From Sir, With Love

by Rachell Nichole

  “I just woke up a few minutes ago. And I desperately needed a shower.” Which was the truth.

  “So you haven’t been up here for hours ignoring my order?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I mean, I probably didn’t technically need to dry my hair before I came down, but...” She shrugged. Was he going to call all of her actions into question? Or only those she did in response to an order? She had been stalling, a little. But his text hadn’t said that she had to come down immediately right from bed as soon as she opened her eyes, had it?

  “I see you’re ready now,” he said. He held out a hand.

  She had the urge to slap it away and walk past him. She could find her way to her own damned kitchen. She rolled her eyes at herself. He quirked his head to the side and his eyes narrowed.

  “Sorry. That... wasn’t for you.”

  His brows rose.

  “I was... rolling my eyes at myself. For being an idiot.” She sighed and took his hand.

  “You’re the farthest thing from an idiot I’ve ever met, Evangeline.” His warm hand against hers, the sincerity in his voice, the steely look in his eyes, they all centered her, allowing her to release a full breath and the rush of relief almost made her want to cry again.

  “What’s for breakfast?” she asked instead.

  He smiled and tugged her from the bathroom through her bedroom and into the hall. “Bacon. All the bacon.”

  She laughed. “I can’t eat nothing but bacon. I need some kind of balanced diet.” She refused to follow the fad diets. She understood why low-carb high-protein diets worked for some people to lose or maintain lower weights, but the healthiest option was always a mixture of nutrients. But she couldn’t deny the way her mouth watered at the scents from the kitchen as they entered.

  “I made sure to rewarm things before I came upstairs.”

  The kitchen was a disaster zone. There were pans and cookie sheets everywhere. Mixing bowls, measuring cups, spoons and a dusting of flour covered every available surface.

  “I thought you were an actor, not a chef.”

  He shrugged. “It’s been ages since I had a real kitchen to cook in. New York living is not conducive to playing chef, but it’s something I’ve always enjoyed.”

  “You made a mess.”

  “It’ll be worth it. I promise.” He eyed her, his face hopeful, and she felt herself smiling.

  “Okay.”

  As she looked at him, Leo nodded. “Good. Sit.” He released her hand and she moved to the table, the only place in the kitchen that wasn’t currently covered with one thing or another, and sat down.

  When he’d woken hours ago, he’d wanted to rush into her bedroom and check on her, but he’d refrained. Barely. He’d spent close to twenty minutes in the hallway outside her door, debating what to do. Finally, he’d wrestled himself downstairs and tore apart the kitchen making breakfast. He’d always enjoyed cooking, but it was something he hadn’t done enough of in recent years.

  He plated a mound of bacon, a homemade cinnamon roll, and fruit for Evangeline and set it before her. The bacon and roll were still steaming from being warmed back up in the oven. He’d thought about cleaning the kitchen while he waited, but he hated the clean-up part of the cooking process. He was all about the creation of damned good food, and the eating of it.

  The rest of it sucked.

  She was nibbling her bottom lip again and he reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. “Eat, Evangeline.”

  She nodded but didn’t pick up the fork next to her. He held in a sigh, and his fingers tightened in her hair just enough so he could tip her head back. When her face was raised to him, he gave her his stern look. “I said eat. I made all this, for you.”

  She picked up her fork. “Thank you.”

  “That’s a good little minx.” He released his hold on her hair, and then gathered his own plate. He knew she would feel better if he ate with her, so he sat beside her and dug into his own plate. She’d taken a few bites of fruit.

  “So, after breakfast, you can clean up this mess.”

  Her head whipped up from her plate and she leveled him with a glare. He fought the urge to smile.

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  He picked up a piece of bacon from his plate and held it to her lips. “You will, in fact. I hate cleaning the kitchen. And it will be good for you, to remind you who is in control. Now, open.”

  She opened her mouth and he slid the piece of bacon between her lips. As he fed her, he continued to issue orders, telling her how the rest of the day would go, and watching her eat. “Once the kitchen is cleaned, we will relax for the afternoon. Play a game or watch a movie. Something of that nature. I am open to requests if you would like to make one. But, as you know, the decision on what we end up doing will ultimately be mine.” He’d had hours last night after putting her in bed to get a handle on what she was asking of him. Total control. He had come up with a game-plan, intent to give her what she needed, even if it was different from what Benson had said she would need.

  She ate with him for a few moments in silence. He took a few bites of his own food, but mostly he watched her eat, or fed her from his plate. He’d also spent some time reading up on anorexia and learned that it often took people who had been starving themselves far more calories to merely maintain weight, let alone regain what had been lost. If she’d only been eating two meals the past few weeks, she was sorely in need of the extra calories. He’d have to fight hard not to eat overly much himself, lest he gain the weight she was supposed to be getting.

  She cleared her throat, helped herself to some juice, and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t eat anymore. I’ll explode.”

  Her plate wasn’t clear. But since he’d been feeding her from his as well, she had eaten quite a bit. Should he press the issue? Was she being honest with him? Or was it an excuse? He really had no frame of reference here. And he was terrified he was going to fuck it up horribly. She smiled at him and patted the back of his hand. “Thank you for breakfast...”

