“I don’t want you to watch me cook,” he says, that hint of irritation back in his tone. “You can go sit in the living room.”
I press my lips together, trying to hide my own irritation. I don’t like being told what to do, but I also know this isn’t the hill to die on. If I’m going to dig my heels in, it can’t be over something so inconsequential as being told to go to the living room.
So I do. With the sun going down, the apartment has gotten chilly, and I glance down the hall. I’m not sure if he means for me to do exactly as he said if he gives me an instruction like that or if he simply doesn’t want me in the kitchen, but I’m cold.He said Icango sit in the living room, not that Ihaveto,I reason, and I walk down the hall to the bedroom I slept in, hoping to find something warmer.
There’s a tan cashmere cardigan in the closet, with a few holes at the hem, but nothing too egregious. I throw it on, still shivering a little, and go back into the living room. I can already smell melting butter and frying garlic, and my mouth waters so much I’m almost afraid I might drool.
I haven’t had truly fresh food in so long. Everything Georgie and I eat is from the discount market and often dried, boxed, or tinned. My stomach cramps with hunger at the smell of whatever Alexandre is cooking, and I frown, focusing on getting a fire started in the fireplace to warm the house so that I don’t go in and beg for scraps like an actual pet.
Getting it started is easy enough. I’m used to heating the flat in London with an old wood stove, and the fireplace isn’t so different. It’s much better, in fact, when the kindling catches and I sit back on my heels, drawing my knees up to my chest as I sit on the newly cleaned rug and watch the flames crackle.
“Noelle.”
The sound of him saying my name makes me jump—I hadn’t realized how long I’d been sitting, just staring into the fire. I feel that flash of guilt again because, for just a moment, I hadn’t been unhappy. I’d just been enjoying the warmth of the fire and the softness of the rug, and the feeling of being able to do nothing butsit, without anything else clamoring for my attention.
I turn my head to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. His sweater sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms dusted with dark hair, and his dark hair is messy above his chiseled, tired face. There’s a spot of flour on his pants, and for a moment, he doesn’t look frightening at all. He looks like any handsome man at the end of a long day, cooking dinner in his house.
“Dinner is ready, pet.” He turns and disappears back into the kitchen, and I let out a long sigh.
I pry myself up from the rug and walk into the kitchen. It’s lit by an iron chandelier-like lamp over the dining table, and I see there’s one table setting in front of the chair facing the window. Alexandre is standing there with another plate in his hand, and then, as he looks at me, he sets it on the floor next to his chair.
Oh, dear god.
I lick my lips nervously. I can feel his eyes on me expectantly, but I don’t want to do this. There’s no cutlery that I can see, either, and the dinner isn’t something I want to eat with my hands, although it looks delicious. There’s a chicken leg with some sort of cream sauce, roasted potatoes and vegetables, and a slice of buttered baguette. My stomach rumbles, but I look at Alexandre, chancing it.
“Were you pleased with how I cleaned the house today?”
Alexandre’s eyes narrow, and I see a hint of displeasure there. “Pets shouldn’t speak unless spoken to,” he says sharply, although there’s something almost rote to the words, like he’s repeating something that someone else told him.
I don’t say another word, forcing myself to lower my eyes. He finally clears his throat after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Yes,” he says finally. “You did an excellent job. The house has not been so clean in some time.”
Well, it’s now or never.“You said good pets get rewards. I would like to eat my meal with a knife and fork at least, if I have to eat it on the floor.”
My heart thumps in my chest as I wait for his response, unsure if I want to look up and see what the expression on his face is. I know I might be punished for speaking again, or for asking, but I want to see how far he’ll let me go. I want to see just how committed he is to this game that he seems to be playing.
“Kneel down,” Alexandre says, his voice dropping an octave. There’s a low rumble in it, a hint of danger, and a shiver goes down my spine—but not an altogether unpleasant one. I feel that throb again, the way I did in the room with Kaito, and I hate it. I don’t want to feel that small flare of heat at the growl in Alexandre’s voice, or the warm throb between my thighs when he says my name, repeating the command. “Noelle, kneeldown.”
I drop to my knees in front of the plate. Something about the way he said my name felt like a tether to something inside of me, something that responded despite my desire to very muchnotgive in to it. I fold my hands in front of me instinctively, keeping my eyes down, and I hear him make a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat.
“Very good.” He crouches down in front of me, still a bit above eye level, and I feel his long-fingered hand touch my cheek for the first time. He hasn’t touched me at all before this, and another shiver goes through me, my entire body tensing at the small brush of his fingers against my skin as he raises my gaze to his.
His blue eyes catch mine, dark and intense with something that I can’t read or understand, and in some deep part of me, I realize that I don’t want to. There’s something there, somethinginhim that frightens me, and it takes everything in me not to pull away from his touch, gentle as it is.
“I am being lenient with you,petite souris,” he murmurs, “because you are new to this. You are so innocent, so lovely. I do not want to hurt you. But you must obey, for your own good. I am doing this to help you—to protect you. I cannot spoil you with too much leniency, do you understand? I have made that mistake before.”
Something flickers in his eyes, something hollow and haunted, and cold sweeps through me.Something happened to whoever was here before. He blames himself.
Fear coils through me, but I don’t dare move. Alexandre’s hand cups my jaw, pressing against my face, and I feel myself shiver, even as I hold his gaze.
“You may have your utensils to eat with,” he murmurs finally. “As a reward for your good work today.”
He stands suddenly, my cheek still warm where his hand touched it, and I’m at eye level with his hips. I shouldn’t look at his cock, but I can’t help it. I can see the bulge there, the hint of arousal, and a strange feeling tightens deep in my belly.Either he’s turned on, or he’s just that big,I think as Alexandre turns away to walk back into the kitchen, and then I feel an instant flush of shame.
Earlier I was thinking about his lips, and now his cock. What the hell is wrong with me?
Idon’twant him like that. I don’t want him to touch me.I’m twenty years old and still a virgin,I reason with myself as I kneel there, trembling on the floor.He’s very handsome, if a little strange. Of course, I’m curious.