My Stepbrother Banned My Fish Fry, So I Made Him Beg novel · Chapter 19 of 24

Chapter 19: Old Bedroom

I tied Karl's wrists to his boyhood headboard with the bar towel off his own shoulder.

The house on the bluff was empty.

My mother and Gerry had left for the scan at ten, in the good car, holding hands across the gearshift.

They had told us to watch the oven and answer the door.

The oven was off, and nobody was at the door.

"Wrobel," Karl said, from the narrow bed. "My father's trophies are watching."

"Let them."

His old room had a Brewers pennant, a bowling trophy and a shelf of dusty model trucks.

He lay on the quilt with his shirt off and his arms stretched above his head, and the knot held fine.

I pulled the loop tight and tested it.

"Too tight?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Can you move your hands?"

"Not enough," he said, and his eyes were already dark.

I stood at the foot of the bed in my gray sweater and a short wool skirt.

I had decided in the truck that I was not going to talk about Friday, or Gunther, or the photograph in my apron pocket.

I wanted something I could control.

I wanted him where I could see all of him.

"You don't move," I said. "You don't speak unless I say."

"Yes."

"You don't come until I say."

He shut his eyes.

"Basia," he said. "I don't know if I can."

"Then you'll have to try very hard."

I climbed onto the bed and knelt astride his thighs.

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