CW: brief discussion of beneficial findom, boundary pushing
J had taken over my life in quite an insidious but still delightful way. He had his own place in name only. Mostly staying with me. Taking control of things in small, but meaningful ways. And such that made me adore him. Making all my meals, writing up a little schedule for me and taping it to my refrigerator. Packing my lunches. Expecting me home at a certain time so that I couldn’t be tempted or pressured into staying at work late.
It meant that now I was eating healthily. Three meals a day, well balanced. Not eating out, not eating junk food, not skipping meals when I was tired. Part of my schedule included reading time, working out and hiking the nearby park. I was sleeping better, my clothes fit better. I felt healthier, stronger, more energized.
The most extreme change was that he had enforced an orgasm-a-day rule. I had to have at least one a day by him. Of course it was usually more. I was allowed to not come if I got down on my knees and begged. But I didn’t do that all that often.
Perhaps more importantly, and perhaps more dangerously, he’d taken over the bulk of my finances. It was my great big stressor and, honestly, I was neither responsible nor wise. Hence why I’d even had to take the second job in the first place. Often spendthrift and impulsive. I signed over my pay to him. He paid my bills. He handed me a cash allowance every Monday. And when I ran out, I ran out.
I was going down on him once when he thrust my phone in my face. It took me a long moment to discern exactly what he was showing me– I was distracted after all. My own banking app, and my accounts. But all oddly robust.
“This is what happens when you give in to me,” he said, a little breathless, his hand on the back of my head. “Now show me how thankful you are.”
Driving home from work I was unsure whether or not he’d be at home. Often he was. He tried to eat dinner with me before heading to work. He was often pulled in different directions.
He’d laid down the law pretty quickly after the employee screening and made me put in my notice there. Which I was fine with– the whole point of working there had been to spend time with him. And now he was very available. I didn’t have to work at the theater to be with him.
It seemed likely to me that we’d have dinner and my one-a-day would come later in the evening. Often when he came home from either the theater or the store he’d be frustrated and restlessly horny.
The other rule that had been imposed, and was more comfortably accommodated was the fact that when he came home like this, the understanding was I’d take whatever he dished out. Most often I’d be asleep. He bemoaned how heavily I slept. Astounded that I’d sleep through his unlocking the door, dropping his things, getting naked and joining me in my room. He’d join me in bed and take me in whatever position I’d fallen asleep in. Half-conscious I’d feel him sliding into me. Lifting my hips or angling myself to make it easier for him. Grunting and groaning and trying to handle the invasion.
When I was at the deepest point of my sleep I’d usually be on my stomach. And I loved when he took me like this. A sudden weight on my back. His palm on the back of my head, rolling me into my pillow, suffocating me in it. Thrusting into me in one move. I’d feel flattened, crushed and vandalized. When he finished he always kissed me. Turning my head to the side, kissing the corner of my mouth, panting. This was the time I most often begged. Because he’d turn me and get a hand between my legs. This is when I’d ask him to please not continue. I was tired. He was tired. I’d been asleep. I was dripping and deflated. Ready to pass back out.
It rarely worked, but it was worth trying.
Dropping keys, the little box of lunch he’d packed me and my bag I called for him.
“Come eat your dinner,” he yelled from the kitchen. “Or you’ll make me late.”
I went to join him. He was still cleaning up the kitchen. He pointed over his shoulder at my plate on the counter. I went and sat promptly.
“Cardio today, right?” he snapped at me.
“Right,” I agreed. “You’re coming home to me tonight, right?”
“Of course I am,” he said.
I smiled, started eating. I loved watching him at the sink. Turning to make my little post-work-out plate. Fruit for dessert and protein. His usual tee shirt and jeans and boots. Unbearably handsome in the light coming through the kitchen window.
“I have something to discuss with you,” he said, wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.
“Yes?” I asked, taking my next bite.
“I was thinking about our session backstage,” he said.
“Mmm,” I hummed, blushing and continuing to eat.
Of course I thought of it. But we rarely talked about it now. In my mind, I’d gotten what I’d wanted– him. And he turned out better than expected. While that had been fun, I was more satisfied with what we were doing now. I also assumed he’d made his point.
“You had a good time,” he prodded.
“Yes, of course I did,” I said, still blushing. Taking a hearty slug of the water he’d left on the table for me.
