Page 37 of Covert Desires

She arches a brow. “Lemme guess, nobody ever taught you how to make a bed?”

My only answer is a glare.

She’s right, though. Domestic chores were for domestic helpers, not fucking mafia royalty.

I expect a mockery, but instead, her face softens as she takes one corner of the sheet. “Here, let me help you.”

The stupid bottom sheet finally snaps into place, all four corners firmly secured. But when she tries to show me how to fold those fancy corners on the top sheet, I give up and walk off with an exasperated huff.

“Come back here,” Kiah calls without raising her voice. But something in her tone changes…

I’ve become like a dog, obeying that assertive voice’s every command.

Because that voice holds the key to both my dick and my life at this stage.

But that’s not the only reason…

I suspect I would go to that voice even if she weren’t holding my keys.

Clenching my fists at my side, I waltz back in, my jaw locked in a seething rage that’s becoming difficult to control. Taking orders is not exactly my thing. The only man whose orders I ever took is rotting underground by now.

“Watch carefully. See how I tuck this one in here?” Kiah starts patiently.

It looks simple enough, but when I try those dumb things she callshotel corners,it doesn’t look anything like her example.

After my third failed attempt, a frustrated grunt shreds through the room. “This stupid fucking thing!”

I pull the sheet with all my might until a loud tear echoes through the room.

“Nico!” Kiah’s voice is loud and commanding, and I freeze, half-ripped sheet in hand.

“Useless,” I hiss.

“Put the sheet down,” she says slowly as she sits down on the bed.

With an exasperated grunt, I throw the sheet on the floor, my eyes glaring daggers into her calm gaze.

Kiah puts her right hand out, palm facing up, and looks at me expectantly. “Come here.”

We both know what that move means. She’s beentrainingme—her words, not mine.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I remain firm, defiant.Fuck that; who does she think she is telling me what to do?

This is the part where my mother would’ve lost her shit and beat me within an inch of my life in a blind fury. I have the fucking scars to prove it.

But Kiah’s punishments are not rash or impulsive. She’s composed, firm, and consistent.

“Nico,” she says in that sultry tone that makes my insides churn and my dick press uncomfortably against its cage.

“I-I don’t. St-st-stop…Fuck!” My frustration turns to rage as humiliation burns into my skin.Why am I fucking stammering?I haven’t stammered since I was a kid when my stupid cousins teased me relentlessly for my inability to string together simple sentences.

What is she doing to me?

Pull it together, Domenico.

Kiah doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just holds out her hand until my fit passes, and I reluctantly shuffle over to her, lifting my pathetic dick and putting the cage in her hand.

When she closes her hand around my cock, a mix of relief and primal need rushes through my veins. Her touch is firm yet soft at the same time.

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