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I stopped at the entrance and stared at the scene before me. This was my dining room, but I almost couldn’t recognize it. The girl. It was the girl. She changed everything.
In the candlelit room, she was seated at the far end of the long dining table, but her fair head was resting on the white tablecloth, and she was busily scribbling onto a small pad with a pencil. She was so deeply engrossed in whatever she was doing she seemed to be totally unaware of my presence.
To my surprise, I found myself curious about the notes she was making, which perversely, annoyed me. Because I wanted to know, I decided to deliberately deprive myself of the knowledge.
I strolled towards my seat, and the movement caught her attention. She immediately jumped to her feet.
My gaze moved down the diamond studded choker around her neck to the silky red dress. How strange. Any other woman would have looked—depending on the size of her tits—slutty or sexy in that dress, but she looked like a slice of heaven, pure, unsullied, and strangely fragile. As if I would stain her purity if I let my sinful hands touch her.
My gaze moved upwards.
I was mesmerized at the magical way the warm glow of the candlelight made her skin glow and illuminated her hair. Her eyes were wide and uncertain. I walked up to her and I touched her mouth. It was the thing that first caught my eye when I saw her in Soleiman’s living room.
Her skin was soft and silky… and covered in a layer of red lipstick. I picked up a white napkin laying on the table and wiped the lipstick off. All the while she simply stood there, like a doll. Like my doll. I could do anything with her. I had bought her. I had left a slight stain on the skin around her lips, which I liked. It made her look less pure, but I might have been too rough in my efforts to erase the lipstick, because her lips now looked swollen.
As if she had been sucking on my cock for hours.
Her tongue, pink and small, came out to lick the swollen flesh, and my hands itched to throw her on the table and take her right there and then, but I forced myself not to give in to the need. I wanted to prove to myself I was stronger than any cravings my body had. It was only sex. I could resist her. She was just a woman. All women were just pretty playthings. Never would I trust one again. I would fuck her after dinner and not before.
I moved towards the head of the table and sat down.
“Come and sit next to me,” I invited but even to my own ears, my voice sounded cold and indifferent in the silence of the room.
She obeyed. I liked her walk. Not like a model high stepping her way down a catwalk, but fluid and unconsciously sensuous. It was what caught my eye the first time I saw her walking towards the summerhouse.
“Thank you for all the arrangements you made for my father,” she said, as she lowered herself into the chair next to me.
I had no interest in her gratitude. I hadn’t done it to please her. It was my end of the bargain. In fact, I had no interest in her father’s health or her life outside of our arrangement.
Melania appeared in the doorway. “Good evening, Sir. Would you care for an aperitif before dinner?”
“No, bring in the food,” I replied, not taking my eyes off Skye.
Melania backed away and Skye turned back to me. I reached out and touched her hair. “Is this real?”
Eyes enormous, she nodded. The room became so silent I could almost hear her heartbeat. I let my finger run down her throat, over the choker, to the point where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. I rested my finger on that spot, and felt the blood inside her flowing swiftly, frantically.
It reminded me of watching a female lion pretending to be in heat and mating with a marauding lion for days because she was trying to tire the male lion and keep it from finding her cubs hidden not far away in the bushes. I was that marauding beast, and like him, I didn’t care why she was here. It was enough to know that the lion eventually got tired of the lioness. He walked away in the opposite direction of her cubs. She got what she wanted and he got what he wanted. It was a HEA, African plains style.
At that moment Melania returned with three of her staff carrying baskets of bread, a bottle of wine and plates of food. It felt strange to see the others, but then again I never ate here or knew how many staff it took to run this place.
