Victor

I sit at the small table in my unbuttoned jeans as my kitten prepares my breakfast. I purposely supplied the cabin with foods I knew she wouldn’t normally eat.

“Pancakes?” she asks, looking at the box.

“Pancakes.”

“What will I eat?” Her bruised ass shows as she leans naked, searching the refrigerator.

“Pancakes.”

She spins toward me, her lips parted to speak. I know what she normally eats for breakfast. There is no ...