Bound By The Desk
A.H. Hassan bound by nightbound by vengeancebound by lovebound by lies, trapped by desire
she says, teasing.
Dorian finishes mowing, flopping onto the grass, dramatic. “I'm dead,” he says, wiping his face. “Mom, can I stop now?”
“You forgot my dry cleaning,” Mom says, her voice dry, painting her nails. “Keep mowing tomorrow.”
Cassian snickers, sitting beside me. “What did I tell you, Dorian?” he says. “Do not mess with Mom.”
A maid steps out, carrying a tray of sliced fruit; watermelon, mango, strawberries.
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