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After a few more moments of silent consideration, my mind is made up.

“I can’t agree to that part. The rest is fine, but that has to change.” I explain firmly.

Like a meerkat, Elsie pops up from her chair behind her desk and rounds it before stopping before me.

She’s a woman who’s used to getting her way. I can imagine having me push back on a rule she probably imagined was something I would want would frustrate the hell out of her.

Maybe even more irritating than having me lurk around the office all week, which is strictly prohibited per the agreement now.

“I’m offering you unlimited sex, and you’re saying no?” She asks, her voice pitching up at the end.

“Correct,” I reply, standing as I speak so I’m looking down at her.

“Why?” She asks with a glare up at me.

“I want to renegotiate,” I say firmly. “I’ll agree to everything else, but this one rule changes.”

I take her chin between my fingers and hold her firmly in place as I lean down.

“What are your terms then?” She huffs with chipmunk cheeks, and I smile.

“On one condition. You’re the only one who can request sex.” I pause. “And I have to ask permission to touch you. But you have to say it… out loud.”

“What?” She asks, seemingly confused at my request.

“You heard me. You have to ask me for sex verbally.” I repeat coolly.

“That’s absurd. You’re turning down unlimited sex?” She questions.

“Not at all. I’m totally on board for unlimited sex.” I move my face inches closer to hers, just a breath away from her lips, brushing my own. “But you’re going to ask for it every time. Not me.”

“Why?” She says breathlessly.

“Because if I were given the option for unlimited sex at my request, I’d have you tied down to a bed 24/7 and fuck you full of my cum every chance I got.”

Chapter 8

Elsie

March 23 — 12 Weeks, Plum

Since I gave him our new roommate rules, Marshall and I have been playing house quite successfully.

He’s finally exited the office completely, which has my whole staff letting out a sigh of relief. He has found other ways to occupy himself during the day.

Despite having a cleaning crew come to the house once a week, my home has never been cleaner than since Marshall moved in. I’m pretty sure he’s pulled every tchotchke off my shelves to dust, and he re-alphabetized my books by genre, then author’s last name, all while keeping the series together and in the correct order.

He even put up a whiteboard on the fridge next to my pregnancy calendar and has been keeping track of the baby’s growth. Every day, he marks the day on the calendar, and each time I hit a new week, I wake up to find another awful drawing of a fruit or vegetable alongside the phrase “Baby is the size of a….”

He’s put hair claw clips in every bathroom so that when the nausea takes over, he has one on hand to pull my hair back with, and he even wears hair ties on his wrist now.

There’s dinner on the table waiting for me when I get home every night from work. Every dish of which takes my current food preferences into account.

I know he’s been spending time with friends during the day, but I’ve never seen him go out like a single twenty-nine-year-old bachelor is supposed to do.

Not even on the weekends.

However, when I’m home, I become his whole focus.

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