Marcus comes home in a horrible mood. How do I know? Because he slams the front door hard enough to rattle the windows by way of announcing he’s returned.
I leave the bedroom to go meet him in the kitchen to see what’s wrong.
One glance at me and he actually growls in annoyance before stomping to the refrigerator.
Well, at least it doesn’t look like I’ll need to make any excuses to get out of sucking him off like he commanded before he left.
Does he know I left to go shopping for a few hours? Is that what has him ready to blow a gasket? If so, then shit is getting deeper than I expected.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. Following him to the fridge, I watch as he grabs a can of beer, pops the top and guzzles it down before grabbing another one.
Only after he finishes the third beer does he finally turn to look at me long enough to say, “Why didn’t you…never fucking mind.”
Now I’m definitely curious.
“Why didn’t I what?” I ask.
Oh, crap. He knows I left. He’s angry that I didn’t tell him?
“Nothing,” he mutters, shoulders deflating.
“I left the house,” I blurt out, feeling the need to confess for some stupid reason.
“What?” His brow furrows in confusion, telling me all I need to know – he wasn’t pissed about that, because this is the first he’s hearing about it.
“I got an Uber and went shopping for a few things.”
“So?”
“So, I thought that’s why you were upset, you know, because I left without telling you.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes. Reaching into his jean pocket, he pulls out my keyring and tosses it on the kitchen counter in a loud clatter.
Okay, so he’s definitely not upset about me leaving.
I glance around his immaculate house, wondering if I was supposed to clean or wash dishes while he was gone. The place is spotless, so that’s obviously not it. I think I’ve made it clear that I don’t cook, so he couldn’t have been expecting me to have dinner on the table when he got back. Besides, he came home in the afternoon with food and ate before he left for the meeting.
“What’s going on, Marcus?” I ask, leaning my hip against the counter. The fact that I don’t know what’s wrong, why he’s upset is eating at me in a way I’ve never felt before. I think I actually care and don’t want him to be angry.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Is that all you’re going to say the rest of the night?”
Still giving me the silent treatment, he heads over to the sofa, flops down, then starts flipping through the Netflix menu.
Great, now I know that swallowing his dick is probably the one and only option for getting him to lighten up and talk to me.
The idea of turning his sulking into groans of pleasure actually sounds fun. I do enjoy being able to accomplish the impossible, like becoming the first woman to prospect for the Savage Kings.
I go over and kneel down on the floor between Marcus’s spread thighs.
“What are you doing?” he grunts.
I don’t respond with words, but actions. Reaching up to his belt, I undo it, then pull it out of all the loops. Once it’s free, I fold it over, which inspires another idea.
“Well, big guy, you’re obviously angry about something, so do you want to spank me, or do you want me to suck your dick to make you feel better?”
That question has him dropping the remote like it’s burned his hand.
Marcus takes the belt from me, then stares at it. Bracing my palms on either of his thighs, I start to stand up to climb in his lap for my spanking when Marcus says, “Stay right where you are, my dirty little slut.”
Oh, thank goodness. If he’s calling me his dirty slut, then he’s not too pissed at me.
Wait. Did he call me his? He did. Why do I love that?
Before I can analyze his words or my feelings about them any longer, Marcus reaches over to put his beer can on the table beside the sofa, then he leans forward and…wraps his belt around my neck.
It’s so tight he has to punch a new hole through the leather to latch it.
I’m excited and nervous all at the same time, unsure about what I’ve managed to get myself into.
