The sound of silverware on porcelain fills the air as he eats his meal. My knees burn from the hard surface, but I won’t move. There is something about this that is…
I don’t know what it is, but I like it.
Making him proud. Knowing he likes this. Giving him what he wants. Doing something right. It’s not that I’ve had a life of doing things wrong, I’ve never had the tools and opportunities to do things right. But now I can. I am. I’m being given a chance and I’m doing a good job.
I like the way he looks at me, the way I make him proud.
So, I feel good like this, spread open in front of him despite how vulnerable I am. The first few days, I felt shy. Now? I’m confident. I love the way my body warms under his gaze.
The wooden legs of the chair scrap against the floor, and I hear him stand.
“I could look at you like this all day.”
I hear the clanking of the dishes. I assume he must be stacking them to the side.
“Turn around. Sit on the edge here.”
I try my best not to look like an unbalanced baby animal as I turn myself around and move to the edge of the table—that my ass is sticking to, so it isn’t easy to scoot.
His gaze is on my dick again.
“You’re enjoying what we do.”
“Yes,” I say, looking up at him, but his eyes are still on my leaking cock.
“So am I.”
His eyes flick to mine, the brightest honey color, and his fingers brush along my jaw.
“You didn’t shave your face today,” he comments. Not as if he’s upset. It’s an observation.
“I didn’t have time,” I say.
His hand settles on my neck, and he steps closer. I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, but all he does is smile, his eyes holding mine before stepping back and dropping his hand.
“Follow me.”
I hop off the table, leaving the dishes behind, and follow him out of the room. I assume we’re going to the sitting room, like we usually do after eating, but we go to the foyer, and then to the stairs… I’ve never been upstairs before. He said I wouldn’t need to go up here, so he never gave me a tour. I want to ask where he’s taking me, but I keep my mouth shut and go. I don’t want to ruin it.
Upstairs looks much like downstairs only it’s one long hallway with quite a few doors. He leads me into a large bathroom with a standalone tub and a spacious stand-up shower with a partition and not doors or a curtain. The toilet is hidden behind a privacy wall, and the counter is sparkling with a rectangle sink. A mirror fills the wall with not a single fingerprint or toothpaste splatter on it.
“Here,” he says, patting the counter.
“You’re going to have to sanitize every inch of your house.”
He smirks as he digs through a drawer and pulls out shaving cream, a towel, a straight razor, and a bottle. The lights above us go on when he flicks a switch on the wall beside him. He organizes the items he’s gathered, laying them out in just the right way.
I didn’t have a father to teach me how to shave or watch to learn on my own. I just… figured it out when I realized I didn’t like hair on my face.
“Sit up straight,” Harmon says quietly.
My pulse quickens as he steps closer to me, his hip brushing my leg. His musky cologne somehow smells stronger in here, or maybe it’s because he’s so close.
“This would be easier if I had a proper chair,” he says as he pulls a white towel from a drawer on the end and puts it around my jaw. “Maybe I’ll invest in one.”
“It’s warm,” I say, my voice muffled.
Harmon chuckles. “It’s a lovely thing when getting out of the shower.”