He turns the page, but glances at me before continuing. “Perhaps if we finish it, we could watch the movie. There are a few adaptations, and we could watch them all. See which we like best. It could be fun.”
“That does sound fun. Have you seen them?”
“No, I don’t typically have time for movies.”
“But you’ll make time?”
I don’t know why I ask the question, but I am thankful I left off thefor methat almost slipped out. He regards me, something flickering in his eyes that I can’t recognize.
“Yes, I think I can do that.”
He goes back to the book and begins to read.
He gets through only the first chapter before he tells me the time is up, and it’s time to prepare for bed. I have no idea what this means, but I’m sure he’s going to explain it. I’m still trying to handle my disappointment over no more reading. It wasn’t so much the story, but the way he told it. His voice as he read… it was mesmerizing.
Harmon slides a metal bookmark between the pages and places the book on the end table… for tomorrow, I hope.
He gets to his feet, and says, “Go to your room and take a break. We will meet back here for 9:30.”
“But the schedule says 9:10.”
“It does, but I’d prefer if you got a longer break on your first day.”
I nod my agreement, and he tentatively reaches out to brush his hand over the top of my head in an affectionate touch. I find myself leaning into it, seeking out his hand, wanting more.
He huffs a small laugh. “Doesn’t feel like a dog, does it?”
His eyes shine with humor as he looks away and leaves the room. The second he’s out of sight, I’m on my feet and running to mine to think about grandmas and feet because my dick is aching.
Chapter Twelve
Cassius
I am back in the sitting room before Harmon is, and I kneel in place, like he told me to. My legs are already getting sore, but with time, I’ll get used to it. Sitting in a cramped spot isn’t new to me. I sleep on a bunk bed meant for a child, squished in a room with my two sisters. It’s fine. I can handle this.
But I don’t know what the cramps being the thing that’s bothering me says about me.
I’m fine walking around practically naked, in an outfit meant for a gigolo.
I’m fine being told to kneel and call him Master.
I’m fine being patted and called a good boy.
But kneeling is my problem? That’s what’s stressing me out?
Cool. I can handle this.
Harmon walks in seconds later and takes his seat on the end of the couch, by me.
He’s wearing a matching pajama set—navy cotton pants with a matching t-shirt. It feels too plain and simple for him. I’ve seenhim in nothing but a suit until now, and I try not to laugh and make this weird. Did I think he slept in the suit? Maybe.
“I’m sure you’ve been wondering what exposure practice is,” he comments.
“I have,” I admit.
“Since we’re new to each other, and still getting to know one another, I’d like us to do something to get comfortable being naked around each other, since, as you know and agreed to, is part of the job.”
“I’m fine being naked,” I say.