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To answer his question, I was hungry, but not for food any longer. I did not understand what was happening to me. I could not clearly see him, but every time he touched me, I lost control of my thoughts. Now, I was feeling a sense of peace being in his presence. I was not frightened by him, but I was scared of what was happening to me.
Dare I speak up? Dare I be brave enough to say that? I would risk him laughing at me, or possibly angering him. Maybe he loved the cat and mouse game. I am sure it made him feel powerful, in control, and feared by all women. Here I was, a virgin, but this man, Sir, awakened something hidden down in the depths of my body; a craving I could not identify.
I wondered if he knew the effect that he was having on me. I am sure he had that same influence on all women. How could he not? I started to daydream about what he might actually look like. I squinted, trying to make out more than just the general shapes and colors exhibited on him. I desired to see details. He broke me out of my trance when he withdrew his hands from my arms.
“I'm not sure your silence answers my question.”
“What question?” I snapped.
He smirked, rubbing his palms slowly up and down my arms, “Are you hungry, Isabelle?”
“Oh that,” I stammered, once again mesmerized by his touch. “Yes, I am a little.”
“Come on then,” he commanded as he took my hand in his, “I'll take you to the kitchen.”
He guided me through a doorway, down a small hallway, and into a larger room. Pulling a stool back away from the kitchen island, he assisted me as I perched on top of it. I shivered as his fingertips grazed my thighs. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips next to my ear.
“You should maybe learn your way around soon,” he whispered.
Without waiting for a reply, he strode around to the other side of the island. I sighed, running my palms up and down my forearms, trying to rid my body of the goosebumps. I was finally able to tame them. Attempting to prop my elbows on the countertop, I bumped one of them, cracking it against the side of the island. I fumbled for a moment, before I finally settled.
“I really wish I could take this off,” I mumbled.
“Hmm,” he mused as he pulled a pot out of a cabinet.
“I feel like I'm playing pin the tail on the donkey with everything I try to do,” I whined, rubbing my elbow.
He set the pan on the gas burner, laughing. Turning around, he leaned on the island across from me with his palms gripping the edge. “You're not supposed to be cute,” he teased.
Confused, I folded my arms over my chest, “What do you mean by that?”
“You just make it hard to focus on things,” his tone sounded almost apologetic.
Reality hit me and I dropped my face into my hands, groaning, “Did you have to remind me?”
Within an instant, I turned back to the stove, taking a deep breath. I straightened the pan then strode to the refrigerator. Staring into it, I waited for an idea to come to me, but it did not. I knew how to cook, despite what some people assumed about a wealthy, Italian bachelor. Cooking was something that was expected in my home growing up. However, everything I knew how to make would take a lot of preparation. It was late and making anything I knew how to make was not an option at the moment. I spun to her, searching for ideas, any idea. I hoped for an answer.
“What would you like me to make you?”
Shrugging, she mumbled under her breath, “I don't know.”
Something was wrong. I was not sure if I had done something or if she truly did not know what she wanted to eat. It seemed as if her gaze became a blank stare. That is when I knew something was definitely not right with her. After a few moments, I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, she did instead.
“Actually, I think I just want to go to bed,” she sighed.
Confused, I nodded, realizing the gravity of our current situation had resurfaced. I could tell from the expression on her masked face that the arrangement was all beginning to settle into her mind. I had seen that look before. I nodded, quickly remembering that she could not clearly see me. Sauntering to her, I ran my fingertips on the surface of the island before I reached her. Resting my hand on top of hers, I attempted to comfort her, but she did not smile. She remained still, staring into an abyss.
“I will take you back to your room.”
She was silent as I took her hand in mine, guiding her back to her own bedroom. She was tense. I heard a sniffle from her a few times and hoped she was not crying. The thought of her sobbing bothered me. I knew the situation was not ideal to her. I was torn. The idea of being with her made me crazy, but things were complicated.
Having a masked woman in my home was no strange occurrence for me. Nevertheless, they never lived with me. They were brought to me when I wanted them. They arrived at my mansion blindfolded; completely. There was no lace or light to shine through the fabric. The women were used for my enjoyment then thrown out when I got bored with them. They never knew who I was, but I also never bothered to know them. The women were clean and beautiful which was all I cared about.
They were ordered not to speak to me unless spoken to, with one exception. They were only allowed to communicate with me during sex. My bedroom? No. I had a room that I took them to. The only woman who would ever be worthy of my bedroom, is the one I want more with than just a physical relationship. At this point in my life, I was not sure I would ever want that, considering the mental battle taking place in my mind right now.
When we entered Isabelle's room, she pulled away from my touch, slowly trudging into her bathroom. I did not know what to say as I stood just inside the doorway of her room. It was clear she did not want to have any communication with me at the moment.
“Goodnight, Isabelle.”
