“Okay.”
“Cas.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Begrudgingly, I do. The soft expression on his handsome face is almost unbearable. “This doesn’t need to happen again.”
But God, do I want it to, though. I don’t want to stop, ever. And that’s perhaps the most terrifying truth of it all.
“It’s just physical, right?” I repeat his words back to him.
“Right.”
Still, we lay in silence for another moment before he leaves.
I try to fall back to sleep, but it cruelly evades me. Instead, I shift myself up and glance around his room which is illuminated by the gray of early morning light.
I am a little surprised by how little there is to examine, though. His bed is larger than mine, and the empty space where he was lying is almost cavernous. But aside from the bed, there’s nothing much in the room.
Two doors lead off into what I assume must be the same matching en-suite and walk-in closet as my room. The only real thing of note is the huge painting that looms on the wall opposite me.
Curious, I rise to take a closer look. I don’t know a lot about paintings, but after our discussion last night, it wouldn’t surprise me if Rocco had kept back something insanely rare for himself.
It seems to be made from some kind of oil-based paint, that much I can decipher, at least. Although there’s no real structure represented at all on the canvas, the abstract merging of line and color is intriguing.
In fact, the longer I stare at it, the more I think I might see figures hidden within the brush strokes. But as I blink, they seem to disappear once more.
The signature at the bottom is not one I recognize. Nor does it come up when I search for it on my phone.
With a sigh, I move on. Begrudgingly, I take myself back to my bedroom.
If Donatella noticed anything last night, she doesn’t comment on it when she knocks on my door several hours later.
“Shall I run you a bath?” she asks in that clipped English accent.
I groan a little in confirmation. Finally dozing off back in my own bed, I’ve woken up to find my body stiff all over. There’s no mystery as to why: Rocco’s methods in the bedroom leave no room for fragility.
It’s not something I ever thought I would enjoy, but when he pulled at my hair and squeezed at my neck, something feral came over me. It’s almost as if I subconsciously wanted to reclaim such sensations as purely pleasurable.
An interesting turn of events, but not one I care to think about too hard. Claudio barely lasted long enough to remember my own satisfaction, so it’s equally likely these tastes have always been a part of me.
“Do you have any plans for today?” Donatella drags me from my thoughts.
It’s become something of a routine since I’ve been staying here. Donatella will wake me with the offer of a bath, and we’ll make small talk until she’s bored enough to leave me to stew in the warm water alone. She always claims another errand needs her attention.
“I was thinking about staying in today, actually,” I reply sarcastically.
She doesn’t rise to the bait. “There is a great deal to watch on the television. Or else you could assist me in the kitchen if you wanted to do something more practical.”
“I think I’ll use the gym.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know!” I turn to her, somewhat annoyed by her pestering when I’ve had so little sleep.
She matches my glare with her own. “I am at your disposal. You can do anything you want while you’re here.”
