Page 48 of Obey

When I get downstairs, my feet stutter to a stop as I enter the restaurant where breakfast is being served. My old lady friends from yesterday are all standing around the same table they sat at for most of the day. Jagger holds out a chair for one of them to sitdown. As she sits, he pushes the chair in, and when she’s seated, he drapes her napkin over her lap.

He does this for all the ladies at the table. Before he turns to leave, one of the ladies grabs his forearm. From the firm-set of his jaw, he’s not thrilled with the contact, but he can hardly deck an old woman, so he pauses patiently as she asks him something.

He nods, blesses himself, and as his mouth moves in what seems to be a prayer, all the women around the table bow their head.

Then he goes back to the same table we were at and picks up the menu.

Huh. This man is an enigma. I guess it says more about me than him I assumed he wasn’t a religious man because he was, well, a dirty one, but he at least knows enough to say a prayer before eating.

There’s so much about him I don’t know, so much I want to know. The thaw outside has been less impressive than how Jagger has melted my preconceived notions about a guy like him, a guy with oily jeans, tattoos, and who lives the kink life.

I like him.

Okay, I more than like him. There’s this expanding crush blooming in my chest that’s potentially problematic. But we aren’t gonna think about that.

We’re not going to think about how Jagger’s expansive chest stretches that black shirt nicely, or how his biceps fill out the armholes. We’re certainly not going to think about how cute his butt looks in those jeans. Or the fact I had his manhood in my mouth yesterday.

Nope.

Definitely not going to think about that.

“Ma’am? Are you okay, ma’am?”

A new server approaches, suggesting the roads have cleared enough for the staff to change over, and my gut clenches a lil bit more.

“What? Yes, I’m fine thank you. I was looking for my friend.”

“Are you sure? You look flushed.”

So much for not thinking about Jagger choking me with his enormous eggplant yesterday.

“Yes. I’m sure. Thank you, though.” Before I head over to where Jagger’s sitting, I venture toward the table of women who are already pouring coffee and sipping on OJ. They’ve made themselves right at home.

“Good morning, Talia!” Julia waves at me.

“Good morning, ladies. Don’t mind me. I’m over here pickin’ up after that forgetful man over there.” I grab his novel from the table top, tucking it under my arm.

“He’s quite a man, isn’t he though?” Alma winks at me.

My face is on fire. There’s no hiding it. “Yes, ma’am. He is.”

“Fixin’ to leave today?” Gertie asked the question, but the whole table is waiting for my answer.

“Think so. Yes, Ms. Gertie.”

Someone nudges my behind. “Go get him, girl. Don’t let that catch leave.”

The eyes of the whole table are on my back as I make my way across the dining room.

“Morning.” I sit, sad he didn’t push my chair in for me like he did for the nosy old ladies who are all watching me intently from across the room.

“Good morning.”

I hand him his book. “You left this over with the ladies.” I pause. “Thought you might have been gone, gone.” The way I’m nibbling on my lip is pathetic. But I want him to acknowledge that he feels for me. Something, anything. Even a flutter. I can work with a flutter.

His brow creases as he frowns. “Definitely not.”

“Aftercare.”

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