Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I suddenly itched for the next time he looked up at me, because each expression he offered was different. This time, it was easy to see the affection in his eyes. And maybe it was too soon to tell, but possibly a pinch of wistfulness too. Either way, some inner turmoil.
I didn’t linger on it, though. I tapped my bread against his nose and said, “Next on the agenda. Journaling.”
He scrunched his nose and wiped a crumb off it. “Real nice, Sir.”
Always.
“I want you to text me before you go to bed every night this week,” I told him. “Doesn’t have to be elaborate, maybe a hundred words or so. I want your thoughts on the time we spent together that day.”
That one seemed peculiar to him. “Is that something you’d want in a future dynamic as well?”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “I prefer to talk and read body language. But you never know. Sometimes it’s good to have shit in writing too. Especially if I’m with someone who’s a little reluctant to always share his inner thoughts in person.”
He knew I was talking about him.
After soaking up the last of the soup with a piece of bread, I crammed it into my mouth and set the bowl on the table.
I lost a solid half hour between supper and my next topic, but when Lane was deep in thought, I didn’t wanna rush him. So I let him play with Terra and spend some time with Tank while I cleared the dishes, fetched a couple pens, and jotted down some keywords in a notebook.
I stoked the fire in the corner, too, and dimmed the lights before I turned on the TV.
“You ready to join me, boy?”
“Yeah, of course.” He kissed the top of Terra’s head and rose from the floor behind the big couch. That’s where I threw myself, and I told him to sit down in the opposite corner. He smirked a little. “What’re we gonna discuss now?”
“Servitude.”
“Oh,” he mouthed.
“Not just discuss it either.” I pulled up my legs to make room for him, and the moment he was seated, I planted my feet in his lap. “As a Dom, I should be granted some privileges, am I right? Rub my feet.”
He looked like he was trying to withhold a grin, but it wasn’t really working. “Correct, Sir. This would be part of body worship.”
I hummed and slipped an arm under my head. “I like the sound of that.” With that said, I grabbed the remote and went to Netflix. I’d added a documentary about wildlife in Southeast Asia to my list that I was mildly interested in, so it would be a good background show. If only so many of their reptiles didn’t end up on my doorstep in Florida…
I muttered a curse under my breath as Lane began massaging my feet. His thumbs went in firmly along the underside, up toward my toes. Fucking wonderful.
“Perfect pressure,” I murmured. “I’ll need some inspiration in this area, I reckon. Servitude is new to me, and you kinda know my thoughts here. Other than using my sub for back rubs and whatnot, what would you propose?”
He bit his lip and watched what he was doing.
I’d been around Lane enough to know that he wouldn’t want anything too strict or high-protocol. Thankfully. Because that would never be me either. But I was open to suggestions.
“I like body worship,” he said quietly. “And some chores. Which could be in the same area as worship—like, helping my Top in the shower or occasionally dressing him. Not as an every-day thing, but sometimes.”
Definitely doable.
“Pack his lunch for work, perhaps,” he continued, his voice softer. For some reason, it set off my internal warning system. This was sheer honesty. His guard was lowered at the moment. “I wouldn’t mind handling laundry and cleaning.”
Hmm. As fucking wonderful as it would be to give those last two up, that would be a struggle. I liked working as a team. Moreover, if I one day shared a home with Lane, I kinda had this image of us doing that sort of thing on a specific day of the week. One day when we cleaned the house together.
Nevertheless, I reached for the notebook and a pen. We’d go with lunches first. “The first one you mentioned is superb. I hate doin’ lunch prep, and Colt’s always sendin’ me coupons for barbecue joints I can’t resist.”
Lane laughed a little.
“As for cleanin’, I’m not sure,” I went on. I had to be honest too. “In my future, I see Sundays as cleanin’ days. Loud rock music, we team up, one vacuums, another mops the floor—”
“Um, dusting comes first, Sir. Let’s not get crazy.”
I scratched my head with the pen. “Right. One dusts, one vacuums—anyway. Teamwork. Work up a sweat, eat leftovers over the sink, make plans and grocery lists together…”