The next bite was… hmm.
“Brie and peach?” She asked once she’d swallowed.
“Yes. Do you like it? I was supposed to lightly grill the peaches but had something better to do than grill fruit.” His knuckle stroked her cheek.
“Something better to do?” She stressed the last word.
She really, really wanted him todoher.
Cessie shifted on the stool. Her butt was still a little tender from last night. She was sitting on a low stool, her legs spread, knees bent with her feet tucked under her. It was more comfortable than simply kneeling, but the seat of the stool was wood with no padding.
She’d found the most comfortable way to sit was to lean forward slightly, shifting her weight onto her thighs, with her hands braced on the edge of the stool between her legs. Leon hadn’t said anything about position, and she was grateful he wasn’t adding additional restrictions.
At least not yet.
Because if she knew her Leon, her Master, he would build on this until he took them both to the peak of their abilities and tolerance.
“Drink.” The command accompanied the press of a metal straw against her lower lip. She took several long pulls of the icy lemon water before releasing the straw.
She had a reprieve while he ate—even without being able to see, she knew what he was doing by the sounds of his shirt rustling and the faint noise of his swallows.
Cessie rocked a little, just a small movement, and one of contentment not discomfort.
“Open,” he commanded.
“I’m full, Master.” The word slipped out easily and felt right.
“Very well.”
He ate for another few moments before stroking her cheek. “I’m going to put the food away. You stay right where you are.”
She tensed up a little. She didn’t like this part. It had been very hard for her to sit on the stool, blind and unsure, while he retrieved the grazing board they’d prepared from the fridge. She’d lasted only seconds before she’d anxiously called out, “Leon?”
He’d started talking. Not about her, them, or what they were doing. Instead, he talked about the food, telling her what kind of brie—triple creme of course—he’d chosen, and how he’d given a grocery list to the Ranch and how Luna, one of their service submissives had handled grocery shopping and then stocking the cabin.
The sound of his voice had anchored her to him, a bright tether in the darkness of the hood.
Now as he rose, he started talking again, this time about a couple of the venture capital projects he was considering investing in.
But she was focused on the sound of the clean-up—the click of Tupperware being closed, the opening and closing of drawers, doors, and the fridge.
“I can help,” she blurted out when she couldn’t take it anymore. “Either take the hood off for a few minutes, or maybe I could help with it still on. I could probably wash dishes with it or?—”
All sounds from the kitchen stopped, so she stopped too.
A second later he was crouching in front of her—she wasn’t sure how she knew he was crouching, but when he spoke the sound of his voice came from lower than it would have if he was sitting or standing.
“No, Cessie. You won’t be washing dishes blindfolded.”
“I wouldn’t wash the wine glasses, but I could?—”
“I’m not saying you couldn’t. You won’t.” His voice was hard.
“I want to help?—”
“Do you want to help, or are you uncomfortable not being the one doing the most work?”
Her mouth snapped closed.