“But you didn’t really come,” he said.
“I come best with you. I come only with you,” I said, shrugging.
“While flattering, I think it’s more of a question of method,” he said.
“Yeah, your method is fucking great,” I said. Getting frustrated because it felt like he was leading me on but I couldn’t discern the direction.
“I’d like to try something new. And something different than the last session… If you’re amenable,” he said.
“Um,” I said. Feeling my chest swim with hurt. Was he already bored? He’d turned my life upside down (for the better) and he was already bored with me?
“What’s that face?” he asked, hanging up the towel. Refilling my water glass.
“Are you sick of me?” I asked.
He laughed. That hoarse, hacking smoker’s laugh he had.
“Come the fuck over here,” he said, still laughing. Curling a finger toward his chest, leaning back on the counter.
I stood up from my table and went to him. Gripping my chin he tilted my face up. Kissing me deeply the way he did.
“I can’t imagine getting sick of you, little darling,” he said. “There’s no one who could feel better in my hand or wrapped around my cock or sleeping beside me. Work on that insecurity, for fuck’s sake.”
“Okay,” I said, laughing. “What were you thinking of?”
“Oh la, love, it’s a surprise. I just wanted to check in and see if you were agreeable to a new experience,” he said. Chucking my chin like a kitten, kissing me again.
“With you, always,” I said.
He grinned, putting on his shoes and waving as he locked the door behind him.
I was right, when he came in that night he flipped me rapidly to the side. Going down on me in that deft and practiced manner that made me come too fast. Forced out of me. Penetrating me quickly after that. And I pleaded afterward to not be made to do it a second time.
A few days later he told me to be home early because he was taking me to one of his clubs. I wriggled my nose. Not really my kind of scene. Not that I didn’t like doing his movies with him. I had a fun time even discussing them with him. But his dense and nerdy film clubs were a bit much for me. The horror guys seemed nice and unserious. But some of the other ones were quite snobby and artsy.
“Yes,” I said instead.
“You don’t have to change,” he said, when I came in from work.
I raised an eyebrow at him. I didn’t mind of course, just odd.
Any time we went anywhere together he always drove. I liked it. He never even bothered telling me where we were going most times. We’d just suddenly arrive at the grocery store or the restaurant I liked, or the book store he liked, or a hiking trail.
We were going really far afield tonight. Driving for about fifty minutes before pulling in at a little out-of-the-way cabin.
“Projector night,” he said, by way of explanation.
When we parked I stayed in place. He preferred to open the door for me, and pull me out of the car. So I sat and waited for him.
But when I reached out my hand, resting my fingers in his palm something clanked around my wrist. I looked up in askance at him, then down at the silver cuff on my wrist.
“Same safeword,” he cautioned at me.
I nodded dumbly at him. Then held out my other wrist. Cuffing my hands closely together.
“Swing your feet out,” he directed.
I did, legs trembling, just the spike of my heels touching gravel. He cuffed my ankles as well, but at least those weren’t changed together. More surprisingly he pulled a hank of red rope from his back pocket. Tying my shoes onto my feet, a loop around the heel to my new ankle cuffs, more around the top of my foot.
I gasped and almost backed away as he reached back through the open car door, knocking open my glove compartment.
“Relax,” he said, sounding stuck between amusement and irritation. “Would I ever let a single thing go wrong in your life?”
“You never would,” I agreed.
“Right,” he said, suddenly stuffing my face into something like a linen sack he’d pulled from the glove compartment.
I stopped, blinking and catching my breath inside it. I couldn’t quite see through, just shadow. But it was red, matching the rope, almost. He took both my hands in his and pulled me from the car. With one arm around my waist, and another holding my left hand he started leading me down the drive. I stumbled, ankle turning a little because of the gravel. He huffed a noise of frustration. Hauling me suddenly up in his arms, newly-wed style again. I hooked my cuffed hands around his neck.
“You’re right,” he said, chuckling. “I didn’t quite figure out this blind-but-wearing-stilletos problem. Although really, this is a problem of a rural home. Although I’d like us to have some out-of-the-way place someday, wouldn’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” I agreed. Somewhat stupidly.
Thinking about him thinking about us in that fashion. Some big cozy future. Something that we shared together.
“I just don’t want anyone else to see your face,” he said, quietly, still cradling me up against his torso. “Your face is mine.”
