My sleeves come down again, cufflinks re-threaded as I stand and place the napkin over his eyes to lift them up. She can have them as a gift, a reminder of how she should behave and what’s coming for her if she doesn't. Not that she will. She’s too perfect for that.
He can go back and show the fucks who sent him what dealing with me is like. Interference? Allow? Both words mean nothing to me but a threat, and with that comes death or carnage.
No one interferes with me. No one allows.
I do what I want, when I want to.
Including her.
Two
“Do you need anything else tonight?”
“No, thank you.”
“See you tomorrow, ma’am.”
I close the door on Torino and let out a small sigh. There’s no time to relax, even after I’m alone. Benjamin expects me to be at my best—at his beck and call—at whatever time. That means the four-inch Louboutins and my figure-hugging dress stay on, and I wait.
My fingers smooth down the fine silk I'm wearing, and I twist to the mirror to check the waves still cling to my blonde tresses. I’ve earned these clothes in a way, worked hard for them. I smile at the floor length reflection, pleased with the image on show, but all the beautiful garments that hang in our perfectly ordered wardrobe are chosen with a single-minded intention.
To please Benjamin Vico.
The apartment is pristine, as it always is. My heels sink into the plush carpet as I walk from the stark lobby to the living room's warmer tones. Everything has a place, including me. The bedroom is the only room where a touch of me has been allowed. I’m present there. Benjamin said it matched my eyes when he had it remodeled, light blue. It isn't a sweet offer of love, more a show of his possession.
My light blues move towards the study door. Locked, as usual. It’s the room where only few venture. In two years of living with him, I’ve only ever peered inside from the doorway. I made one mistake early on and dared to venture in. Never again. I suppose total honesty hasn’t been completely forthcoming from either side.
I wistfully travel around my home, surveying what I’ve accomplished. The bank of glass windows at the end of the living space provides a contemplative vista over the world, Central Park spread out beyond the smaller buildings below. It's dark now,lights twinkling over the park. It’s pretty, if not shrouded with the clouds that cover my life.
The waiting is a form of torture. Minutes. Hours. Days. Not knowing when he’ll walk through the door is the hardest, but he always will, and tonight I have a feeling he’s not going to be in a calm mood. The way he looked at that man as we were leaving makes it a certainty. Everyone even remotely associated with Benjamin knows he’s possessive, dangerously so, and that there will be consequences if people don’t respect that. It’s an interesting thought considering what I used to do before he found me. And now look at me. I’ve found that when I want for nothing and have everything provided for me, the time passes much more slowly. It often gives me far too much room in my own head to think over the events that led me here.
As my eyes grow heavy, I hear the catch on the door and Benjamin’s shoes on the marble of the lobby. I stand instantly and brush the skirt of my dress down, then pinch my cheeks and smooth my hair. And I wait.
He storms into the living room, stopping abruptly when his eyes find me. A white napkin containing something dangles from his fingertips. He tosses it onto the console table. “A gift.”
I take a step towards him and what he’s got wrapped up for me.
“No. Knees. Now,” he snaps, pointing to the carpet as he seats himself in front of the spot he indicated. “I want your mouth and throat around me.”
I step around him and lower myself to the floor. My fingers itch to touch him, to comfort him in some way, but I know that’s not what this is about. I work his belt free and lower his zip to release his semi-hard cock. He shuffles his body so I have better access to him. My tongue wets my lips as I stretch my mouth over the crown and take him into my mouth. He immediately hardens, swelling as I work him up and down.
He gives me only a couple of seconds before his hands work into my hair. I know what he wants, and I’ll give it to him. The pressure increases on my head, and I swallow him deeper, touching the back of my throat. The burn and ache are familiar, but they don’t cause me to stop. I breathe in through my nose instead, trying to calm my racing heart. His hands hold my head down, and I work him further in. Saliva pools in my mouth and escapes at the corner of my lips as I fight to give him what he wants.
I plant my hands on his thighs, feeling the strength and power in them to distract myself from the panic that’s encroaching. I know he’ll never hurt me, not more than I can cope with at least, but that doesn’t stop him from being the way he is: firm, demanding, and without apology.
His small groan of pleasure is my encouragement. Knowing that I have some small amount of power over this man is heady. It increases my efforts, making me ache for his pleasure, but it’s only a power he allows in this guise. No more. And it’s always on his terms.
Water burns in my eyes as I fight with myself to give him more. I suck in the air I need and fight him further into my throat, rocking back and forth to try giving him as much pleasure as I can.
He comes on a grunt, no other expression, as hot liquid spurts down my throat and fills my mouth. I do my best to swallow, refusing to be anything but perfect for him, until his hands gentle in my hair, and I release the suction around him and pull away.
I sit back on my heels and remain still, waiting for permission to move. He stares, ice cold eyes giving me nothing but emptiness until he leans forward and touches my face to wipe the tears from my cheeks. His fingers travel lower after a few seconds, rubbing the saliva and come across my lips harshly. Eventually, a chuckle comes from his lips, heavy with disdain.
“Go clean up. I want you back here in ten,” he mutters, his hand waving me away.
I head to the bedroom, half stripping my clothes and shoes as I go. Every scrap of clothing ends up in a single pile on the chair. I change into a lace balconette bra and thong and cover myself with a black satin robe. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and wash my face, removing any trace of the streaks my tears made.
As soon as I’m finished, I walk back out to join him. He pats the space on the sofa next to him, and I curl up beside him. Neither of us speaks for several minutes. That’s our norm. Benjamin isn’t one to wax lyrical about anything. If he talks, he’s purposeful and direct.
