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I chewed on my lip. “Well, had you asked me five days ago, I would have said revenge. But in light of recent events, I think he wants respect and acceptance.”
Romero looked at me with such pride that my breath caught in my throat. He brushed his knuckles against my cheek and kissed my forehead. Rising to his feet, he gave me a hand up.
“You know, when I started my career as a vocal coach, one of my most prominent customers was the daughter of the Horvelian Ambassador. Honey, I don’t know if you are familiar with that species, but their voices are painfully screechy, and their food is like vomit warmed over.”
I made a face at the disgusting visual.
“Imagine my shock when the Ambassador invited me to dinner to thank me for my ‘fabulous’ work with his daughter. I couldn’t refuse without offending him, but there was no way I could stomach that food. So what do you do when the only thing you have to work with sucks big time?”
“You pretend to be sick to avoid going?”
“No, Grace,” he said, selecting the track I would be singing to. “That would only postpone the inevitable. I couldn’t dodge forever. What do you think I did?”
I shrugged.
“I knew they would serve their traditional food. I looked for things to numb my taste buds. Colvin leaves are your best friends for that. Rub a bit of seedic oil around your nostrils,” he said, tapping the tip of his nose, “and you won’t smell the stench. So I went, ate what I could handle, and ignored the rest. My host saw me eat from his table and embrace his culture. Not that I only nibbled on two specific dishes and drowned the whole mess with wine. He felt honored.”
It dawned on me that this was about Braxian rules regarding women. They were mostly demeaning. However, some of them I could handle. Anton never asked, but how would he react if I did?
“I’m so glad I met you, Romero. Besides Marcus, you’re the first person I can call a friend.”
“You honor me,” he said with a slight bow, visibly embarrassed by my confession. “Come on then, little songbird. Let’s train. We have a show in a month.”
Over the following week, I enjoyed more of the same sweet Anton – well as sweet as a dominant, no-nonsense man could be. And that did all kinds of inappropriate things to me. Obviously, he knew I was holding back, yet he didn’t pressure me. His understanding made it harder to keep my distance. We hadn’t had any kind of sex since my punishment. He didn’t even request blowjobs. We did plenty of cuddling though and lots of kissing – no tongue.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
In a way, it made sense. I couldn’t have handled one of Anton’s vigorous tumbles after being this sick. Despite that, he spent more time with me. It made me feel cherished instead of his fuck toy. However, twelve days felt like a long time for him to continue apologizing.
Before things went to shit, he would have me suck him off at least two or three times a day, not counting the random times he would bend me over – usually in his office – on the desk, carpet, couch or against the wall. Like all Braxians, Anton could get it up at will, without needing to be aroused. Even after he climaxed, he could choose to stay hard. I was ready to have sex with him again, especially now that I could hope for a cuddle afterwards. Then again, maybe post-coital cuddling wasn’t such a good idea if my goal was to keep a wall between us.
This really sucks hairy donkey balls.
However, I had bigger concerns than whether Anton would snuggle with me. Tonight, he would take me to a dance show. It was some tribal ballet from who the hell knew where. Critics hailed it as the biggest thing since faster-than-light travel. Discovering fancy new shows appealed to me, but I was scared shitless that things would go sour again. Aside from the outings on our first week, every other time Anton and I went out turned to shit. First, the Braxian-Jeruna debacle at Sade and two weeks ago, the Marcus mess at Risqué. What would go wrong tonight? And worst, what would Anton do to me once it did?
Anton and I showered together a few minutes ago. Again, he kept his hands to himself. Minutes later, he dressed and left the room. Anton almost always wore black, with a marked preference for leather pants and skin-tight dark shirts. With that crazy body of his, he rocked it like no one’s business. Tonight, I wanted us to match.
I put on an open-back, black leather dress with a low v-neck. It didn’t show much cleavage but set off my collar nicely. Yes, I still wore the collar. Even caged naked, my collar stayed on. Anton liked my hair down but this time, he would need to suck it up. I couldn’t show off my beautiful backless dress with a curtain of hair covering it.
As a concession, I lifted my hair in a low messy bun that could be swiftly undone. I held it up with a vintage jeweled hairpin Anton gave me two days ago. It came in a set including earrings and a bracelet. The hairpin, made of pure gold, stretched five inches long. At its head, five amber stones, intricately woven with golden coils, fanned out like a peacock’s tail. The amber earrings matched my eyes and the gems on my collar. Sky-high black stilettos completed my outfit.
Leaning over the dresser to get a closer look at myself in the mirror, I applied some lipstick. Anton walked back in. He gaped at my appearance, an appreciative look on his face. Our eyes met through the mirror and his smoldered. Something passed between us. Something tender and delicate. He slightly frowned as his gaze lingered on my messy bun before lowering to my bare back. I held my breath, waiting for the verdict. He closed the distance between us. I straightened.
He stopped behind me, staring at my exposed flesh. Taking his time, he placed his hand on the naked small of my back and slid it upwards. His fingers trailed along my skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. I turned around to face him. Anton’s eyes roamed over me, full of want. He ran his thumb over my collar, like the first time he put it on me. The look in his eyes told me he was fighting the urge to toss me on the bed and have his way with me.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Anton asked.
Without giving me the opportunity to answer, he drew me into his embrace and kissed me. My lips parted, inviting. But Anton pulled away. How could he exercise this much restraint with so much passion burning within?
“Finish up and meet me by the lift.” Anton’s voice rumbled with desire.
He walked out, leaving me aching with need.
Chapter 17
Grace
It was my first time at the Viaggo. The elegant opera house often featured dance recitals. From where I stood, the reception hall looked like three connecting circular rooms. The décor was reminiscent of the old Earth Renaissance era, with intricately carved darkwood walls, gold leaf work, columns and paintings on the vaulted ceilings. Anton’s red empire chair would fit nicely here.