“It is,” I agreed.
“Hey,” he suddenly called out.
I heard a few scattered greetings in return. I shivered a little in his arms. No one seemed surprised or upset that he was hauling in some hooded and restrained woman.
I knew now, of course, that for the screening he’d discussed it with a few trustees beforehand. Who’d also invited a few interested friends. Which meant that of course everyone here knew that he was planning on some new experience with me. Only I was going in blind. He set me suddenly on my feet. I stumbled a little but regained my balance. Feeling grass under the soles of my shoes.
“Hey, beautiful,” some strange voice said to me.
“Hi,” I squeaked. Hearing laughter at my nervousness and silly, unthoughtful answer.
“Cute shoes,” someone else said.
“Right?” I heard J say. “I’ve always been partial to her little fuck-me shoes. And when she comes her toes always curl. I like the idea of them spasming in her shoes and she can’t get them off.”
I whipped my head around to where his voice had been coming from. Always surprised by him.
“Come along,” he said, hands suddenly fisting around me. One at the neck of the hood, pulling it tight around my face. The other at the waist of my blouse, tugging it from my skirt. Pushing me forward.
He liked clothes he had to help me get into. Dresses with zippers at the back, buttons at wrists that were difficult to do on my own. Things that required lacing. The blouse I was wearing today had about twenty tiny buttons all along the spine of it. I could probably undo about half of them and slither carefully out of it. But it was easier to have him button it in the morning and unbutton it in the evening. He started to do so now.
“Anyone want to give me a hand?” he asked.
Instantly I felt enough hands on me that I squealed, attempting to dance away but just backing into more hands.
“Settle,” he growled.
I did. Swaying in my shoes. Feeling hands on my buttons, on the zipper at the back of my skirt.
“I can probably just tear this fucking complicated-shirt apart,” another stranger said. Feeling big knuckles pressing into my stomach, working at the fabric.
“I like this shirt,” J said. He uncuffed me for as long as it took to draw the sleeves off my arms. My bra was torn from me by the same big hands. Fumbling with the triple-hook at the back. Then I was marched forward again, still being touched on all sides. Many hands reaching out to cop a feel of my now-bare breasts.
I was still clumsy, walking in the grass in heels, and blinded. Seeing the shapes of people but nothing clearly. I was lifted off my feet, squealing again and set into what felt like a lounger-style lawn chairs. One that you could kick your feet up on and lean back in. As I settled into it I realized that the fabric straps had been cut away in the seat. Leaving my ass exposed, hanging through the seat. I gasped and wriggled. Somehow feeling more naked because of the seat than before.
“Hold her,” J directed.
I felt him going to work the way he often did. When he was tying me he moved slowly, methodically. I was often ravenous for him by the time he finished. Riotously turned on when he slid a finger between my flesh and what was binding me. Asking about comfort. I always went a little crazy again when he undid me, or cut me free.
Today my hands were tied together above my head by the cuffs to the back of the chair. Elbows bent and still pretty comfortable. Breasts lifted prettily in response. Ankles tied spread to the bottom of the chair.
And then I was just left there. I heard movement. Whipping my head around I watched people moving, but couldn’t figure out what anyone was doing. Soft conversation. I was breathing too heavily and feeling too nude and panicked to pick out words. I heard the whirring of an actual projector by my head.
And for several minutes I was just… left. Some movie playing. I didn’t hear any dialogue, just tinny scoring. Maybe his silent film club or something equally boring.
After trembling in the chair for a while I finally relaxed. Taking deep breaths. Holding them. Counting out my exhales. Taking stock. Still hearing muted conversation. I couldn’t be sure of how many people were there. Every time I made a note to myself– the one with the deep voice, the one with the midwest accent, the one who misused “soundtrack”, the one with the nasal voice– I got confused again. Trying to take a count and unable to.
“J?” I asked.
“Hush,” he answered, from very close by.
And I relaxed further. Whatever it was, it was going to be like before. He would be watching. He’d be in earshot. He’d be able to hear me get scared or need to stop. He’d be listening.
I sort of dozed off. Or something like dozing off. So sunk into my body and listening to my breathing I wasn’t anywhere at all.