  He gazed at her face, taking in her small smile, her warm brown eyes, and the feeling of warmth building in his chest. She looked content for the first time since he arrived. And he knew that they were on the right path.

  “What should I call you?” she finally asked, when he just continued to stare at her.

  He’d never really had play partners call him much of anything. Sir was pretty standard. He’d never been anyone’s Master. Not truly. He’d never thought he could be. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be. It was just that he was a little bit petrified at what having that much control over another human being could mean.

  “You may call me Leo. Or Sir. Not Master.” He wanted that clear. He knew that was Benson’s preferred name. No doubt she had used it with him for years. The last thing they needed was to remind each other of the reasons for their arrangement, or the fact that Benson was gone, and he would always be second best. He was a bandage, a crutch, nothing more. But that didn’t mean he wanted his face rubbed in the fact every day by his new little brat.

  “What about Mister?” she proposed.

  “Mister?” That might work. It was a little more specific than Sir, but without the same weight of the history of their relationship as Master. It would still serve as a term of respect, something to remind them both of their places, of her obedience. “I think that will work, minx. Now, I think you have a lot of work ahead of you.” He leaned back in his chair and opened his arms to encompass the atrocious mess he’d made of the kitchen.

  She looked like she might protest, and he couldn’t ignore the small spark of interest that brought from inside him. If she protested, he could punish her, and didn’t that prospect just get his blood surging.

  “Yes, Mister.” She stood and pushed her chair in. She made her way to the sink, and he sipped some water as he watched her work for a few minutes. She quietly busied herself washing up what
was already in the sink, and then once there was a bare spot of counter, started stacking the dirty dishes there. She put away the ingredients he’d left scattered about, and wiped flour off the counters. As he watched, he couldn’t help but admire the way she moved around with purpose. He couldn’t ignore the lowered, more relaxed set of her shoulders or the calm look on her delicate features. He had hoped the domestic task, particularly under his orders, would help establish their new dynamic, and show her he was serious when he’d agreed to all of their potential terms.

  Periodically, she paused to look at him from wherever she was in the kitchen. A few times, he thought she might sass him, but she refrained. Mores the pity. He’d just have to push her bratty little ass a little farther.

  “What, brat?” he demanded as she paused again. The kitchen was close to spotless now, but he leveled her with a Dom stare, intent to press his luck. If she wanted it all, really wanted to give him total control, he was going to make good on his end of the bargain. She would be his. Totally.

  “I...” She closed her mouth. “Nothing, Mister.”

  “Now, now, minx. Out with it. There can be no secrets between us.” Not if this had any chance of working. He would hold himself back whenever necessary, keep himself in check, keep her safe from too much of his darkness, but he wasn’t going to let her hide from him. That wouldn’t accomplish anything.

  “I... I’m...” she cleared her throat.

  He waited, just keeping his stare leveled at her, silently demanding she continue.

  “I’m... aroused,” she finally said with a blush.

  Ah. “I see.” He was going to push every one of her buttons now.

  Her face became far less serene and far more frustrated as she stared back at him. As if daring him to admonish her. He had no such intention. But if she thought that declaring she was all hot and bothered from following his orders was going to get her something, she was sorely mistaken. If she wanted something more, she would have to ask for it, and only then would he decide whether she could have it.

  “You’re fucking infuriating.” Her words were strangled through her clenched teeth. “I did everything you told me to do.”

  “And? You think that means you deserve something?”

  He could practically feel her anger, even from across the room. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what, minx?”

  “Yes, Mister.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I think obeying me is its own reward.”

  She let out a strangled sound and turned away from him. She stomped out of the kitchen in a huff, and he had to take a moment to compose himself, so he didn’t burst out laughing. But he couldn’t let this stand. I don’t think so, minx.

  He stood and stalked after her.

  Chapter Ten

  Evangeline’s blood was boiling. She had cleaned for him. As she’d scrubbed counters and pots and pans, she couldn’t help but feel more and more sure that he’d made such a complete mess on purpose. With the goal of making her clean it up. The bastard.

  And try as she might to fight it, she’d enjoyed it. Feeling his dark gaze on her as she moved from one task to another had filled her with such a sense of warmth, of accomplishment, at first. Then, it had deepened. Her belly was full with food he’d made for her, as it had been many times before now, but this was different. He’d cooked for her because she’d needed him to. He had made her one hell of a mess to clean up, because she’d needed that too, God help her.

  As the minutes passed and she continued to feel his hot gaze on her, her skin had begun to prickle with awareness. Her breath had become uneven. She’d wanted to keep going. She’d wanted to please him. The need like a living thing inside her, intent on making him happy. On making him proud. And she’d gotten more and more turned on. Not only had the task given her something to focus on after eating instead of berating herself for eating too much, it had excited her. Something as basic as cleaning the kitchen, when done below Leo’s gaze, and under his orders, had become erotic.

