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“Play bakery games. I’m good, you know. I have almost all the cupcake badges.”
“Clever girl.” He frowns. “I suppose you usually have a mat or something for your workout. There’s a rug under the big window in the lounge. Will that do?”
“Perfect. What will you do?”
“I have to work,” he says, standing up and clearing the plates. I help him stack the dishwasher and this time he doesn’t stop me. “Computer stuff. Some things have to be done online.” He glances at me. “I’m...thinking of buying another theater.”
I grin at him. “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”
He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug, but there’s a pleased smile on his face as he says, “Thank you, kitten.”
“Have you always wanted a second theater, or is this a new goal?”
He muses on this a moment, and then says, “A bit of both, I think. The Palais will always come first, but recently I’ve been taking stock of what I want, and it’s not enough to just exist. I want to feel like I’m improving on what my father and grandfather made.”
My ears prick up. Recently? Have I had any effect on helping Rufus make plans for the future? Not directly, of course, because he’s only talked about the Palais and what it means to him once before, but perhaps being my dom has reminded him just how much he’s capable of. It’s exciting to think that I might be having an effect on him as much as he is on me.
“Your father will be so proud of you,” I say.
But Rufus’s face clouds a little and he turns to stack the dishwasher, and I wonder what it is about his father and the theater that holds bad feelings for him.
When the kitchen is clean I change into my workout gear and go through my routine on the rug. The sunshine is streaming in and the windows are open. Rufus is on the couch and I can hear him typing away. He makes a few phone calls and I like the rumble of his voice as he speaks. A couple of times I catch him watching me, and he gives me a look that almost makes me lose my balance several times.
He’s still talking when I finish, and I lie on my belly and open the bakery app on my phone. I’m absorbed in it when I hear him come over and sit down on the rug next to me.
“How does it work?” he asks, nodding at the game.
He runs his fingers through my hair as I explain. It feels so good that if I could purr, I would. When I’m done he kisses the top of my head and whispers, “I’m so glad you’re here, kitten.”
For lunch he makes chicken wraps filled with salad and quinoa. Sitting at the kitchen table I stare at them, and then at him. “You’re like a walking wellness blog. I didn’t think that people like you existed outside Instagram.”
He just grins and tells me to eat.
The wrap is good, but I can’t resist teasing. “Is this all for my benefit, and you actually eat cereal out of the box when you’re alone?”
He levels a dry look at me. “What do you think, babygirl?”
When we’ve finished he hands me a plastic lunchbox. “I know you can’t have a proper dinner, but these are what you should be eating instead of that junk that was in your bag.”
I open the lunchbox, pink of course, and see little bags of nuts and pretzel sticks and dried fruit.
“There’s always fresh fruit in my office and I expect you to come and get two pieces a day before you go on, and eat them by the time you go to bed. You can’t have everything out of a packet. All right?”
“Yes, daddy.”
He puts his chin on his hand and looks at me. “My god. Your lips when you say that. Say it again.”
I feel myself go pink under his gaze. “Yes, daddy.”
“Good girl. Take off your underwear and go and lie on the couch.”
He follows me into the lounge and tells me to open my legs, and he licks me again, slowly and expertly. I tangle my fingers into his dark hair, and feel his tongue push inside me. Is this the moment we’re going to have sex? I wonder how much different it will feel than his tongue, and if I will like it. I want to like everything he does, though I worry it will hurt or be nothing, like I’ve heard people say about their first times. But a moment later he moves back to licking my clit and the worry passes. When I come he holds tight to my thighs. I reach for him, but he holds my hands when I try to undo the buttons on his shirt.
“What about you?” I ask, sitting up, studying him. “You’ve made me come so many times and you’ve only come once, and even then you helped me.”
“Oh, I’ll get what I want,” he says, and something dark shifts behind his eyes. I remember the other side of Rufus, the side with the handcuffs and the butt plugs and his hand tight around my throat. Silly me. Of course he will.