And then I felt lips on my breast. I startled, though it was hardly worth it. I couldn’t move far at all. They started sucking my nipple. I knew it wasn’t J, for a variety of reasons. Knew the feel of his mouth, and especially the little tongue-curling trick he’d do that drove me wild.
Still I arched into it. I loved being suckled like this. I wonder if he told them. A second mouth latched on my other nipple and I almost screamed. The sensation drove me mad. It put me right on the edge of orgasm, but unable to tumble over without contact with my clitoris.
And now I was thinking about him giving some kind of… Master class in the sex I liked. Shivering and turned-on by the idea of him telling strangers those private and secret things. I wasn’t even sure what it would be exactly. I suppose like how my toes curled. I didn’t know. Couldn’t believe he would have noticed such things.
“I had been thinking about the fact that you didn’t come backstage,” he said.
And now he sounded far above me. I was overwhelmed by the fact that he was watching two men suck my nipples. Worse because I was trying to keep my legs squeezed together. And I could feel my thighs slicking against each other.
I felt weight on the bottom of the chair, between my calves. Felt a pair of hands prying my legs apart. I fought for half a second, and then let it happen. A single finger swiped at me, just once, then lifted away. I tried to chase after it.
“Already wet,” somebody reported, sounding delighted.
I grunted and wiggled.
“Good,” J said. “And I thought to myself– all well and good that she had so many cocks she lost track… But what if she were to have so many orgasms she lost track?”
“Oh, wait!” I panted.
“So I got together a few friends who I knew particularly liked toy play,” he said, not to be interrupted. “And nipples. I know my girl likes being sucked. And once she’s been sucked enough, she even likes a rough pinch and bite.”
Suddenly from beneath me I felt something cool between my legs. Someone reached up through that cut-away seat. With something slim and velvety.
“Oh!” I cried. And then I moaned when whatever it was was switched on.
I hadn’t ever had a sex toy– not for any real reason. Partially my hand had done the job just fine, and partially out of embarrassment. Secondarily because I was worried I’d make a purchase and then not like it and have no clue of what to do to dispose of it.
Instantly I was thrown off the cliff of orgasm. Just too much. Feeling the air on my bare skin, the two mouths still working at my nipples, feeling them swell across sucking tongues. That whoever was wielding the wand had unerringly found my clit and had it trained there.
“Who’s the score keeper?” J asked loudly.
“Me,” someone said, only a few feet from me.
“Well, that was one,” J said impatiently. “Take it down.”
“Oh god, she’s hot,” someone said from a few feet on the other side. I was panting, catching my breath. Whoever had been using the toy gave me a break. But the mouths hadn’t stopped.
“Can I use her hands?” someone else asked.
J sighed heavily, then laughed.
“I suppose. But if you come now how are you going to last through the night?” he asked, directed at whoever had asked about my hands.
“I can do it,” the voice answered.
I felt someone moving behind my head. Gently holding my bound wrists, shifting my hands awkwardly. I finally understood what was being asked of me. Lacing my fingers together, making something to fuck. I squeaked when something cool hit my hands, I wasn’t expecting that, but flesh. Relaxing when my fingers sort of twacked and stuck together. Just lube being squeezed in my palms. Then the head of a cock gliding between my hands. Just then the wand was placed back against me. I cried out, trying to get away. But whoever was laying beneath me was sure-handed.
“Sir,” I called, trying to toss my head around. “At least…” I panted, trying to think of how to word it, face going even redder in embarrassment. “At least don’t lay underneath me I’m going to… I’m going to soak you in my come if you stay there.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Deep Voice growled. “J said work you long enough and you drip girl-honey. I hope I’m going to drown tonight.”
I cried out, coming again. Surprised to like the idea of dripping onto some stranger’s face.
“Two,” J yelled. Answered by a “two,” in turn from the scorekeeper.
I groaned. Then cried and shook when a second vibrator joined the first. Something rounded and far more powerful than the little velvety wand that had been forced between my lips. Someone clearly bent over at the waist, pressing the hood of my clit while I was also worked from underneath.
Whoever was fucking my hands finished explosively, cursing as he did. I cried out, rocking my head forward, feeling the heat of his spunk hit the back of my head.
