Boyfriend For Hire

Flapjacks

I sit there, staring into Cal's eyes. It is just like me to blurt out something like that. Cal is surveying my face as though he is waiting for an explanation.

"I-I-um," I stutter out, searching for words. I don't know how to recover from this.

"Spit it out," Cal says, his voice dripping with anger.

"I said I'm not that into murders." I blurt out. Again because I clearly have no regard for my own well-being and safety.

"And what the fuck do you mean by that?" Cal says through gritted teeth. Normally, the way his accent makes the word fuck sound would make my dick hard. However, right now, I'm scared out of my mind. I see him grip his fork so hard I think it might bend.

"I don't know, nevermind," I mumble, looking away from him.

"No, tell me what you mean, Oliver."

I don't say anything. My cheeks are burning. I don't want to accuse Cal of being in a gang, especially if he's not in one.

"Look at me." Just as I turn to look at him because something in his tone makes it impossible to not do what he says, I see the paparazzi in the background. I was not surprised they were there. I just didn't think they would be so visible. Most of the time, the camera people at least attempt to hide.

"Making eye contact with the paparazzi is not the same as looking at me. If you don't look at me right now, I'll make you regret it." His voice sounds strained with anger.

If I'm being honest, it terrifies me. It apparently doesn't scare me enough to give me a filter because I say, "Or what you'll kill me?"

"Way to ruin a nice dinner, Oliver." Cal mutters before downing the rest of his drink, something alcoholic to cope with the stress of being a mob boss. "We're leaving."

I let out a nervous chuckle, "What?"

"We. Are. Leaving." Cal says in a did-I-stutter tone.

Cal stands, and I mirror him. He places his arm around my waist, too tightly for it to be endearing. "Cal-"

"Shut up." 

We make our way to the car in silence. The driver opens the door for the two of us just as the rain begins to pour outside.

I sit as far away from Cal as possible in the car. Cal gives me a look as if saying, sit as far away from me as you want. It doesn't change the fact that I own you.

"Home." Cal barks his order at the driver with no concern that he is indeed a human being. It will never cease to amaze me that the rich people of this world don't know how to treat individuals that work for them with a shred of respect.

I stare out the window, essentially pouting the whole ride.

You know how they say you can feel when someone is staring at you. That the human body can sense whenever it's being watched. I've learned today that that is more than true. I could feel Cal's eyes burning holes into the back of my head the entire time.

The car comes to a slow stop. Cal waits for the driver to open his door, like the gentleman he is.

Cal grabs my arm and pulls me out of the car and into the castle he calls a house. I feel like a child being reprimanded. Then, as some sort of godsend, Cal's phone rings. This stops him in his tracks.

"You're fucking lucky." Cal mutters beneath his breath. "You know what, just go to your fucking room."

"I'm not a five-"

"Go!" Cal yells, pushing me away from him. Rather roughly, I may add.

"Fine." I grumble as I stomp away from him.

I sit in my room all night. Then, all morning the next day. I wait, with a fierceness I would wait for a package with. I only venture out of the room I was condemned to when hungry starts to overtake me.

I make my way to the kitchen, and I see a woman making pancakes on the stove. There is a plate of them sitting on the kitchen island. I go to reach for one, but I feel a wrinkled hand smack me away from them. I pull my hand to my chest. I look to see a woman who looks like she could be my grandmother. In fact, if I got one of my grannie's church hats and put it on the woman in front of me, I would probably not be able to tell the difference.

"Now, what in god's name do you think you are doing, reaching for my flapjacks?" She clicks her tongue at me.

"I was just hungry, ma'am," I say, trying my best to look innocent.

"I know your mama raised you better than that, love." She wipes her flour-covered hands on her skirt.

"You're right. I'm sorry." I grumble.

"Damn right, you better be sorry. We don't eat with our hands in a house this expensive. Go sit at the table. I'll fix you a plate, and you can say Ms. Claire because ma'am makes me feel old."

A grin spreads across my face as I watch the woman grab a plate from the cupboard.

"What are you doing here anyway, sweetie?" She asks as she sets down a plate of pancakes with some syrup.

"Oh, well, I'm kinda the boyfriend." I don't want to lie to this sweet old lady.

"Mhmm. I'm sure," Ms. Claire says, raising an eyebrow at me.

Then I tell her all the secrets of the industry to which I have given years of my life. Mind you, this woman most definitely didn't ask.

"Oh, I know. Why do you think I would be making pancakes for an empty house?" I did realize that there was no one in this house but her when I woke up this morning.

Ms. Claire smiles sweetly, and we talk while I finish my breakfast. We part ways when she says it is time for her to go, something about getting back to her grandbabies. I walk her to the door and then head upstairs to nap.

In my dreams, I am being chased by a faceless demon entity. And am awoken when a bullet hits me in the chest, and I fall into an endless dark sea.

Do you know what makes this even weirder? I woke up with a raging hard-on. I knew this was not going away anytime soon, so I figured there was no harm in jerking off.

While I'm in the middle of taking care of my issue, the door swings open. Cal stands there watching me. "Oh shit." I say, making direct eye contact with him. I freeze with my hard dick in my hands.

"Don't stop on my account." He looks me up and down. "Keep going."