I left the door unlocked.
I went in the little partition that Andrew called the “shitter,” closed that door too, and sat on the toilet with my head in my hands. I wanted to rage at him, to kick him out, but I’d already let him fuck me. I’d fallen to his daunting ability to control me. I’d forgotten how easily he could short circuit my brain. But before, when I was his escort and he was my client, I knew he would eventually leave.
Now, I wasn’t sure he would leave. I was kind of terrified that he might stay and fuck me until I died.
Shut up, Chere. You’re being ridiculous. He’s just a man, like any other man.
When I opened the door, he was there in the bathroom, as I knew he would be. He leaned against the marble countertop, his arms crossed over his chest. His cock, even soft, looked too large and threatening. Too masculine. Too male. Too big. Price. Price who? I still didn’t know anything about him. He studied me with a guarded expression, his lips turned slightly down, his ice blue eyes both alert and assessing.
“I feel better now,” I lied. At least I’d finally managed to look at him, even if I was cowed by what I saw.
He brushed past me and pissed in my toilet with the door open. I suppose it was really his toilet since he’d bought this place for me. He had a key. All this time he’d had a key. He’d pretty much admitted that he’d been watching me, monitoring my activities. Perhaps he’d even snuck into my apartment while I was in class, or while I was sleeping.
I shivered and hurried into my fleece bathrobe and started brushing my teeth. I stared down at the counter, at the toothbrush I’d given him last night. He picked it up and brushed too, like a man, noisy and fast, spitting just after me.
“I want the key,” I said. “The key you used last night. I want you to leave it with me.”
He didn’t answer, just grabbed me and drew me into a kiss.
It wasn’t a tortured kiss like the one he’d given me while we were shouting at each other in my living room. It wasn’t a rough kiss like he gave me after he fucked me. No. It was a soft, warm, gentle kiss that felt way too perfect and cozy there in my bathroom, with our toothbrushes lying next to each other.
I can’t. I hate you.
I don’t know you.
I’m not sure.
Maybe he wasn’t sure either. Maybe he had no intention of spending time with me ever again once he walked out my door. He’d left me before, and he didn’t impress me as someone eager to form enduring relationships. But this time now, and this kiss, felt different from our previous carnal sessions.
“I want the key,” I whispered when he finished.
He pressed his cheek to mine, ran a hand up and down my back, and then yanked a handful of my hair. “Don’t fucking boss me around.”
*** *** ***
He made toast and eggs for breakfast, while I washed fruit and piled it on a plate. I didn’t have a coffee maker. He promised to punish me for it later, and I didn’t think he was kidding. He stood at my stove cooking breakfast with no shirt, and his tailored pants riding just below the dimples of his ass. The eggs were scrambled, like my thoughts, but they were cooked just right, sprinkled lightly with cheese. He was so fucking competent at sex, and now this.
I wanted to be strong and independent. I wanted to be pissed that he’d come here and taken over me so easily, but when he put a plate down in front of me, I said thank you and started to eat. The eggs tasted wonderful. I hated that they tasted so wonderful.
“So, who’s going to talk first?” he asked.
“What?”
“What do you want to say to me? You seem…” He waved a hand. “Angsty.”
He’d disappeared for two and a half years, materialized out of nowhere, and now accused me of being “angsty”? I frowned and squished a piece of egg into a puddle.
“Am I supposed to be glad you’re back?” I said. “Am I supposed to be happy?”
“You seemed happy last night when my cock was in your ass.”
I couldn’t deal with this. I wasn’t prepared. “Do you know what this is like? Seeing you again? Having you come at me and…and…”
“And what?” He grabbed a handful of grapes and popped one in his mouth. “You’re lucky I came back in time to warn you about Cantor after you were stupid enough to get drawn in.”
“I wasn’t drawn in by Cantor,” I lied. “We just talked about some stuff.”
“That’s how he works. He talks. He flirts. He tells you you’re interesting, at least until someone else interests him more. He uses women. I didn’t want that for you.”