22. Living in 2050

“*Oops!* The history got deleted too.”
I blink innocently as I lock the iPad and place it at the corner of the countertop.
“I have told you before, and I’ll tell you again, Emara.”
Dakota keeps his half-eaten sandwich down and raises his ‘listen-here-bitch’ gaze at me.
“I am not keeping you in chains. You are not here against your will. You can walk out of this house anytime you want.”
I clench my fist in bubbling anger as he indirectly spits on my face, saying I am living in his stupid showcase house and fucking with him coz I want to.
*Day Two Updated Plan: Fuck everything and run.*
“Fine. Give me my clothes and shoes back. I’ll walk out.” I straighten my steel spine and glare at him hotly.
“What clothes?” He arches a brow at me.
“My clothes that you took away last night. Give me back and I’ll leave. Right now!” I snarl, tightening the bathrobe around me.
“I do not have a clue of what you are demanding from me.” He says calmly like a shopkeeper.
*This motherfucking chipmunk!*
“You are such a fucking hypocrite. First you hide my clothes, and provide me with no alternative, then have the audacity to tell me *you can walk out anytime you want*.” I mimic his deep voice, which made him narrow his eyes in warning.
Dakota takes a deep breath of conspiracy and his features twist into an expression I can’t read. Is it fascination or incense?
“Firstly..” He raises his index finger at me. “I gave you an alternative. It is still in your cupboard. And secondly, I said you can walk out of my house.. *if you can*. But if you can’t because of your wardrobe issue, then it’s not my problem.”
*This bastard of bastards!*
I clutch on to my nerves, which scream at me to go bite him. Instead, I lean on to the counter and point my finger at him far till I can.
“You are such a double face person. You say something and then you do something completely different from what you mean. You are like a colour changing lizard.”
Dakota pokes his tongue in the insides of his cheek as he stares at me like a common error in his code. “You mean bipolar?”
*Bipolar?*
“Yes. You are a manipulative, bipolar lizard.” I hiss each word laced with the venom of hatred, hoping to sting his huge dick size ego.
Dakota scoffs.
His green broccoli eyes roll back as he murmurs lazily. “Tell me something new.”
Unsweetened anger boils in me as he behaves nonchalant by my insults. But I want to hurt him. I want him to burn, just like my pussy is burning from last night.
“Well.. I spit in your sandwich, if that’s new to you.”
Dakota freezes.
His teeth pause before sinking in for another bite as he looks up at me dreadfully from his almost finished breakfast.
“What did you say?”
I watch his expressions fall into a deeper, darker pit as he sees a million-dollar smile on my face.
*Haha! Eat this, motherfucker!*
“Eve, turn on the blaze.” I completely ignore the man across me while I crack two eggs in the bowl and stir them fast like I am running out of time in a MasterChef competition.
“Emara!” His eyes flash darkly as he gives me a warning call.
“I am kidding.” I tell him, sweetly.
“Or maybe I am not.” I flip while beating my eggs angrily. “And now you will never know.” I pour the mixture into the pan while smirking friskily as I give him a taste of his own black and white medicine.
I hear a jaw clench.
Dakota’s face hardens like an executive who is going to fire an entire team as he stands up in a heartbeat.
My heart sinks to my clenching bladder as he walks around the counter, almost predatory coz he won’t take his eyes off me the entire time he reaches me.
My pulses thrums violently against my skin as he comes stand behind me. Quietly.
Fresh scent of him surrounds me, like the first hit of rain to the ground. So natural, yet so enigmatic, completely opposite to his flesh-eating demeanor.
*This man is like a walking paradox.*
My skin pricks in fear as I feel his fingers slowly crawling to the base of my neck and wrap around my nape warmly. Heat radiates from his touch, and I find my body purring in nostalgia.
*Raw, sexual, and intensely wild.*
Dakota twists my neck to look into his brooding eyes, which kind of reminds me of *avocados*. Green from around and brown from inside.
“Baby, did you spit in my sandwich?” He asks me calmly against his hot throbbing hold.
My chest rises and falls and I blink at him innocently. “Did I, boo?” As I play along.
Avocado eyes narrow at me. “I’ll check the footage, Emara. If you really spit in my food, then you know what is coming in your mouth.”
My eyes widen as he promises me in his deep threatening voice. His face doesn’t budge, nor does his hard stare that could even cut through a diamond.
*He is dead serious.*
My heart hammers against my ribs as he lowers his face and whispers in a seductive voice. “Your eggs are burning.”
What?
My head twists to the right, and I gasp watching fumes emerging from the bottom of my omelette. *Mother of ducks!*
I squeal like a sea-lion when I feel someone dragging me away from the site.
“Step aside.” Dakota swiftly discard my burnt breakfast and butter the pan on low heat. He cracks two eggs directly into the buttery pan and seasons them with salt, pepper, chili flakes and oregano-garlic powder.
His knuckles appear swollen red as I watch him flip the omelette and it smoothly falls back into the pan.
He butter two bread and place them on the uncooked side, puts a cheese slice, wraps it in a sandwich and slides it on to my dish. He draws some lines with ketchup then passes me the plate saying,
“Your unspitten egg-sandwich.”
My heart warms at his strange behaviour and I blink at him in surprise.
Did he make me a sandwich? With a cute smiling cat on it.
7 Nights with Mr. Black
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