I stretched my fingers, feeling sticky but fine. One of the mouths left my nipple and I turned my head in that direction, about to complain. Stroking fingers went to work on it instead. Coaxing them up. I moaned, giving in. Coming again, surprisingly. Beginning to feel numb. Hearing the “three” and “three” again. A sudden small cup placed over my nipple. Just enough to cover the areola but not the full breast. Feeling my nipple being cranked upward. I gasped, moving into it. Feeling it swell against the plastic walls. It seemed as though it was at least three inches long now. Painfully engorged. Just as suddenly snatched from me and the mouth going back to work on what was now an incredibly sensitive and tender nipple.
I came again.
I felt an erection tapping against my knuckles. I sighed, circling my hands again. Being lubed again. Allowing myself to be used.
The other nipple was cranked up. And this time when it was released someone pressed another vibrator to it. This was too much and I struggled so hard the chair suddenly went flat.
Heard some mixed laughter and cursing and then I was lifted back up into my semi reclined state.
Someone started fucking my hands again. I tried to crane my head to one side when I felt them speeding up. I didn’t want to be surprised with another load to the back of the head.
Instead, I was surprised with sudden heat and stickiness landing across my chest. I cursed, turning my head in the direction it came from. Realizing now that just because only my hands were being used didn’t mean that the other participants weren’t self-pleasuring.
Whoever was currently massaging my left nipple stopped. Wiped at me with something that felt like microfiber.
“Okay?” whoever it was said, cleaning me gently.
“Um,” I said.
The same person rested their hand between my breasts, over my heart. Leaning their face into my mouth. I felt facial hair, smelt sweat and beard oil.
“Okay?” he asked again, very quietly. The cup of his ear was almost on my bottom lip. I could almost feel him through the hood.
“I didn’t like that,” I whispered.
He lifted himself away.
“Can you animals leave her clean for those of us who want to play? Fucking pricks,” he said over his shoulder.
A couple of groans, a couple of laughs, mostly agreement.
I fell in love with whoever it was. At least for a few minutes. Feeling him crank my nipple up again. Screwing something. Wondering if I’d be permanently damaged from this. Turning my face toward him. Wishing I knew who he was or what his name was. Saying ‘thank you’ when I came again and meaning it for him.
As I was coming down and catching my breath from that he leaned forward again. Feeling his other hand resting on the edge of the chair, forcing my weight to roll into him. His mouth was nearly against the side of my face. He spoke so low I could barely hear him so nobody else would either.
“If you were mine,” he said, “I’d milk you like this every day. I’d do it so often and so well you’d come when your breast dropped into my hand.”
That rocketed a mean, hurtful little orgasm out of me. I heard J chuckle over that, calling out the number for the scorekeeper. And then I felt his hand cupping my face. I knew it was him because I knew exactly how the length of his thumb fit and cradled my jaw bone.
“Whatever you said to her really did it for her, P,” J laughed.
I heard what sounded like a hand clapping a shoulder. Now at least I knew his name.
Toys were swapped out. Cocks swapped out of my hand. Unlike being backstage though I couldn’t just float away. Because orgasms were being pulled from me. Impossible to just zone when my focus was firmly situated in my body. I started sobbing tearlessly. Breath hitching and moaning. Not particularly upset, just exhausted. Everything felt simultaneously numb and tender– especially my nipples. I was picturing them as inches long grotesqueries. And though I could feel that whoever underneath me was still toying me, all I was picturing was some poor drenched man under a lawn chair. My abdominals and obliques ached and cramped– both from fighting in my restraints and from every clench and release during orgasm. Lower back and inner thighs similarly shivered with exhaustion. I was hot and sticky. Overwhelmed because the crowd was a lot closer than they had been. I could hear the sound of flesh being stroked and the heavy breathing of those who were masturbating.
Whoever was on my right nipple stopped, and possibly moved aside. Right had been switched a multiple of times. P remained in place, for which I was glad. A secondary ally while J was directing.
“Baby,” I heard J in my right ear and turned toward him. Stupidly pursing my lips to look for a kiss. I wasn’t sure if he could see the movement through the thickness of the linen. I doubted it, but he knew. Kissing me.
“Baby,” he said. “Are we done?”
“We’re done whenever you say,” I cried. “But I am tired. I’m really tired. And I just want you.”
“Last one, boys,” J called. “Make it count.”
A few times now several toys had been pressed on me. Which had been overstimulating almost to the point of irritation. Clitoris and lips literally surrounded. It happened again. Unwinding a long and terrible orgasm. One that just wouldn’t break. I screamed out this one. Hoping that whoever’s house this was, there were no neighbors nearby to be upset about all my noise.
