“Don’t talk to me like that. You make me feel like one of your students,” he jokes.
“You’re not serious.”
“Why should I be? There’s no need to panic. No one has had the chance to use this room before.”
“The sex room.”
“Yeah. My brother and I came up with the idea. We were out for drinks one night and probably had a drink too many when we talked about this. Actually, no…” he says, taking my hand and making me follow him. “We were in a club, and everything was purple inside that venue. That’s why we chose the walls, rugs, and lights to be purple. We went crazy on the design. But we wanted it for sex.”
“You and your brother.”
“Yeah.”
He pushes a massive door open, and a large room stretches out in front of us.
“I told you no one had used it.”
The furniture is massive and decadent. Carved chairs and nightstands, and a huge bed. Thick curtains line a wall.
“Are windows behind those drapes?”
“Yes, there are, and they are locked. You can’t open them. Besides, they have security bars.”
“Are you sure this is for sex? It might as well be a torture room.”
“It is a torture room. It depends on how you look at it. Make yourself comfortable.”
Frankly, I’m a bit claustrophobic, especially knowing that there’s no way out.
“Can I at least walk out of here, or do I need a code.”
He takes his jacket off and drops it on a chair.
“You can do that, although it might trigger the alarm, and you might get to meet the staff.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, smiling, yet not interested to learn whether he is right or not.
Small lights glow around the ceiling and above the headboard. Fit for a king, the bed has sets of smooth, comfortable pillows, crisp sheets, and silky covers.
Anywhere else in the house, this would look like a dream.
It still looks like a dream, although being locked in this room feels like a nightmare.
“Relax,” he says, removing my jacket and placing it on the chair as well. “What would you like to drink?”
“Something sweet with a lot of alcohol in it. I think I need it…” I say when his eyes meet mine. “You probably don’t have that here.”
“I have everything here.”
He tilts his chin toward the space behind me and walks past me before touching a button in the wall.
It opens like a door, and shelves packed with bottles lavishly lit by the lights behind them fill my view.
“I’ll make you a cocktail.”
He moves with ease, procuring two glasses, pouring himself a drink, and mixing a cocktail for me.
“The bathroom is over there,” he says, pointing to another wall.
