Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
To me, they were all the same. They were demanding too much of my Master.
“Would you like me to help you freshen up, Master?” I kissed the corner of his mouth and loosened his tie.
“Tempting—but I’m starving, and it smells heavenly in here.”
Food first, then.
I smiled and sank to my knees to help him with his shoes, and he just smiled back and shook his head a little. With that out of the way, he was quick to haul me back up, and he threaded our fingers together.
He was always affectionate with me, which I loved so much, but I could sense something was off. He needed my closeness for reasons that made me worried. Like a dying grandmother who wanted to spend all her time with the grandkids before she passed away. Maybe I spoke from experience.
In the kitchen, I grabbed his appetizer and a glass of red wine, and he snuck a peek in the oven.
“I don’t know what that is, but it looks fantastic, love.”
“It’s an Italian chicken casserole,” I replied. “Archie and I cooked together over the phone. He wanted my recipe for my strawberry tartlets, and I’ve been asking him about this casserole.”
“You know how to make my mouth water,” he said. Then he glanced around the kitchen. “Are we having those tartlets for dessert, by any chance?”
I grinned ruefully. “We said no more desserts on weeknights, Master. Remember?”
He sighed and followed me into the dining room. “I recall you and KC agreeing to that nonsense. Noa and I had very little say in the matter.”
Yeah, I wonder why.
I placed his antipasti platter at the head of the table, with his wine, and pulled out his chair. “We’re just worried about you, Sir.”
“You have no reason to worry, Cameron. I didn’t waste my first forty-four years on this planet to lose you in the blink of an eye.”
That was supposed to be reassuring. If only his actions didn’t go against his words. Everything he did, all the stress, all the pressure, not eating very well, was already taking a toll on his heart.
I watched him take his seat, and he eyed the platter appreciatively as he took a sip of his wine.
“Can you promise me?” I sort of blurted out.
He glanced up, pausing with a soft slice of blue cheese in midair. It went limp in his grasp.
I bit my lip. “I’m not asking you to promise me you’ll live forever, but can you promise me you’ll do your absolute best to give me the next forty-four years of your life?”
Something softened in his gaze, and he set down the cheese again, sucked the remains from the edge of his thumb, and pushed back his chair.
He patted his thigh. I obeyed wordlessly and eagerly, and I sat down sideways across his lap.
Then he cupped my face in his hands. “You’re the love of my life, Cam.”
That was also supposed to be reassuring.
“Everything I do is to make sure we have a very long future ahead of us,” he murmured.
Dammit. He was wrong! He was killing himself!
Worry gripped my chest. You couldn’t chase the horizon without walking the terrain to get there. You had to swim the oceans, climb over mountains, wade through swamps, and cross deserts.
Master pulled me in for a kiss, and I felt so pathetic. His need for me stripped me of power at a time I should stand my ground and fight for us. I wanted to trust him so badly; I wanted to give in and just let him lead the way. And I caved…not because I believed in him but because I was desperate and fucking weak.
Part of me wondered if I was throwing myself into the heat of the moment because I was collecting memories to look back on one day when he was no longer with us.
Fuck.
My own thought process made me sick.
I could just be overreacting, right? Who was I to know? I wasn’t a damn doctor. Maybe he could handle it.
Our kiss grew heated, and I sensed what he needed. He was a drug that way. He snapped his fingers, and I came running.
Food could wait.
Before I knew it, he picked me up and sat me on the edge of the table, and he kissed me forcefully as I undid his belt.
“Who owns you?”
“You, Master.”
He grabbed my jaw tightly, forcing me to shift my gaze higher to meet his, and my breath hitched in my throat. The burning intensity in his eyes shot hope through me, but could I trust it? Just because he believed something didn’t make it right. Did it? He did believe, though. He believed in himself, in us, and that we had all the time in the world, merely because that was what he demanded.
Without breaking eye contact, without releasing my jaw, he used his free hand to fish something out of his pocket, presumably a packet of lube from his wallet. Then he handed it to me, and I took over.