Chapter 13: The First Assignment
The eggs tasted like ash in Ellie’s mouth.
She forced herself to swallow, chasing each bite with gulps of now-lukewarm coffee. The kitchen hummed around her—the refrigerator’s steady drone, the tap dripping faintly into the stainless steel sink. Sunlight slanted across the table, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
Mark’s chair sat empty. His half-eaten croissant lay abandoned on the plate, flakes of golden pastry scattered like breadcrumbs.
Ellie pushed her own plate away, the china scraping against wood. The collar pressed against her throat as she tilted her head back, exhaling through her nose. The house was too quiet without the weight of his gaze on her.
The shower had shut off upstairs fifteen minutes ago. Now, faint rustling sounds filtered through the ceiling—the slide of a dresser drawer, the quiet thump of shoes being pulled on. The ordinary soundtrack of a man preparing for work. Except now, every noise felt charged.
She stood, gathering the dishes with numb fingers. The ceramic was smooth under her touch, still warm from the food. The faucet hissed when she turned it on, water rushing over her hands as she plunged a plate into the sink. The soap smelled of lemons, the suds frothing white against her skin.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Ellie didn’t turn. She knew the weight of his footsteps, the way the air shifted when he entered a room.
“You didn’t finish eating.”
Mark’s voice was neutral, but she heard the question underneath. Ellie scrubbed at a stubborn fleck of egg yolk, her shoulders tensing. “Not hungry.”
Silence. Then the slow, deliberate sound of him crossing the linoleum. His reflection appeared in the window above the sink—tall, broad-shouldered, his tie knotted precisely at his throat. The Mark who debugged server crashes and chaired budget meetings. The Mark who had buried his fingers in her hair less than an hour ago.
His hands settled on her hips, warm through the thin fabric of her—
Ellie froze.
She wasn’t wearing anything.
The realization struck like a slap. She’d been standing at the sink, washing dishes, completely naked except for the collar. As if it were normal. As if she hadn’t spent the last decade ensuring the blinds were always closed before changing out of her pajamas.
Mark’s thumbs stroked the sensitive dip of her waist. “Keep going.”
Her fingers trembled against the plate. “The neighbors—”
“Can’t see in.” His mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “And even if they could, they’d just see my wife doing the dishes. Nothing unusual about that.”
The words sent an illicit thrill down her spine. Ellie exhaled shakily and picked up the next dish, her movements jerky. The water sloshed against her wrists.
Mark stepped back, leaning against the counter beside her. His suit jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong forearms she’d always loved. She could smell his aftershave—something woodsy and expensive, undercut with the faintest hint of sweat.
He crossed his arms, watching her. “On your knees.”
The sponge slipped from her fingers, plopping into the soapy water. Ellie turned her head, meeting his gaze. “What?”
“You heard me.” He nodded to the floor. “Finish the dishes like that.”
A beat of silence. The faucet dripped.
Ellie’s pulse hammered. Slowly, she sank to her knees, the linoleum cool against her bare skin. The counter’s edge pressed into her shoulder as she reached up, her fingers groping blindly for the next plate. Water splashed onto her chest, trickling between her breasts.
Mark didn’t help. He just watched, his expression unreadable, as she struggled to maneuver the dishes from this angle. The china clinked precariously in her grip. A fork clattered to the floor.
Ellie bit her lip, her face burning. This was ridiculous. Inefficient.
And yet—
Her thighs clenched together as another trickle of water ran down her stomach. The collar felt heavier like this, the leather digging into her throat every time she stretched for another dish. She could feel Mark’s gaze like a physical touch, tracing the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips.
“Good,” he murmured.
The single word sent a jolt through her. Ellie faltered, her fingers slipping on a wet glass. It nearly toppled before she caught it, her breath coming fast.
Mark pushed off the counter. “Enough.”
He turned off the faucet with a sharp twist, the sudden silence ringing in Ellie’s ears. Water dripped from her elbows onto the floor as she looked up at him, her chest rising and falling.
Mark studied her for a long moment. Then he crouched, bringing them eye level. His thumb swiped through a droplet on her collarbone, his touch deliberate. “You’re shaking.”
She hadn’t realized.
His hand slid up to cup her jaw, tilting her face toward the light. “Color?”
The safeword protocol. Ellie exhaled. “Green.”
“Liar.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “Try again.”
Her breath hitched. “Yellow.”
Mark nodded once, his eyes dark. He stood, retrieving a dish towel from the drawer. When he turned back, he didn’t hand it to her. Instead, he began drying her himself, the rough cotton dragging over her shoulders, her arms, her chest.
The intimacy of it stole her breath.
He worked in silence, his movements precise. When he reached her hands, he turned them palm-up, inspecting the pruned skin. Ellie hadn’t even noticed how long she’d been in the water.
Mark exhaled through his nose. “Next time, you ask for gloves.”
She blinked. “Gloves?”
“If your hands are in water that long.” He folded the towel and set it aside. “I won’t have you chapped.”
The concern—so mundane, so *domestic*—lodged in her throat. Ellie stared at him, this man who could command her to her knees with one word and then fret over her cuticles.
Mark checked his watch and grimaced. “I have to go.” He stepped back, adjusting his tie. “You know where I want you when I get back.”
Ellie nodded, still kneeling amid the puddles and abandoned dishes.
He paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the hall light. “And Ellie?”
She looked up.
“Next time,” he said quietly, “use your words.”
Then he was gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.
Ellie slumped back onto her heels, her breath escaping in a rush. The kitchen was silent again, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. She touched her throat, where the collar sat snug against her pulse.
The water had gone cold.