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Her grip on my hand tightens as her excitement mirrors my own. It was a hedonistic paradise, a bacchanal of indulgence and excess that would put any Roman emperor to shame. Tatiana's eyes widen at the sight, and a curious flush rises in her cheeks.
“Are those people…” she mutters, inching forward and resting her hands on the glass she’s looking through, craning her neck for a better view.
“Naked?” I confirm. “Yes.”
"Philippe, this place is... incredible," she breathes, looking around as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing. "I never knew anything like this existed."
"Few do," I admit, feeling a surge of pride at having been the one to introduce her to these hidden delights. "But I wanted to share it with you, Tatiana. You're different from any woman I've ever met, and I couldn't resist showing you what I’ve built beneath the surface."
Finally, we reach the private floor – my inner sanctum. A series of advanced security measures come to life as we step out of the elevator. My gun, with a personalized barcode and serial number etched on it for unique identification, is marked safe when correlated with my fingerprints to ensure that only I carry it.
The images from the body scans, with the X-ray vision, are up on the control panel. I blush as I realize it’s scanning Tatiana’s naked body, the curves of her breasts and ass as clear as day. I can see into her the cavities of her body.
The system is making sure she doesn’t carry anything dangerous on or within her person. I quickly glance at her to see if she’s uncomfortable and mentally prepare myself to look away and pretend I didn’t notice when, in fact, she looks at me and bites her lower lip, glancing back at the screen I’m trying to avoid.
It’s evident then she doesn’t mind that I can imagine her naked.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry about these precautions,” I try to let her know how I feel.
Tatiana raises an eyebrow in surprise but doesn't question the necessity for such safety measures. “You do what you’ve got to do,” she shrugs.
For a brief second, I feel upset with her. Doesn’t she want to know where she’s going? I could pretend to be anyone when in reality, I’m a dangerous criminal with ill intentions. I know I should be grateful that she can see I’m not some psychotic stalker, but I do fear that she is this trusting of the entire world!
This new sensation of feeling upset about getting the outcome I desire is confusing, and I wonder why. I shake my head, trying to throw out the emotions I can’t identify. A machine beeps somewhere, indicating for us to move forward—the perfect distraction.
"Welcome to my private haven," I announce as we pass through the final security checkpoint, feeling a thrill of eagerness at what's to come. What is to come? What will she think of me for bringing her here? I pray this isn't too forward, that she realizes I'm only just giving her a tour and expect nothing in return.
"Only a chosen few have ever been granted access to this place."
"I'm honored," she replies softly. Looking up at me, I notice her eyelashes flickering, like they do when she's shy. Yet so willing to follow the wolf into his lair.
Knowing that her curiosity shines through for adventure, I realize there's so much more I want to show her, to share with her – and if the fire that burns between us is any indication, I do not doubt that she'll be eager to explore every last inch of this world with me.
"Are you sure you want to continue with the tour, Tatiana?"
"Absolutely," she answers without hesitation.
Again, the very answer I wanted to hear scares me. I want to shake her, tell her to be cautious. I might not be dangerous, but the things I show her could be. Can’t she see that? But I’ve only just met her, I don’t want to scare her off by acting like an overprotective …
Protective, the word comes to me. That’s what I’ve started feeling about her. I frown, unable to grasp the helplessness surrounding that sentiment. She reaches over to place a handover my own while using her other to rest a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Philippe?” she mutters.
I wipe the frown off my face and turn it into a smile. Having come this far, she doesn’t deserve confusion on my part. “Come,” I insist, pulling a lever that can only be moved at my touch. The wall ahead of us rises, revealing beyond it a den that’s mine and mine alone.
I stand aside, giving her space to enter first. She takes a little step and stops at the precipice of the boundary, feeling as alone in this moment, I am sure of it, as I do with my thoughts. Then, she takes another brave step, a longer stride, her shoulders arching back, her head held high.
It’s clear she’s sending me a message. Nothing scares her.
“What is this place?” she asks, running her hand over the mahogany console table on her immediate left. “What is it for?”
I pause for a moment, considering how to best explain it to her. "This," I begin, gesturing around us, "is my sanctuary. A haven where I can escape from the world above and find solace when the weight of my responsibilities becomes too much to bear."
Her gaze drifts over the room's lavish features – the sumptuous leather armchairs that invite relaxation, the antique cigar collection housed in a glass display case, and the wine chillers stocked with rare vintages from around the world.
She approaches the alcove housing my upright Bosendorfer piano, running her fingers lightly over the keys, exploring the sophisticated craftsmanship and attention to detail. A shiver of desire runs down my spine.
Right next to the wall-to-wall bookshelf is a fireplace, and it comes to life as I use the remote.
