"Missy..."
I didn't pause -- hell, I didn't even blink at Mister's tone. My eyes met his glare as I wordlessly shoved a leg into my work pants. I raised a brow questioningly at him knowing full well the beast I was poking. A little hop and I yanked my work slacks up, quickly stuffing in the loose ends of my blouse before cinching the button. It was six-goddamn-thirty in the morning, and I was already running late to work. I didn't have time for this.
His green eyes glowered at me as he stood in the bathroom doorway. Steam curled off his body like some devil rising from the bowels of the underworld. Even angry, he was a sight to behold. Long powerful legs had him towering over me. His black hair, cut in a classic military style, was wet and slicked back. His morning scruff -- a delicious salt and pepper shadow over a severe jawline -- glistened from his morning shower. And his chest -- god, I loved his chest. Broad and sturdy and dusted with just the perfect amount of chest hair. I could lay in the cushions of those beautiful pecks forever. With only a towel wrapped around a tapered waist, I got my morning dose of this gorgeous man plus some.
Something damp landed on top of my head. I squealed and ripped it off before it could ruin my top and hair. A wet towel fell to the carpet with a thunk.
"What the heck?" I cried out.
Mister crossed his arms, corded muscles bulging, "How many times have I asked you to hang your wet towels to dry after you shower? I almost snapped my neck slipping on this."
"Maybe that was my plan all along," I muttered darkly, kicking the mop of fabric aside.
"Come again?" Mister stalked over, closing in on me. I could feel the heat pour off his body, hear his breath. Deep, heavy, and restrained. I forced myself to calmly inspect my appearance in the vanity mirror.
"Fine, fine, fine, I'll do it next time. Now move, I have to go to work now -- Justin's gonna kill me if I'm late for this meeting."
A smirk ticked at the corner of Mister's mouth. "You always say that. How do I know you mean it this time?"
"You know what they say... seventeenth's time the charm?" I quipped back, tossing my hair casually, "Now I really need to bust a move, Mister. This girl's gotta goooooo."
He took a step back but smirk deepened, and his eyes darkened just a shade too much. "We'll see about that."
Shit.
Heat prickled my cheeks as I pushed past him, snatching my work laptop and bag. He followed me as I rushed out of the bedroom into the kitchen, grabbing a thermos of glorious hot coffee Mister made earlier for me. Keys jangled as I stuffed my feet into little black pumps and clacked out the door.
I paused, turning to face him once more before closing the door. I drank in the man standing barefoot on our cold tiled kitchen floor. Arms were still firmly crossed and his face stern. But, in those emerald eyes, a wicked glimmer flashed, and I knew he was fighting back a grin.
I stomped my foot and stuck out my tongue.
"Do your worst, Mister! See if I care!"
And there it was -- a cruel smile broke across his face.
"Count on it, brat."
My heart skipped and I turned away before he could see the flush of my cheeks. Knowing full well I had both won and lost at the same time, I pulled the door closed with a slam.
***
Work was a slog. Several soul-shattering meetings, a report that was urgent up until the moment it wasn't anymore, and many, many mind-numbing phone calls later, I pulled into the garage. The car shuddered off with a quick turn of the key. A groan bubbled up, and I rested my head against the steering wheel. My head pounded and my stomach growled.
A peek at my phone informed me I had sustained life on a single thermos of coffee from morning to a little after six. My will to go on was fading fast.
Thankfully, Mister wasn't home yet. I didn't have to face his nagging just yet. Dragging my feet out of the car, I stumbled into the house and kicked off my tiny torture devices called heels. The house was clean, and pleasant smelling. Relief washed over me as I immediately reached behind and unlatched my bra. Holy shit, that was the feeling of true freedom. God Bless America.
I dumped my bag on the floor and padded over to the fridge. On the stainless-steel door, I spied a Post-It note with a familiar scrawl.
There's a small snack in the fridge. Eat it then take a shower -- you'll feel much better. I promise. I know you didn't take care of yourself at work today. You never do.
I'll be back around 7. I'll make dinner. We will discuss your behavior this morning afterwards.
I wriggled at the warning written between the lines. In this case, a "discussion" rarely meant talking and rarely left me walking away unscathed.
Still, I sniffed at his presumption. How dare he tell me what to do! I crumpled the note and stormed into the bedroom.
Heat shot through my core as I froze mid-step. On the bed, laid out in plain sight, was a thick wooden paddle and a mean-looking rattan cane. Two pillows piled up neatly in the middle of the bed sent an unmistakeable message: I would be bent over them soon.
"Anal-retentive prick," I muttered, my insides quaking at the sight. I wanted to remove them from the bed, hide them away and pretend I never saw them. But I knew better.
