I was leaving Pup’s place one night when he grabbed hold of my coat and – intentionally, as to irritate me – buttoned it askew. Huffing, I undid the buttons.
“Do it again,” I said.
He shook his head, “do it yourself.” I pouted, twisting one of my legs and shooting him some puppy eyes. He sat down on the end of his bed and chuckled. “You’re cute, do it yourself.”
“My Daddy buttons my coat for me,” I said, brushing my knees against his.
His hand shot up: palm overwhelming my face, fingers burrowing into the hinges of my jaw. I stumbled back and he pushed me against the wall. “I’m not your Daddy, you little bitch,” he snarled in my ear before releasing me. “Now button up your coat.”