  Now, her desire was fast burning to anger. He had rebuffed her. After she’d embarrassingly admitted that she was aroused. Her face flamed.

  “And where do you think you’re going, minx?” His dark voice behind her made her breath hitch. There was something dangerous in his tone. Something that made her stomach do somersaults and her throat go dry, even as her thighs quaked. She liked that darkness. She craved it in a way that was terrifying.

  “No one said you were done with the kitchen.”

  “It’s clean,” she snapped.

  “Tsk, tsk.” His voice was closer, but she refused to turn around. “Are you talking back to me, brat?”

  She fought the urge to scream at him. Of course she was talking back, damn it. He was being an ass.

  “I will determine when things are cleaned. You march your disobedient little ass back in there and clean up until I say otherwise.” His hand circled her wrist, his grip solid, but not tight enough to hurt. Just tight enough to remind her who was boss.

  “And what if I refuse?” she pressed. They both had to know where the boundaries were. She was feeling edgier by the second. Pressing toward anxious, feelings winging around inside her this way and that, each one battling for her attention, and rushing about faster than she could name them.

  “Then I’m going to punish you. Because you want me to, Evangeline. Because you need me to. I don’t want to, but I will, if you make me.”

  She wasn’t sure she believed that part. He hadn’t had any issues punishing her the other night. In fact, she was pretty sure he enjoyed punishing her. That was kind of the whole point of Topping someone, wasn’t it?

  “The longer you stand here, failing to obey me, the more inclined I am to punish you anyway. See if perhaps you’ll enjoy sitting and relaxing the rest of the day with a sore bottom.” The threat was clear in his voice.

  She lifted her head so she could see him. His face was implacable. Her ass hadn’t hurt when she woke up last weekend. The burn from his spanking had lasted only an hour or so, and it was washed away in the tide of her orgasm, lost in the sea of pleasure. She had told him she would probably need him to punish her. It was a need she wasn’t used to having. One she was trying to explore. She stared at him a few more beats, still not moving, pushing. Always pushing.

  He sighed. “Into the kitchen with you, woman.” He tugged her body toward him and spun her in his arms, pressing his body against the back of hers, and wrapping his arms around her torso. He pressed forward, forcing her to walk back down the hall and through the swinging door into the kitchen. She let him carry her away.

  “There really isn’t very much mess to speak of in here. I cleaned it all,” she pointed out. Some of the dishes were still drying, but the counters were empty of clutter, and flour dust. The dishwasher was running. What else did he expect?

  “Then I’ll just have to find something else for you to clean, won’t I?” He led her through the room to the counter and stopped. “Right now, you’re going to bend over the counter. And inspect it. Make sure it’s perfectly clean.”

  He pressed his body into hers until she bent forward, until her top half was plastered to the counter, and his hands released her. He stood up, and shoved a leg between hers, pushing her legs farther apart, sliding her body more fully against the counter. Putting her exactly where he wanted her. She burned from the inside out. She had been getting aroused before. Now she was going up in flames. Every deliberate touch and move of her body from him made her quiver, brought her desire to the fore even more.

  “Let’s see, we’ve established that spankings only make you so contrite. But orgasm denial can remind you ever so eloquently just whose command you are under.”

  She shivered.

  Orgasm. Denial.

  The two words made her quake. His caressing fingers trailed up and down her backside, then slipped between her legs. He rubbed her there for a few moments through the thin fabric of her leggings. She gasped when he rubbed her clit
. But he only gave her a tiny bit of friction before he moved his hand.

  “I like working in the kitchen,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Not just making messes, but because a kitchen has so many toys all over the place.” He reached around her. “For instance, this little wooden scoop, could be used to gather salad, or veggies, along with the spoon, or it can be a very effective paddle. It’s got a lovely little curve in it. And it’s just the right size.” He held it before her. She’d used this to cook with before. It wasn’t entirely like a spatula, and it wasn’t used all that often, since it was a smaller size. And now he wanted to paddle her with it? Repurpose the tool from a kitchen implement to one of punishment. She shivered again, licking her dry lips.

  “I’m the one who gets to say when the kitchen is clean, when your task is completed, not you, my little minx.”

  His little minx. Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know how she felt about that possessive. She wanted to give up this control. Needed it. Did that make her his? Maybe. Should she let that happen? Also, maybe.

  “Yes, Mister.”

  He rubbed along her ass with his free hand, still holding the paddle in front of her face with the other. She shivered beneath his touch, feeling herself growing wetter. She stopped caring if it was okay for her to be his or not and surrendered.

  “I’m going to edge you now, play with you until you can’t breathe, maybe I’ll even use this paddle on that bottom, and then you’re going to wipe down the counters again until I am satisfied they are thoroughly cleaned. If, and only if, you can do so without being an utter brat, I may allow you to orgasm this afternoon.”

  She shivered but didn’t respond. She stayed where he put her, and the makeshift paddle disappeared from her view. Her cheek was pressed against the cool counter, her forearms flush against it on either side of her torso, her breasts pressed tightly against the marble. Her nipples pebbled beneath her shirt.