Page 69 of Vicious

Chase places the tray on the coffee table and raises his brows at me. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“The floor,” I retort as I flip through streaming channels to find the anime I’d started him on the other day. “That’s where your friend makes his slave sit, so you can see how it feels to have the roles reversed for once.”

Chase snorts in amusement, then grabs my legs and lifts them up. I squeak, but Chase sits down and settles my feet on his lap.

I make a face at him, going to swing my legs off the side of the couch, but he holds onto my ankles to keep me in place.

“What are we watching?” he asks, as though I’m not scowling at him and trying to pull my feet back. “Tell me it has more plot than the last one.”

“It’s the same plot, seeing as how it is the last one,” I grumble, clicking play. “We only watched two episodes last time.”

The opening sequence starts, the usual anime opening sequence with flashy effects and vague hints of the plot. It’s one of those magical girl shows that promises to ‘subvert’ expectations by having a sinister background plot.

It’s already gone on its tangent about the nature of free will and choice, which has been hitting a little close to home. Maybe I shouldn’t have picked this one.

I glance at the plates on the coffee table, just out of reach. “I don’t know how to eat like this,” I say. “I’ll spill everything.” My stomach grumbles, and I wince, putting a hand on it.

He runs his finger along the arch of my foot, and the bastard smiles when I shiver and try once more to pull my foot away. “Are you ticklish?” he asks.

“No,” I lie.

He lets me go after a few more touches, and I immediately sit upright, pulling away from him completely. He picks up one of the plates and hands it to me. “Maybe I should have hand-fed you.”

I shudder, remembering the night of the awful dinner party. I don’t want a repeat of that.

“I’m not some invalid who needs to be hand-fed,” I grumble, digging in before he can get any more ideas.

As usual, even reheating dinner hasn’t diminished its quality, and we eat in silence for a moment while the anime plays on the TV.

“When did you even have time to watch these shows?” he asks casually.

I grimace, remembering all the nights I’d gotten home so late but had been so desperate to escape the day and ignore what was coming on the next. “Usually like this,” I say, gesturing to the TV screen with my fork. “Whenever I could take a moment to breathe. It was nice having something to…” I realize I’m saying far, far more than I should, and I instantly clam up.

“And you chose to watch cartoons?” Chase glances back at the screen. “Did you make costumes from this show?”

I snort, ignoring his dismissal of the show as merely another cartoon. I don’t correct him though, saying instead, “Yeah, like I really had the money to buy all the specialized materials to make something like that.”

It would have been nice, though. I like the main character’s magical girl outfit, but it’s just a little too elaborate for me. I wouldn’t have been able to do it justice.

Chase makes a thoughtful sound. “Do you need more fabrics? We can order whatever you need.”

I hesitate for a moment before setting my now-empty plate down on the coffee table. My voice is cautious as I begin, “It’s not just the materials. It’s the time, and the experience… and the skill, honestly. I don’t have access to patterns or guides, either.”

“Well, you have time now,” he says. “And we can buy all the other stuff. Are there books you need? And we can order all the patterns, too. You can waste as much of my money as you want.”

I’ve already wasted over five hundred dollars of his money, and he didn’t even bat an eye.

I ignore his comment about how much time I have because it feels like a jab, focusing instead on his too-generous offers. He sounds sincere in that earnest way he sometimes gets when he thinks he’s going to convince me this is some sort of consensual arrangement. “Is that what you want to pretend this is, Chase?” I ask sourly. “That you’re my sugar daddy or whatever?”

That I’m here of my own volition.

He meets my gaze steadily. “Would you prefer it if I kept you locked up in that room after all, and only let you out to fuck you?”

I quickly shake my head, remembering the early days. “No! Of course not.” I wrinkle my nose, adding, “I just didn’t expect that from you, that’s all. It’s not very vicious of you.”

He laughs and sets his plate onto the coffee table next to mine. “I guess I’m just not in a vicious mood right now.” He scoots closer to me on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders. I try to elbow him, but he catches my arm and holds it tight. “I’m plenty vicious when I want to be, Ah-May.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I snark. I struggle a little more before finding myself voicing a thought I’ve had more than once, “Does it ever feel strange, that you’re this vicious person who chases people? Are names prophetic, or do you think—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head, letting out a self-conscious laugh. “That’s dumb. Sorry.”

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