Mechant

I’ve said this before. One in a series to follow the one about the shit hitting the fan. This is the one that started it all.

I make a face. “What’s with all the froth? Where’s the pineapple?”

“You have to let it settle.” He’s scowling at me, Jose Cuervo in one hand, Carta Blanca in the other.

I squint at the contents of my glass. “Maybe you need to throw in the other half of the pineapple.”

“Do I look like I give a damn about the pineapple?“

***

I’m silently daring him to respond and secretly hoping he won’t know how.

Dirty weekend checking out the swing community in Singapore? Come on, Loup. I’m offering.

“Yes.”

I damn near choke on my pineapple froth.

***

I feel his breath on my ear and my neck, heavy and deliberate.

“You see,” he says, his arms on either side of me, trapping me against the sink, “I think doing the dishes can be quite… enjoyable.”

I can feel the warmth of his body on my back.

I duck under his arm. “No.”

***

He keeps advancing. My backward shuffle is clumsy. With my knees tucked under his arms, my ass lifted about 3 inches off the sofa, off-balance, we both know how far I’m going to get.

“Keep backing up,” he breathes. “Then the sooner you’ll be out of space to run.”

***

Steel blue eyes of le grand méchant loup. His hair is silk, his beard sandpaper. His mouth pulls back over his teeth in that devilish smile. Rogue through and through. I resist, but he is stronger. Yet, he knows that I could stop him with just one word. Then he would behave. Or try. That is, if I really wanted him to. I hold myself back but, admittedly, am less convincing at holding him back.

***

I let my eyes fall to my glass as I reach for it.

“I love that you’re stronger than me,” I say. “I have a very naughty fantasy that involves you overpowering me. Fully consensual, of course.”

Now my gaze is level and my smile measured. “But you’d have to fight for my consent.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he growls. “And expect me to be good.”

“I want you to be bad.”