After we’re done I head back in. Stephanie’s laying out breakfast in the kitchen and I wolf down a plate of bacon, eggs and hash browns, topped off with a glass of juice. She’s stacking groceries in the fridge when I finish but stops and intercepts me as I head to the sink with my plate. For some reason my head snaps up to the camera above the fridge.
It’s blinking red. I hand over my plate without protest. As I turn to leave, Stephanie’s voice stops me. “I’ll be up in an hour to help you get ready.”
My eyes widen. “In an hour? I thought I wouldn’t be needed until tonight.”
“My brief is to get you ready by noon,” Stephanie replies.
My gaze returns to the camera. It continues to blink. I feel him watching me. “I see.”
I leave the kitchen and head up the sweeping stairs with my heart rate uncomfortably higher than it was twenty minutes ago. One hour. Then I’ll be in that room with him again.
The nerves that climb up my spine should be because I’ll be stepping back into the unknown. But I recognize part of the emotion as excitement. In the hallway leading to my bedroom, another camera blinks at me. My steps slow to a stop. I want to say something, but I can’t think of anything to say that won’t betray the slow sizzle burning in my pelvis. Like the cameras back in the Midtown penthouse, these burn into me.
I swallow and lower my gaze. As I enter my room, I swear I can almost hear him purr, “One hour, Lucky.”
***
I retrace my steps to locked double doors. This time, my outfit is a black lace slip with a matching thong. No garters or other undergarments. My finger and toenails are painted red to match the red soled black heels on my feet, and between my breasts hangs a blood red ruby on a gold chain. The stone is twice the size of my thumb. I’m almost too scared to look at it or even touch it.
With my hair worn up and the absence of a robe today, I feel exposed as I walk through the dark corridor and enter the foyer of Q’s wing. I wonder if this is a clever ploy to put me at a disadvantage. I snort beneath my breath.
Was I ever at an advantage?
I pause between the sweeping stairs, same as I did yesterday.
“Right staircase. Turn left at the top.”
That voice haunted my dreams last night. It made me do things that drew emotions so strong, I woke up covered in sweat and shame. Which led to worse dreams. About Clayton. About Ridge. My Father. Ma. Death. Destruction.
My mind and body are far from rested as I climb the stairs. But thoughts of respite evaporate from my mind, when halfway up the stairs a camera swings into view.
It’s suspended on a pulley, the lens trained on me.
Without the robe I know it can pick up every inch of my exposed skin. The combination of cool air and blatant focus ripens my sensitive nipples. They peak to attention beneath the lace and with each moment, chafe with a shamefully delicious friction that makes me bite the inside of my lip.
I’ve barely made it to the top of the stairs and I’m aroused. My fingers curl around the wooden bannister to steady myself.
“Pick up the pace, firecracker.”
I’m not sure how I feel about that nickname. On the one hand, it has a hint of take-no-prisoners that appeals to me, but on the other, I can’t help but think he’s mocking me, toying with me the way a cat toys with a mouse.
I reach the top and turn left. Sunlight pours through tall cathedral-like windows on either side of me. I want to stop and look through them, get my bearings. But I know he won’t like that. I content myself with a quick peek out the right window, but all I see is water. Frustration trickles into the cocktail mix of emotions. And then I arrive in front of another set of doors, and two emotions reign supreme.#p#分页标题#e#
Trepidation.
Excitement.
I enter. Unlike the one we used last night, this room has no windows. But the decor is equally bold and masculine, stripes of navy and ochre dominating the large space. Again, the focal point is the bed, with cameras trained around the four posts bracing its king-size majesty.
There’s no seat at the end of the waist-high bed, only the blindfold and the pair of gold-colored ropes.
He’s going to tie me up again.
The thought should fill me with strong misgivings. Perhaps even a flat refusal. But even though I know he’s watching, listening, I don’t speak.
I walk to the middle of the room and rest my hands on the bed.
“Good afternoon, Lucky.”
I shiver at the formal greeting. We both know his civility is a guise. But guise or not, now I know the savagely demanding male attached to it, that voice is extremely effective in setting my pulse alight. “Hi.”
“The blindfold, please. Then place your hands back on the bed.”