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I’m wild and misunderstood.
Like him.
He kisses me with the tenderness of a lover, his lips on mine a silent breathing of life into me. I never dreamed I could taste this, intimacy at its rawest. It’s more delicious than I ever dreamed.
Our bodies move as one. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. Heart to heart.
I part my legs, wordlessly welcoming him in. My whole world was nearly silent before him, and I think it’s the only wish I had now, that I could tell him what this means to me.
“You’re gorgeous, Cairstina,” he whispers in my ear as he slides on a condom and glides into me. His thick, hot cock pulses, and I close my eyes with a silent moan.
I may not be able to speak, but I hope he can tell how much I love this. How much I crave this. How badly I need him to make love to me.
My wrists in his grip, his body dominates mine, almost too heavy, almost too big, but never quite too much anything. If I could moan, the sounds of my pleasure would fill the room, and I wish he could hear how much pleasure he brings me. Maybe he notes my faster breathing, my fingers digging into his shoulder with every perfect, exquisite thrust. Harder and harder, faster and faster he thrusts until my head falls back, my grip tightens, and pleasure rips through me as he chases his own release.
“Perfect,” he whispers, kissing my cheek. “Bloody fucking perfect.”
We clean up in silent harmony, taking a shower like we did the day before. He wants to go to the house to check on his sisters, says he needs to talk with his parents. I bring the romance book with me, eager to finish that as well.
The day goes by the way I’d imagine any day does here. I wonder sometimes if families take this for granted, the simple harmony of a good day’s work. Islan’s working on an essay for a class she’s taking, and Paisley’s taken a sick day. Their mum’s cooking a roast in the kitchen, the staff mostly off for the day. Leith tells me she likes to cook for them all from time to time. He has to meet with his men to discuss business and a trade, and I suspect their plans for dealing with what happened yesterday.
I shiver when I think of the way he and his brothers pummeled the other men. No remorse. No regret. They beat them mercilessly, and clearly wished they’d done more.
My stomach clenches at the memory of blood, broken bone. Violence. Have I left one world of violence for another?
I join his mum in the kitchen.
“Can you peel the tatties, lass?” she asks.
I nod, eager to help and text Leith a message. Please tell her I’m eager to help.
He looks at the text and smiles. “She says just because she can’t speak doesn’t mean she’s an invalid.”
My jaw drops open, and his mum’s eyebrows rise in mild surprise.
I smack his arm, and show her my phone. She reads the text, rolls her eyes, and smacks his other arm.
“fuckin’ tag teaming me,” he mutters with a chuckle, rubbing both arms as he leaves the room.
His mum smiles at me. “Not sure what it is about you two,” she says. “But I haven’t seen him smile so much in ages. Not since…” Her voice trails off, and it looks as if she doesn’t want to continue the conversation. “Well, not since my eldest passed.”
I wish I could comfort her, or give her some sort of consolation. I just pick up another potato, and watch as the peeler slices through the tough skin, revealing smooth, creamy white. The tendril falls into the pile with the others.
We work in silence for a bit, and she begins to hum. It’s a sad tune, one I don’t recognize, with a haunting melody. I wish I knew the words.
She slices the tatties into big, thick chunks, and douses them with olive oil.
“Even though we’ve a staff that works the kitchen, I admit I like to come in from time to time. Give them the night off, prepare food for my family myself. I enjoy it.” I wonder what else she enjoys. And is it just her way of caring for her family, or is it her way of regaining some control?
I imagine we’re the staff, working for this powerful, dangerous family. Never knowing what will happen next, what travesty or danger will come. I’m Cinderella, slaving away in fear of her stepmother’s wrath.
I don’t have a way to talk to her, so I only nod quietly. Even if I could text her, she’s elbow-deep in cooking and can’t reach for her phone.
“Do you like cooking, Cairstina?”
I want to believe this woman is warm and kind, and there’s a part of me that does. But I note a hardness in her eyes that makes me hesitate. Does she hold herself aloof for a reason?
