Page 66 of The Club

“So think about it.”

I sip my coffee. Lush is closed, so it’s technically my weekend. “Maybe the gym.”

“That’s a start. What else?”

I snort. “You want my whole schedule?”

The microwave dings. Dominic takes the syrup out and sets it near me. He goes to check the waffle and decides it’s not done.

Hovering over it, he says, “I want to know you’re not going to get fucked up.”

For some reason, that makes my throat go all tight. I can feel emotion on my face, so I sip my coffee to cover it.

I guess I don’t cover it very well because Dominic says softly, “Rafael.”

“I won’t get fucked up,” I tell him.

He doesn’t reply. I’m not sure he believes me. I’m not sure I believe myself. Right now, I feel like I’ll be okay today, but I know how easily that can change.

Dominic checks the waffle again and lifts it out with a fork. He slides it onto a plate, which he holds out across the counter. I take it.

He pours more batter into the waffle maker and closes the lid, then he walks around the island to come sit beside me. When I start dividing the waffle, he stops me.

“I’ll get the next one.”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye as I load up the waffle with butter, syrup, and strawberries. The past few hours have brought out such a different side of Dominic.

My mind drifts again to the bathtub. How everything settled as he held onto me. How I accepted tenderness from him when I would never have accepted it from anyone else.

It wasn’t the first time. There was that night when he wouldn’t let me leave the play room. Other moments too.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s vicious. Sadistic. Full of rage. He likes hurting me. He likes fucking me like he hates me. Thank god. I don’t want that to ever stop. I love it. I need it.

But this …

Maybe I need this too—and that’s far more terrifying than having him string me up and point a gun at me.

“If you don’t eat that fucking waffle while it’s hot,” he says in a warning tone, “I’ll take that fork you seem to have no use for and stab it through your hand.”

A smile tugs at my lips. I pick up the fork and do what he says.

“Mmm, fuck,” I mumble around a mouthful. “Shit, that’s good.”

“Don’t make sounds like that.”

“Bad manners?” I tease, preparing to give him shit for being a snob while wearing sweatpants.

“No,” he replies as he gets up from his chair and walks behind me. He grips my hair and pulls my head back. His other hand goes to my throat as he whispers in my ear, “It makes me want to shove my cock in your ass.”

I close my eyes as a wave of arousal spills through my body. “Maybe you should.”

“No. You’re gonna eat your fucking waffle.” He shoves my head forward and walks off around the island.

He keeps his eyes on me, making sure I comply as he opens the waffle maker and lifts the waffle out with a fork.

We eat, mostly not talking. I tap out at two waffles because it’s six o’clock in the goddamn morning. After three waffles, Dominic switches to leftover chicken and rice. I tease him about it, but he says he can’t make it all day on waffles.

I don’t have work. I can eat again later, so I stick with coffee, glancing at him from time to time. For some reason, I enjoy watching him eat. He’s so serious about it, and I like how his jaw bunches as he chews. I like watching him swallow.

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