Dean smiled as he approached the kitchen. As always she was already up, having her back against the door as she was emptying the dishwasher. The delicious smell of coffee hung in the air and made him smile even more. He snuck up on her as always, surprising her by wrapping an arm across her chest and pulling her in to place a kiss on top of her head.
"Morning stitches," he said.
"Dean," she said.
No matter what greeting he came with, she always only said his name in return. He didn't mind though. The fact that she actually talked to him was enough. She didn't talk with anybody else in the house. Of course she answered when she was asked something, she had to since she worked for them, but having a normal conversation wasn't something she did. It had taken him months to make her finally lower her guards and talk to him and she only did it when no one else was around.
"Coffee!" He demanded with a smile.
She poured coffee in a cup and handed it to him before getting back to what she was doing. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched her. The scar running from her forehead and down her cheek always had him enthralled. It was the reason he'd given her the nickname stitches.
When he was brought into the house to work for Hunter, she had had an accident the night before. Hunter had thrown a party by the pool and next morning she was found unconscious on the hard tiles with the side of her head split open. No one knew what had happened since she hadn't tended the party. She was a servant, not a friend. She wasn't invited to the parties. She said she had gone out to clean up after the party which wasn't unusual for her to do in the middle of the night and she must have slipped on the wet tiles and hit her head. Dean was brought in that afternoon and was met by the sight of a young, attractive woman with stitches on her face. The stitches were long gone but the scar remained. He liked scars. They told a story and showed that people had lived.
"When are you ever gonna go out with me, stitches?" He asked.
"The day you learn my name," she answered.
He grinned at her. It was one of the good days when she answered like that. He did know her name. He just never used it. Monday. A weird name and there wasn't a meaningful story behind it. Her crack addicted mother had asked what day it was after giving birth and when a nurse had answered it was Monday, her mother had told them to call her that. She had told him the story herself on one of those many secret conversations they had had. He didn't understand why she wanted to keep their conversations a secret, Hunter didn't forbid them talking, but he did it since it seemed to matter to her.
"You're killing me here, stitches. You're sending me to bed with blue balls every night," he said.
"What a shame, big man. No real woman out there wants you?" She teased.
"Everyone wants me but it's no fun when they just roll over like dogs. I like that you make me work for it," he said.
He really did like her and he did have fantasies about her from time to time. He wasn't gonna make a move on her but flirting was alright. He did sleep with other women, a lot actually, and she knew it.
"Don't break a sweat. It'll never happen," she said.
He emptied his coffee and stood up.
"You're breaking my heart here," he said.
"Too bad," she said.
"You're an evil woman," he said.
He walked over to her and ran a finger down her scar. Her smile faded like it always did. He might like the scar but she hated it. She never said it out loud and she never spoke about the accident since she couldn't remember it but the scar was a constant reminder that it did happen and she just couldn't see any beauty when she looked in the mirror. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the scar.
"You're beautiful, stitches," he whispered and smiled.
She watched him walk out of the kitchen again. Once he was gone, she reached up and touched her cheek. Since day one he had had a fascination with her broken face. She never understood why. People stared when they thought she didn't notice but he always looked at her openly and smiled. Maybe that was why she had finally given up after a long time and started talking to him rather than just answering the questions she was supposed to answer. He seemed to care somehow and in this house of horror, a little bit of kindness went a long way.
Dean locked the bathroom door, stripped out of his clothes and entered the shower. The hot water ran down his body, soaking him completely while he tried to clear his mind but it didn't work. He sighed and looked down his body where his dick was standing tall and proud.
"Really?" He asked annoyed.
It just kept standing and he sighed again before wrapping his hand around it to take care of himself. A quick release with stitches on his mind. It wouldn't be the first time and probably not the last time either. She was beautiful, he meant it when he said it, but it could never happen. As much as he wanted to fuck her just once, he knew that one time would never be enough and Hunter sure wouldn't approve of it. In the end it all came down to Hunter. He owned her. She was in that house to work for him, not to serve any of Dean's kinky needs.