All this over a damn towel? God, he was the most infuriating control freak alive!
Frustration coursed through me as I ripped off my clothes, leaving them in a messy heap on the floor. Leaving them there for Mister to hopefully trip over later tonight.
Screw him!
I cranked the shower onto full blast, relishing in the wet inferno. As I scrubbed away the grime of the day, melting away the tension in my shoulders, my mind raced. What was Mister's plan with the paddle AND the cane?
He's disciplined me before - taking me over his knee when I got too mouthy. Sometimes with his hand, sometimes with the wooden spoon from the kitchen drawer, and a few times with his belt. But never like this. Never as a true punishment.
My nipples pebbled despite the anxiety twisting in my gut. I reached between my legs and felt how hot the thought of Mister really putting me in my place was making me. I moaned, pulling my hand away. I wasn't going to give Mister the satisfaction of me getting off on this. Even if he would never actually know.
Finishing up, I turned off the water and toweled off. I hung the wet cloth up. Then I stared at it. Stupid, fluffy thing. I picked it up with two fingers and dropped it on the floor. If I'm screwed anyway, I might as well go full steam ahead.
I dragged on an oversized T-shirt and stepped into a clean cotton panty before marching out of the bedroom, ignoring the scary instruments on display. In the kitchen, I pulled open the fridge door. Inside, there was a tall pitcher of water. A mint sprig and several cucumbers slices floated in it. Beside it was a small bowl of washed grapes and a tiny container of yogurt. A note was tented over the cellophane-covered food.
Eat and drink this before I get home.
I swear if this bossy know-it-all had a Yelp page, I'd be leaving a strongly worded review.
Still, I grab the food and drink, pouring the cool, flavored water into a glass. I belted two cups and sighed as the fog in my brain finally cleared.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I snacked, trying to keep my mind off of whatever was going to happen after dinner. I scrolled through my phone, distracting myself with videos and social media posts.
Fifteen minutes after 7pm, the tell-tale groan of the garage door announced Mister's arrival. My stomach flipped. The sound of the car door swinging open, then slamming shut, sent my heart into a frenzy.
The door opened but I refused to give Mister the gratification of noticing his presence, pretending to be engrossed in some news article.
His shoes clattered on the floor one at a time as he pulled them off, followed by a deep sigh. I imagined he was loosening his tie by now, like he always did when he got home. Heart in my throat, blood rushed in my ears as his footfalls approached. I knew he was just inches from my back. And he knew that I knew and that made me flush deeply. I tried not to squirm.
Warm breath tickled my scalp as Mister leaned in, bracing his arms on either side of me, his body a solid wall behind my chair. I sucked in a breath.
"How was your day, Missy-Moo-Moo? I see you enjoyed the treats I left for you."
He was right by my ear, his words sticky sweet and dangerous. A shiver ran down my spine.
I finally caved and turned my head to meet his eyes. I could tell right away that he had just as trying a day as I did. There were shadows under his beautiful clover eyes. I hated to see him worn down even when he's a domineering asshole.
So, I smiled, arching up to kiss him on the cheek, "Oh you know, another day, another dollar. How was yours?"
"Trying as always... upper management is really coming down on us to wrap up deliverables for the quarter. I'll have to work late tomorrow."
Scratchy whiskers nuzzled my cheek as Mister pulled me into a tight hug. I could feel him inhaling the scent of my shampoo. Guilt edged into my chest -- maybe I shouldn't be such a child all the time, adding to his stress.
"I'm sorry, honey, that has to be so taxing." I kissed him again, this time on the lips. A small apology.
"I'll live. Now, let's have dinner, shall we?"
I watched Mister walk away, my stomach dropping in recalling the mess of clothes I left on the bedroom floor. I launched out of my chair, wooden legs scraping against the tile.
"Wait!" I cried out, way too late.
My feet skidded as I slid to a stop in the bedroom doorway.
Mister stepped out of the bathroom, my wet towel in hand, his eyes taking in the trail of discarded clothes I left in the wake of my tantrum. Eventually his eyes met mine, his mouth splitting into a wicked grin.
"You mischievous little thing. Always a handful, huh?" He dropped the towel, curling a finger, beckoning me to him. "Come here, you brat!"
I ran for my life.
I didn't know where to go but I figured getting the kitchen island between us was my best bet for survival. I spun around, edging around the quartz countertop, gauging the best angle for greatest distance between myself and certain doom.
Mister took his sweet time, ripping off his tie and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his white collared shirt. He rolled up his sleeves before leaning over the kitchen island, his voice dangerously low.
"Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours, Missy."
I eyed him cautiously.
