Hannah’s mastered control of her eyes but not her breathing.

A sharp hitch of a breath rocks her chest. Or was that a huff? Who the fuck cares if it’s a huff. Let her play drama class.

The drive back to their apartment is scored to the sound of the radio. AC/DC screeches of a Highway to Hell.

The car pulls up into the driveway.

Shuts off.

The sound of ice rattling and car keys jingling fills the silence as they step to the front door. Hannah unlocks it and —

With her free hand pulls up her dress and wriggles her ass.

‘Fucking…’

Kevin’s hand whips out to smack her just as he thinks it. It’s instinct.

Hannah sidesteps out of his aim and saunters off inside, giggling. It echoes through the house.

‘You might as well start undressing while I lock this door.’ He calls to behind him.

When he’s done, he turns back around.

Hannah is watching him with a grin, hands behind her ass. Like a schoolgirl that knows she’s been naughty and now her eyes ask — so what?

‘I heard the wind before we left. I wore no panties because I wanted to risk showing myself off.’

‘Did you?’

The chance to throw her sass back in her face delights him.

‘Mhm. Nothing against those undies, mind. I just wanted to.’

Then, as if an afterthought - though he knows her to be meticulous in her sass - she adds one more word to that sentence. ‘Sir.’

‘Take off your clothes.’

Hannah just looks at him.

‘Now.’

Hannah just looks at him.

Kevin crosses the space between them, putting his coffee gently down on their dining table to his right. She’s tiny. Fun sized. 5 ft 3 to his 6 ft 1.

‘If I have to undress you myself I will. Take. Your Clothes. Off.’

Hannah rolls her eyes with that frustrating half-smile / half-smirk.

But she follows orders.

Fuck, He thinks, she actually manages to look bored or unsurprised at this turn of events.

Her bored look tears open strands in the multiverse. Realms where he doesn’t stand still and watch with a sadistic grin of his own.

In one he pins her to the wall with his hands around her throat.

In another he actually lifts up her arms and pulls her out of the dress himself like she’s a bratty child.

He blinks - and the strands fade like old Polaroids.

Hannah steps out of her dress - and just like dressing her never gets old, so too does seeing her naked.

It’s just like when they began dating and he can’t stop his eyes from taking her in all over again — the shape of her body, her gorgeous pale skin (This, he thinks, shyly as he immediately jumps straight to The Silence of the Lambs with the thought!) that white scar across her knee that he loves to kiss for some reason.

He’s no lyricist, no dashing poet, but every aspect of her is gorgeous for it is uniquely her.

And she is his.

‘Well? Take a picture. It lasts longer.’

And she’s being a brat.

‘Hand me your dress.’

Hannah sighs and bends over to retrieve it from the floor.

He feels a grin run rampant on his face as he watches her breasts fall forward, take on a whole new gorgeous shape as she grasps her dress between her fingertips.

She hands him the dress, ever the bored sass-brat, and he drapes it across the table gently.

It happens in a flash.

He grabs her iced coffee.

Throws it in a splash across her body. Hannah lets out an ear-piercing gasp.

That pulses down the walls of their realm together.

Her body is splattered in a colour slider the shade of coffee, peppered with flecks of cream and thick slabs of strawberry syrup that hang from the curves of her breasts.

Her arms are slack by her sides.

Her mouth hangs open.

And the only noise to be heard now is the jazzy beat of the iced coffee as it drips from her thighs down to the wooden paneled floor.

PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT.

Hannah’s face is etched into a look of surprise - the sadist in him takes delight in this. ‘Well? Clean it up.’

Kevin nods his head in the direction of the laundry: Everything she needs is in there. Hannah turns and makes for the laundry, the little bit of jewelry in her ass glistening as she moves.

She returns with paper towels in one hand and their mop with the other, careful to step around the ice cubes that are scattered on the floor.

‘Hands and knees.’

‘Yes, Master.’

Hannah drops to her knees - so slowly he thinks she’s trying to wrangle back some control now that the shock has subsided.

Silly girl.

The crack of his open palm on her ass that rings through their kitchenette is almost as satisfying as the sting that radiates across his hand.

Almost - but not quite.

TO BE CONCLUDED . . .