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“Nice to meet you, ma'am. Mr. Baltierra has been working dutifully to get everything ready for your arrival. I hope it meets your expectations.'' I have no idea what to say to this. This vortex of information is starting to make me dizzy. But I feel like I should say something, so I simply respond.
“Thank you.” She nods her head and walks away. Without another word, Stefano walks up this huge lavish staircase and down a hallway longer than the main street in Almont and opens the door. As we walk in, he kicks the door closed which for some reason doesn’t make me feel trepidation or scared. Does that make me crazy? I mean can you get Stockholm Syndrome after an hour? Ever so gently, he lays me on the bed and the caress of his eyes makes me itchy and squirmy. Can you feel the caress of someone without them touching you?
“I knew you would look like an angel laying in our bed. I just didn’t think you would look like a vixen too.'' I don’t know who in their right mind would see me, the girl who has only thought the word ‘pussy’ since I have met this man, the girl who has never once touched herself, or kissed anyone before him. Heck, how about the girl who still believes in fairytales. How is this girl a vixen? I am sure he is mistaken, thinking I am something I am not. I begin to shake my head in protest when he growls at me. “Don’t insult my woman that way. You are tempting me just by being here, innocent, and looking up at me like I am your master. Trust me little peach, you are a vixen, and the fact that you don’t realize it, makes it even more so.” feeling the heat spread over my body, I turned to the side trying to evade his eyes. “Don’t turn away from me, baby girl. That makes me upset and you wouldn’t want that would you?”
“No.” Biting my lip, remorse grabs me.
“Good girl. Now, wait here while I run us a bath so we can get clean and I can play with my new obsession.” Oh, he is talking about me. I begin to shiver thinking about the word ‘play’. If the way he touched me in the car is an example then I definitely want to be played with. Before I know it, he is standing over me, holding his hand out. “Come, little peach. Let me undress you.”
"I'm supposed to take it easy for the next day or so," I blurt out before I can stop myself. The look of humor on his face is also mixed with determination and fire.
"I am aware of this, baby girl, but I spoke with the doctor and he assured me that they don't want you lifting heavy things or running marathons. This is simply nature, sweet girl. What a man is supposed to do with his woman. Now come." He walks me into the bathroom and stands there, his eyes assessing me, my self-consciousness taking over. My head begins to fall when he pulls it back up by my chin. “I thought I told you not to hide your face from me.” His voice commanding and absolute.
“I’m sorry... sir.” His eyes turn to molten lava right before he closes them and inhales. When he opens them, his softness has gone and has been replaced by something... feral and predatorial.
“Say it again, baby girl.”
“I’m sorry…” I repeat hesitantly, not sure if I did something wrong.
“The other word. Say it! You’re sorry what Kalera…” Oh, I think realizing what he is saying. My chest begins heaving as the magnitude of what he is asking me begins to seep in. I may not be knowledgeable about all parts of this...well...none of it really. But I do remember one Sunday, Tori came home with this book under her shirt. We made it into our room and she whipped it out extremely excited and I had no idea why. She then goes on to tell me it was called Fifty Shades of Grey. When she was explaining it to me, I was more than abashed and felt scandalous just hearing about it and that she was going to read it. When I asked her how she got it, she said it was being passed around by some of the women in the church and somehow one of the teens got it and has been passing it around to each other. I didn’t want to read it so instead I let her explain it to me, not sure anything about it sounded good. Well, not everything but, the one thing that struck me, was the word ‘sir’, something about hearing that a woman called not just any man, but her man, husband, protector whatever you want to call it, ‘sir’, did things to me, I never spoke of it to anyone. Not even my sister. I went over it in my head and decided I was crazy and dismissed it. Deep down I knew that should a man make me feel any of those things that I felt when I first heard it, I would not hesitate. I just never thought it would actually come true.
