Right as I finished the dishes, I heard his laptop snap shut as he called me into the room.
Here goes nothing.
I wiped down the counter, washed my hands, and entered, nervously wiping them dry on my skirt. He looked me up and down with that appraising look I was learning to get used to.
"Strip."
"What?"
"You heard me." His eyes were lit up, but his hands were on his hips and his mouth was stern. Well, he could look stern all he wanted to. There was no way I was going to— An eyebrow shot up and his face grew more serious. I shifted my weight. His other eyebrow joined the first.
Maybe stripping wouldn't hurt.
He smiled again as my clothes started hitting the floor. "Good, you've remembered what you're for. For a moment, I thought my girl had forgotten her place." He looked my now naked body up and down, then at the floor. "But this won't do. Do you know how to fold clothes? Put them on the sofa—neatly." A bit of sadism crept into his grin. "If you need a folding lesson, I'd be happy to demonstrate."
There's that look again. How does he do that?
Cheeks burning, I picked my clothes off the floor while he watched. "Douchebag," I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." I gave him my sweetest smile.
"Did you just cuss at me?"
"Douchebag is hardly a curse word—" I protested, before a hand gripped my hair, forcefully yanking my head back. My startled eyes met his steady blue ones.
The slap shocked me. Have you ever had the sensation of spinning and tumbling while being pinned, immobile? This was like that. His voice was soft, making my stomach contract and my heart pound. "Language, girl. Language and respect, especially to Me."
"Yes sir." I tried to look at the ground, but it was hard with his eyes five inches from mine. The silence hung in the air for a moment that stretched on an on. Then—"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Good." He brought my head forward so my forehead met his lips, then released me. Those eyes stayed on me, though. I'd never thought about how blue eyes would feel caressing my skin—or maybe it was just that it was him. Maybe both.
Anyway, I folded it all neatly—no lessons required—and stood in from of him, back straight, looking straight at him. I wasn't sure what to do, really, but I wanted to please, so I did my best.
He looked me up and down for a moment. I don't know if he was savoring my body, enjoying my discomfort, planning what would come next, or all three. He gently caressed my cheek, his other hand lightly exploring my shoulder, neck, chest, and stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "How do you feel?"
I swallowed. "Excited. Exposed. Guilty for calling You what I called You. Happy. Nervous. Anticipating."
He nodded. "Just relax. Like I said, it'll be fun and you'll love it."
"How do you feel, sir?"
He grinned. "I feel fantastic. Very eager to play with my new toy."