Deidre comes around in front of me and puts his hand through my hair, ruffling it like I am a dog. I look up at him through my lashes, and he smirks at me, admiring my pet-like obedience. I shift on the bed and lean into his touch, but he pulls his hand away spitefully. “Let’s get dinner,” he offers warmly, and I find myself nodding along to his words. Then, I watch as Deidre turns away from me and goes to his closet, picking out clothes. I go to get off the bed to get my own clothes, but as if he knew what I was thinking, Deidre calls to me from inside the closet, “Don’t bother getting dressed. We’ll just be going to bed after.”

“Wait, I could say the same for you,” I protest, sitting back down on the bed. I hear him chuckle lowly as he walks out of the closet, buttoning his shirt up. Then he walks from the room, and he disappears into the hallway without giving me a second glance.

He’s so expectant of me. It’s like he knows that I’ll obey his every order. It’s like he knows I’ll do anything to get a taste of his Heaven again. He’s damn right too. I would sit at his feet with a collar and leash if it meant he would fuck me like that again. I wasn’t one to be submissive, but I would let him treat me like a service slave.

After 5,000 years, I’ve finally found someone who’s peaked my interests in a way I’ve never experienced before. The thought of him gripping into my flesh and filling me completely while whispering arousing threats in my ear is enough to get me hard again. I don’t know what it is about him. Maybe it’s the way he pretended he didn’t give a fuck about me then jumped me and ravaged my body like it was his only life source. Maybe it was the way that directly after he treated me like some pet or object that belongs to him. Maybe it is the way he’s waiting for me to eat dinner with him after having just wrecked my intestines. Maybe it’s the way he’s planning to do the same thing all over again after dinner. Maybe it’s the way he cares enough to feed me in between rounds. I don’t know exactly, but I did know that I was currently walking through his house, bare naked, and finding my way to the kitchen.

The cold air of the open room hits me and rakes my body with chills. I look around the kitchen, and my eyes land on Deidre who is staring at me, his eyes mentally fucking every inch of me.

I guess this might seem unreasonable to most people. Most people would feel exposed or embarrassed at being naked in the open, especially in someone else’s presence, but I don’t. I am not ashamed of my body in the slightest. I would walk down the street naked if it was acceptable. What really bothers me is how fucking cold I am.

I cross my arms across my chest and pull my shoulders in. “I’m cold,” I stutter out as my teeth chatter, but Deidre just smiles like he has some kind of inside joke with himself. Then he scoots his chair back and stands up, gesturing to the chair across from his place at the table. He looks at it then back up at me. Both his table-area and the area he gestures to already have a plate of food set out, and it’s clear that he started eating without me.

I walk over hesitantly and take a seat in the spot he gestured to. I cringe at the cold seat against my bare skin. I look down at the meal of chicken with sides of red and green bell peppers, onions, and rice. Honestly, it smells divine, and I bet it tastes the same. I pick up my fork and poke at it for a second.

“So, Deidre—” I start, wanting some conversation, but he cuts me off with a noise of protest. He holds up a finger for me to wait while he finishes chewing the bite of food he just took. He swallows after a couple seconds and looks up to meet my eyes. “Don’t call me that,” he demurs me, shaking his head. Then he goes back to cutting up his food without any explanation or reason.

“What? Why not?” I ask after I realize he’s not going to elaborate. He just shakes his head again in response then answers, “Call me Brennan.”

“Why can’t I call you by your first name?” I protest, my eyebrows pulling together in irritation. He can fuck like no other, but damn, he knows how to tick me off.

He doesn’t look at me still, but he takes in a deep breath and raises eyebrows as he prepares to explain something to me. I am expecting some long reason why he doesn’t go by that name anymore because that’s what his wife called him or something, but I am heavily offended when the only thing he gives me is “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

The anger rushes me, and I stab my fork into my chicken. “Yes, you do!” I yell at him across the table. He looks up finally as if he is just now noticing my irritation, yet he still does not react. His bored expression is still plastered onto that emotionless face. The only sign I can find that he even recognizes that I’m angry is the way his eyes darken with resentment.

So, I’m finally getting to him. Apparently, I can make even the reclusive and withdrawn show their feelings of annoyance. My triumph breaks through, and a mocking smile decorates my face. He takes one glance at it, and his placid mien falls back into place.

This man has self-control that I’ve never seen before. Most people, you mock them when they’re angry, and no matter how reserved they are, they lash out. Brennan just accomplished what I thought was impossible. He can piss me off so easily then never let his own temper show just to make me feel like I can’t win. This man is a sociopath! That is the only way this could be possible.

He obviously possesses violent tendencies and wrath found only in the darkest pits of hell, but he won’t let me win! He’s so fucking... Irritating is not nearly strong enough to encompass these feelings I have when he opens his mouth. You know, sometimes it’s when he doesn’t open his mouth too. He makes it impossible to win with him, but I’m getting to him. I can see it.

“Don’t waste your food,” he condemns me calmly which only pushes me further past my limits. I put my hand under the plate and flip it, spilling the contents all across the table. I stand up suddenly, causing my chair to fall down to the floor behind me with a crash, and I slam my hands down on the table. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!” I scream at him.

A tense silence falls between us as Brennan stares at the meal spread across the table. Then he looks to me with rage burning in his eyes. “Then don’t act like one,” he growls through clenched teeth. He stands up slowly and places his hands on the table, mirroring me. I narrow my eyes, challenging him.

I was poking a bear, but I couldn’t care less. I know what I said before about my willingness to be his service slave, but I was just exaggerating. You could treat me like a pet or a doll all you want, but no one—and I mean no one—treats me like some insignificant child and lives.