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I don’t move away from her hand. Heather tilts my face slightly and studies me. She doesn’t need the ruler when I’ll do the work for her.

Her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. “You were a very good boy this morning.”

Good boy finds the same place it found yesterday, and all the irritation drains out of me.

Heather’s eyes sharpen on my face.

Fuck.

She works most of the afternoon. I sit beside her again, close enough that she could touch me whenever she wanted. She doesn’t. After what happened at breakfast, I expect her to praise me again. She doesn’t.

I read. I wander into the kitchen for water. The front door is six steps away, but the deadbolts still don’t have keys in them. I come back without being told.

At one point I lean over her shoulder to see what she’s doing, close enough that my hair falls across her arm.

Heather pushes it out of the way without looking up.

By dinner, I’m annoyed with her. By the time she gets the house ready for the night, I’m annoyed with myself for being annoyed with her.

Heather gives me conversation and food, then takes my hand and walks me back to the room she locks from the outside, as if the day between those things belonged to both of us.

She opens my dresser and picks my pajamas.

I’ve had enough.

She reaches for the hem of my shirt.

I catch her wrists. “Let me do it for you.”

Heather’s eyebrows lift and she slips the ruler from her pocket.

“You won’t need that.” I take the pajamas from her and toss them on the bed behind her.

“All right.” She says it too easily.

I almost lose my nerve. Then I remember the brown eyeshadow and the half glance over her coffee and my hair pushed off her arm without her even looking up.

I start with my shirt. I undo it slow enough that she has to stay with each button. When it opens, I let her see my chest, then my stomach, then the line of hair that disappears into my skirt. I slide the shirt off my arms and hold it a second before I drop it at her feet.

Heather sits in the chair by the dresser and crosses one leg over the other.

I work my skirt open. I’m hard. There’s no point pretending I’m not. The skirt comes off in a slow push down my legs. I watch her face while I step out of it.

She looks at my mouth first. Then lower.

I hook my thumbs in my tights and underwear and peel them down just far enough that the head of my cock clears the waistband. I leave it like that. A little ugly. A little vain. I want her to see I know exactly what I’m doing.

Heather’s gaze lifts back to mine.

I push them the rest of the way down and stand naked in front of her, cock out, pulse obvious, waiting for good boy or get on the bed or anything that proves yesterday still counts.

Nothing.

I reach for the pajama shirt like I can turn this back into changing clothes.

Heather’s voice cuts across the room. “Don’t act like you were only getting ready for bed.”

I swallow. “Maybe I was.”