you think I need to be medicated?”
“No, I was asking because I want to make sure you have everything you need.”
“Do you think I need to be medicated?” I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I also wasn’t putting on my waders and grabbing a pole to fish for compliments. I was just curious what he thought.
“That’s not for me to say. I’m not your doc.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “And I’m not you. You know what’s best for yourself.”
God, something so simple was enough to make my eyes burn with unexpected and unfamiliar tears. I’d spent a fucking lifetime with everyone else telling me what I needed to do. What meds I needed to take. How I needed to dress, what thoughts I needed to have, and who I needed to be.
You know what’s best for yourself.
It was almost as good as you’re in control.
“Can I ask you another question?” I asked.
“Told you, anything.”
“Can we still get milkshakes?”
He grinned.
I grinned right back.
And it wasn’t even a little bit forced.
_______________
HE WAS KILLING me.
Or maybe I was going to kill him.
On my knees in front of him, I tipped my ass. When that didn’t work, I wiggled my hips.
When that still didn’t work, I got bossy.
“Faster,” I demanded.
“No.”
“Harder,” I tried.
“No.”
With his thick cock gliding in and out, slow and leisurely as if I wasn’t about to lose my mind, Alexander slowly fucked me.
“Please, Alexander,” I moaned.
He slammed in harder before returning to his easy pace—even though it seemed to take some effort. “Stay the night again.”
Other than our trip for milkshakes, we’d spent all day hanging around his house, watching movies and having sex. He hadn’t seemed to care that I didn’t want to go out or do anything wild and exciting. In fact, he’d been as content as me to laze about.
Especially thanks to aforementioned sex.
His penchant for sexual manipulation may have been setting a dangerous precedent, but I didn’t care. I liked sleeping next to