Just as I am about to break the silence with some small talk, I notice a sliver of thigh peeking through the slit of her dress as she crosses her leg. My eyes feel like magnets, drawn to the pristine view of flesh that is displayed before me. I can’t help but stare at the deliciously unique, inked stitching she has poking through the small section of thigh that is exposed.
“It’s symbolic,” she says, clearing her throat immediately snapping me out of my daze.
“Huh?” I ask, thrown off by her statement.
“The tattoo that you are eye fucking. It’s supposed to be symbolic,” she repeats.
Fuck,she is so bold. Not that I have any room to talk, I’m technically her boss, and the thoughts I have had for her are anything but employer-like.
“I wasn’t—” I start to lie.
“Save it,” she interrupts me.
Caught off guard by her abruptness, I clear my throat, ready to engage in whatever lesson she has for me. “Alright then, symbolism,” I begin, motioning for her to continue talking.
“Yes, symbolism. Do you need me to provide a definition for you?” she asks, sarcastically.
“No, I think I am familiar with the term,” I say, matching her sarcasm. “I was just curious how it pertains to the stitching you seem to have tattooed throughout your body.”
“How do you know it’s throughout my body?” she asks with enticing eyes.
“Lucky guess.”
“What do you do when something is broken?” she asks, taking a shrimp from the cocktail glass in front of her as she slowly brings it to her mouth. She bats her eyelashes up at me, before beginning to nibble the shrimp with her teeth. Her cheeks then hollow as she sucks the remaining meat from the tail. Her mouth makes a subtle pop sound as she opens it slightly, releasing the now empty tail.
Fucking Christ.I feel my forehead begin to perspire as I tilt my head to loosen my tie. Whoever thought eating shrimp cocktail could be such a Goddamn aphrodisiac?
She drops the tail on the plate next to the cocktail glass before redirecting her gaze at me. Sweat continues to form on my forehead as I try to swipe it away discreetly, running my hand through the center of my hair.
Smiling, knowing exactly the spell she has me under. She widens her eyes at me, waiting for a reply.
Flustered, I answer her previous question, “Fix it.”
“Exactly. Now if something soft, like a rag doll, for instance, were broken you would take a needle with thread and sew it, right?”
“But rag dolls are relatively inexpensive. Wouldn’t you just get rid of it for a new one?” I ask, trying to feed into this lesson of symbolism she has us in.
“Oh no, Mr. Moretti. Just because something is broken, doesn’t mean it loses its value. It’s just in need of repair. People, just like rag dolls, are capable of strength after destruction. In fact, the strength that comes from feeling as though you have been broken is often an underestimated power.”
“Is that what you are, broken?”
She smiles, fully aware of what she is doing to me. I try to re-adjust in my seat. The blood rushing between my legs is starting to make my cock throb with the need to see what else she can do with that mouth of hers.
“Some could argue that. I mean, life hasn’t exactly been kind to me. But I would rather push through that pain and fix myself than let it break or ruin me.”
“Something tells me it would take a lot to ruin you, Ms. Ricci,” I say with a grin, thinking of all the ways I’d love to fucking ruin her from the inside out.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She meets my grin with one of her own before she shifts her weight to her elbows, resting them on the edge of the table. Her full breasts are begging to be let out from the way the sheer mesh of her dress holds them in place.
“Listen, Carmine, be straight with me, why am I here?”
“We are having dinner together. I thought that was obvious, given the plates in front of us.” I let the sarcasm ooze off my lips. Sure, I know I’m being a dick, but seeing her gears begin to grind is just too much fun.
“No, I mean, why am I really here?” she demands, though there is still a hint of desire laced in her annoyance with me.
“I summoned, and you obeyed. So, I think the real question here, Sienna, is why did a smart woman such as yourself feel inclined to listen to a rumored madman like myself?”
“Madman?”
