Page 98 of Filthy Little Lies
“I know exactly two recipes. Lasagna and cheeseburger casserole. You don’t seem like a cheeseburger casserole kind of guy, though, so you get lasagna.”
“Is there wine?” he asks.
“Oh no. I forgot about wine.” I touch my stomach absently. “There’s a store on the corner—”
He waves it off. “I don’t need it.” He slides his hand around my waist, settling it on my hip. “It looks like you did a lot of work after your shift. You didn’t need to do all this.”
Desperately, I want to lean into him, to hug him to me, but I hold off. I’m supposed to be protecting myself. Once I tell him about the baby, who knows what might happen.
“It wasn’t hard,” I assure him. “Everything’s ready; we should eat before it gets cold.”
He settles me in my chair before taking his own seat, and when I try to serve the lasagna he brushes my hand away, taking over. I don’t mind. My hands are shaking anyway. I’d probably drop it on his lap.
This is silly. I was less nervous the night he barged into my locked room and demanded I bend over for a spanking.
A part of me wishes things were that simple again.
“You’re not touching your dinner.” He taps his fork on the edge of my plate.
“Sorry.” I pick up my fork, but my appetite is buried beneath my nerves.
More minutes tick by, and I’m pushing lasagna noodles from one side of my plate to the other. Heat runs up my neck, knowing his eyes are on me. He’s watching. The air is thick with his displeasure, but he’s holding it back.
“What’s going on with you?” I finally demand. My fork bangs against my plate as I drop it.
His left eyebrow lifts into a sharp arch. “What?”
“You. What the hell is going on with you? You show up after I’ve been gone for six weeks, and you don’t even try to force me to go home?”
I push up from my chair, suddenly too energized to sit still.
“You obviously checked out my apartment when I wasn’t here, which was very on brand for you, and then you buy the damn building—again totally you—but then you just…do nothing?” I wave my arms in the air. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He chews his bite of lasagna, letting me continue uninterrupted.
“You haven’t even threatened to punish me for running away,” I say, barely able to keep from sounding like a spoiled brat.
He places his fork beside his plate and eases up from his chair to face off with me.
“Is that what you want?” he asks calmly, hooking his hands on his hips.
“I…I don’t know what I want.” I jam my hand into my hair and lean back against the counter. There’s not enough room in this damn apartment for both of us.
He strides to me, stopping only when the tips of his boots touch my toes.
“Yes, you do.” He brushes his knuckles across my cheek, and I lean into his touch. “I never lied to you, Savannah. When I said you were mine forever, I meant it. You should have talked to me instead of jumping out of that car and running off like a little girl running away from home. But I should have known you’d need reassurance about the move, and I didn’t give that to you.”
My stomach flutters, and for the first time in weeks it’s not morning sickness.
“You don’t want to punish me, then?” When I die, of mortification over my desires, I’m going to will my brain to science for it to be studied.
“I always want to punish you, Savvy. Even when you’ve done nothing wrong, I want to spread you over my lap and spank your sweet ass until it’s glowing red. Your pussy is always so wet for me after you’ve had a spanking.” His seductive grin slips.
“You went to great lengths not to be found. Do you know how many horrible things could have happened to you while you were running all over the place?” His jaw tightens. “You had Cassie lie for you, which is the same thing as you lying to me.”
“No, it’s not,” I can’t stop myself from saying, but I clamp my mouth shut when his eyebrow shoots up again.
“It is, and you knew I would see it that way.” He drags his fingertip along my jawline, then wraps his hand around my throat, pinning me to the cabinets. “Isn’t that true?”
