"That... insecure bullshit?" I repeated, shaking my head. "Byron, it's five different desserts for twenty people!"
"And? You'll have all day to pull it off. Longer if you bake the night before."
"I don't bake fancy desserts."
"I didn't ask you to."
"Yeah, but they will be expecting fancy desserts."
"Do I seem like I give a fuck what they expect? It's my party. I'll serve whatever the hell I see fit to serve. Or, in this case, whatever you see fit to serve."
"Byron, I really think you should hire a profes..."
"Prue, get your ass over here," he commanded, putting his cell down and dropping his feet off his desk as he pushed his chair back a foot. "Here," he said when I moved to stand beside the desk.
I looked back over my shoulder at the door, knowing Matt was still bringing bags in from his car.
"Byron, people are..."
"I don't give a fuck who sees. Get over here," he said, sounding like I was trying his patience. I moved behind the desk and he reached up for my hips, pushing them until I sat at the edge of his desk in front of him. His hands rested on my thighs and squeezed. "Babe, you make fucking Pop-Tarts taste gourmet. Those brownies you made for the guys at the gates? I'm pretty sure they cried while eating them. Stop fucking doubting yourself and put that energy into something productive. Like figuring out your menu because I want you to pass it by me." With that, he patted my thigh in a very 'we're done here' way and reached for his phone again.
And, well, that was what I came to expect from him.
When he gave you his attention, he gave it to you, and it felt like the most wonderful gift in the world. But when he took it away, it was always a blow.
But, big-girl panties in place, I stood, walked out of the room and went right to the spare laptop he tossed at me the day before with a nonchalant "In case you need this for shit" and I started looking up recipes. Five menus later, Byron and I both taking turns nixing certain foods, I had my desserts and I had my date for the party. Three days from then.
That night, after a long trip to Mandy's, he came home in a mood, stalking down the hall toward me. Once inside my bedroom, he reached for his belt and pulled it off. Then, as he watched me sit up in bed, brows creased as I tried to figure out what was going on, he looped the belt and walked toward me. "Stand," he demanded. And, well, with eyes as intense as his, I was helpless but to follow orders. "Take your clothes off." I took a deep breath and quickly slipped out of my tee and shorts, then dropped my panties to my feet. "Turn. On your knees." At that point, I was pretty freaking sure I was about to get beat with a belt. And I was equally turned-on and troubled with the idea. But I turned and slowly lowered to my knees beside my bed. He leaned down, pushing my upper body against the mattress. "Clasp your hands together at your lower back." I sighed as I moved to do so, both in relief and disappointment. The leather of his belt slid around my wrists and was pulled impossibly tight. I heard him step back a few feet to admire the view and felt myself getting red at the idea. "Spread your legs wide for me."
It was the 'for me' that did it. I slid my legs wider, closing my eyes tight against the embarrassment of knowing he could see every inch of me. And could also see how slick I was for him already, despite him not even touching me aside from binding my wrists.
"Drenched already," he pointed out, as I knew he would. "You want me to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, don't you?" he asked, making me press my lips together to keep in the weird little squeaky sound I made at his bluntness.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?" he asked, voice low, and I heard clothes start to fall.
Yes, what?
I guessed there was really only one response to that when you had an alpha guy behind you who bound your wrists and bossed you around. "Yes, sir," I purred.
"Good girl," he murmured, moving in behind me, his hands sliding over my ass. "Let's get this shit out of the way first. The condom thing... it's getting old. You on the Pill?"
"Yes," I said, jumping when he smacked my ass hard at my response.
"I'm clean. Got the papers in my room if you need the proof. I'm assuming you're clean."
"Got tested at my check-up."
"Which was?"
"Four months ago."
"You fuck anyone since then?"
God, I didn't think I would ever get used to how blunt he was, how open, how carelessly casual about important and delicate conversations. "No."