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A light came on, partly illuminating a sleek designer kitchen, and a black cat that watched me, judged me, from the floor near the fridge. It was jet black, with long legs and a pointy face, and it was looking at me with as much disdain as Valentine often did. It was the most Valentine-looking cat I’d ever seen.
He shot me a dirty glare and put the glass down. “Are you gonna do what you came here to do? Or you just going to stand there?” I bit down on the flare of anger that bloomed in my chest, though my voice was rough and I spoke through clenched teeth. “Get on your fucking knees.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice hot in my ear. “I’m not done with you yet.” I shivered, goosebumps erupting over my whole body. “Can you take more?” he asked, his hand at my throat, tightening just enough. “Always,” I whispered. It sounded like a prayer.
He put the bag of edamame back to his eye and gestured to Enzo, who was now a black loaf purring on my lap. “What the fuck is this?” “He likes me. Cats are a very good judges of character.” “He’s a traitor, and he crossed enemy lines.” I laughed. “Enemies with benefits includes cuddles with the cat.”
Enzo met me in the kitchen. He sat there with his tail wrapped around his little front paws and gave me a judgemental up and down. Pretty sure he knew what I did to his owner twice a week, and he was not impressed.
And him sleeping in my bed . . . I’d never slept so soundly. Maybe it was just that I wasn’t alone, that for some strange reason I felt safe with him, which was ridiculous considering the things he did to me, things that I asked him to do to me. Perhaps the reason I felt safe with him, or the fact I trusted him, was a testament to how fucked up I was.
