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It was said with such a perfect blend of over the top submissiveness and absolute glee that I laughed. "Retroactively, no, you may not."
She bit her lip, struggling to think clearly when her mind was distracted by her body.
"Oh. Well, sir, I am probably going to touch you without permission."
"Permission granted," I said.
For just a second, we were both smiling,
Then I dressed her – she put up no resistance – and carried her through the main house to the kitchen, deposited her on the counter out of my way and made two omelets. While we ate I contacted security and checked every detail of the compound, the grounds, and Kie.
Everything was calm, quiet, and safe.
I fed Annie bites of egg so she'd eat. After dinner we played Scrabble like some weird old married couple.
She cheated.
I know, because I always cheat. I'm just better at it.
After Scrabble Liars Edition, we went back to my room in the main house.
"Shouldn't I – " she started.
I shushed her. I took off her new shift and took her into the shower with me, standing in the hot water, the mist and the spray, I soaped and rubbed her back, feeling her arch kittenish against my hands. When she was completely soaped up, I tried to pull her against me, but she kept slipping out of my grip.
Once out of the shower I wrapped her in a bath sheet and dried her, then myself. Whatever she was expecting, it clearly wasn't for me to pick her up again, cradling her in my arms and carrying her to my bed.
Once there she tried to slip to the floor, to land on her knees. I pulled her up and stood her beside the bed, crawled in myself and held up the covers until she took the hint and followed the command and crawled in with me.
I turned her on her side, slid my body in to fit hers, and we went to sleep.
19
Cole
The next day was a hot, nearly summer's day. St. Martin woke me at dawn to go for a run that kept going and going. I hadn't been able to work out at the hospital. The most I could do was walk endlessly through the halls, so long as no doctor or nurse or technician thought that my behavior was troublesome and that I needed extra therapy.
The kind of therapy they did there in the place they housed crazy people was, for someone who wasn't crazy, time-consuming and patience-testing.
I failed a lot of those tests.
And so I should have welcomed the run, but before the hospital there'd been Paris and very few workouts (the one run I had was with Kie and had its own problems inherent in that).
I was out of shape. And St. Martin, it seemed, had been keeping himself sane while he searched for me by running and training and turning himself into a bodybuilder ultra marathoner and other things that don't go together.
Because he was St. Martin and things that didn't work for other people worked for him.
I ran in front for a while. Then I ran behind him for a while. Then I trailed behind him for a long, long while, the breath burning in and out of my lungs and the air full of his commands to "Keep up! Run faster!"
The one time I flipped him off he was facing forward and our shadows were fleeing out behind us.
After another twenty minutes I was walking behind him when he turned and ordered me to my knees.
I went down. I knelt in the sage and dirt, but unwillingly. Grudgingly. He probably knew that.
"You're out of shape."
I considered all the reasons I'd just been detailing to myself why I was out of shape and added that he knew all these things or could extrapolate them for himself. Also, kneeling was hard on the knees but nice on the lungs and I had no desire to waste the rest.
