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She lays her hand on my thigh, under the table. Then, wickedly, she slides it a little higher, inside the leg of my shorts. I stiffen up, trying not to show the slightest sign of enjoyment on my face. I can feel Uncle Miko’s frozen stare drilling into me, as if he can see right through the table to his daughter’s wandering hand.
“Maybe we should draw up the marriage contract,” my father says. He grins at Miko. “Will there be a dowry, or a bride price?”
He’s only joking—my dad and Miko have run their empires generously and equally, side by side. There’s no difference in “value” between Anna and me, at least not from a business perspective.
Without taking his eyes off me, Uncle Miko replies, “You will be bankrupted, my friend.”
Anna’s fingers steal further up my shorts toward my crotch. I try to trap her hand without visibly moving, but she slips my grasp and continues on until she’s brushing the side of my cock. Perversely, preposterously, right under her father’s stare, I feel the rush of blood as I start to get hard. I swear to god, he knows exactly what’s happening. Miko always knows.
Trying to hold my lips as still as a ventriloquist, I mutter, “Anna . . .”
Anna smiles serenely, taking a sip of her coffee with one hand, and teasing my cock with her other.
I want to jump up and run to the bathroom, but it’s too late now, I’m already hard. I’m trapped here while the love of my life attempts to bring down the wrath of the devil on my head.
There’s only one thing I can do.
I knock over my own glass of orange juice, right in my lap.
Then I grab a napkin, press it over my crotch, and jump up from the table.
“Oops!” I say. “I better clean up!”
I run upstairs to shower and change, and I don’t dare go back down for breakfast until I’m sure Uncle Miko has safely engaged himself someplace else.
I hear Anna coming up to shower shortly after, when I’m already in my room. She’s skipping up the stairs and down the hallway, probably laughing to herself.
That’s fine with me—I want her cheerful and unaware when I punish her.
It’s not easy to capture Anna. She’s fast and wary. She’ll know that she has it coming, after her stunt at breakfast.
So I leave the house as soon as I’m dressed, telling my mother that I’m going to chop a few more cords of wood for the stove.
I take the axe from its place leaned up against the porch, and I head out into the woods, to the stand of birch trees ten minutes away that we’ve been felling, chopping, and stacking in the woodshed.
This part of the forest is dense and nearly silent. You’d think I was hours away from any other human. You can’t hear the loons on the water anymore. Only the soft buzz of bees and the occasional creak and groan of the breeze knocking the pine branches together.
I set the birch logs up on a ready stump and begin to split them. It’s relaxing work with a smooth, steady rhythm. The swing of the axe, the heavy thunk as it hits, and the clean split of the wood breaking apart. Then I pick up the pieces and throw them neatly on the pile, to be carried over to the woodshed when I’m finished.
Despite the shade and the cool morning, I soon start to sweat. I unbutton my shirt and take it off, enjoying the breeze on my bare skin.
Swish, thunk.
Swish, thunk.
Swish, thunk.
I’m listening to the wood split. Listening to the wind. And listening for the sounds of Anna approaching.
I know she’ll follow me. She can’t resist the sight of me chopping wood. She loves to watch me do anything athletic, she always has.
She’s quiet and stealthy. But I’ve learned to hear even her light footsteps over soft, loamy ground.
I hear the snap of a twig. Instantly I drop the axe and sprint toward her.
She tries to run away, fleet as a white deer in the forest, but I grab her around the waist and throw her over my shoulder as she hits and pummels my back with her fists.
“You crossed a line, baby girl.”