“Good work, good girl,” J cooed. “All done.”
I heard a few guys still finishing. While that was happening I felt P release all the toys from my chest. Cupping both breasts and lifting them a little. Resting a cool bottle on my diaphragm. Suddenly massaging something delightfully cool and soothing into what felt like the mutilated flesh of my chest.
“Thank you,” I said again.
“Of course, babygirl,” he said. “Pretty tits like yours get treated right.”
Several pairs of hands helped untie me and I instantly curled up. Elbows and knees pulled tight to my stomach, legs finally closing. I groaned, rolling back and forth a little in the lawn chair, trying to relieve all the little tensions in my body. My breathing settled into a more natural rhythm. I didn’t sound like I was weeping any more. Realizing the movie had been playing the whole time behind me. I wondered what they’d been watching and then discarded the thought. It hardly mattered.
I heard a score flourish several minutes later. Heard a similar movement from before. Folks were packing up now.
“Can you walk?” J asked.
I let my body drop back open. Hesitantly set my feet on the ground. Reminded that I was still tied in my shoes. Carefully stood. Swayed for a second. Was set more firmly on my feet by some broad hand on my elbow.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “But I still can’t see.”
I felt J’s arm around my waist again, hand in mine. Leading me back across the grass. Listening to everyone else packing up. Little conversations and laughter. Feeling odd to be walking in an outdoor space completely nude.
“We’re about to reach the driveway again,” J said. “So I’m going to pick you up, okay?”
“Okay,” I sighed.
I hooked my cuffed hands around his neck again when he did.
“Stay,” he said. “I’m going to get your clothes.”
I almost cried again, thinking about having to put back on my clothes. It seemed like a herculean task and the idea of putting on my lace and underwire bra was terrible.
I heard his crunching feet across the gravel after a few minutes. I’d guessed he’d said all his goodbyes.
He dropped my clothes into my lap and I pushed them to the floor of the car. He snorted.
“I know,” he said. “I know. Just your top, okay? And just your underwear. I have a blanket in the backseat. Just get dressed enough so truckers can’t see your bare tits from their vantage. And I’ll pull your seat all the way back and you can sleep on the ride home.”
He reached over and pulled off the hood. Fresh air on my skin felt delightful. I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten.
“Okay,” I said. I pulled on my shirt. Turning around from him to do up the buttons. Shivering when I pulled on my underwear, feeling all my come making them instantly stick wetly to me. Hoping he’d bathe me when I got in.
“Hey,” he said, tapping the crown of my head with something solid and flat. “Look.”
He brandished a clipboard in front of me. I grabbed it to steady it and look closer. A neat little five-together score in red ballpoint.
“See how many, my darling?” he asked.
My eyes kind of swam.
“Thirty-seven,” I whispered.
“What?” he asked impatiently.
“Thirty-seven,” I repeated clearer.
“I love you,” he said.
And he did crank the chair back for me. Covering me with the blanket, humming to himself.
We drove home, listening to my music. I passed in and out of sleep.
“Did you like P?” J suddenly asked.
“Mhmm,” I said sleepily. “He was nice.”
J laughed.
“Would you like to play with him again?” he asked.
That paused me. I woke up a little more. He’d never mentioned previously bringing someone back for a repeat performance.
“He’s the one who gave me the toy idea, sort of,” J said. “I was talking about how you’re more about clitoral stimulation. He likes toys. Obviously. And I mentioned how beautiful you are. And how much you like having your nipples sucked. You may have noticed, he’s a bit into breasts.”
I laughed weakly. He certainly was. I didn’t know what to think about the fact that he was talking to his friends about me. I guessed I didn’t mind.
“He was saying, since you’re already so sensitive, it’s just a matter of work to make nipple play orgasmic for you, too,” J added. It felt like he was prodding for something.
“I felt close. Maybe,” I said.
“Would you like him to train you like that?” J asked.
I glanced sideways at him. His eyes were still on the road, both hands on the wheel. At ease.
“With you there?” I asked.
“Of course. Would I leave you alone?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t,” I said.
“That could be fun,” I said.
“All right,” he smiled at me gently, briefly. “We’ll have dinner.”