He clearly didn’t realize what being in the dark had done to me the past few weeks. My ears ached with sensitivity, keen to the swish of my long dress on marble flooring, the faint whistle of wind beyond the glass of a hallway filled with windows, and the soft, staccato voices of other servants gossiping behind closed doors.
I could smell the citrus polish they used to wax the marble tiles, the particular kind of musk that came from antiques and centuries-old tapestries. There was the odor of Riddick himself, artificial and manly, a cologne with no familiar notes. Mrs. White was hyacinth and myrtle, clean linens, and unscented hand lotion. The complexities of my own fragrance, that spice heavy smell with its own heat, was both strange in my nose and familiar.
It wasn’t much in terms of freedom, but every new assault on my usable senses felt like a boon, and every step I took unburdened by the awful weight of those medieval chains was pure glory.
I could have kept walking blindfold for the rest of the night relishing the liberty of simple movement, but although it was a colossal home, we eventually reached the dining room.
I knew this not only because I could detect the mouth-watering scent of garlic, tomatoes, and rich meat, but because the instant we stepped through the door, I felt his eyes on me.
They were as electric as a cattle prod against my flesh, burning his regard into every exposed inch of my skin as he evaluated me.
And there was a lot of skin bared by the evening dress he’d chosen for me to wear.
It was the same black silk as the blindfold wrapped around my head, the material spilling down my steep curves and skinny limbs like an oil slick. The two panels covering my breasts were narrow, exposing either side of their swells, and connected in a deep V just above my navel.
My nipples pebbled in the cool air of the drafty home and the contrasting searing gaze of my Master.
“Bring her closer.” His voice carried across what sounded like an enormous room.
Riddick pushed me forward between the shoulder blades so hard that I tripped over the edge of a carpet and had to catch myself on the back of what felt like a chair.
“Careful with the merchandise, Riddick,” Alexander ordered lazily, as if he didn’t particularly care if I was hurt or not, but the idea of someone misusing his things was egregious.
“Yes, sir,” Riddick grunted.
His hand found the exposed small of my back again, but this time, he urged me forward gently until we both stopped at what I assumed was the head of an enormous dining room table.
I sucked in a sharp breath when cold fingers touched the pulse thrumming violently in the right side of my neck. Slowly, I released it with a soft hiss as those fingers skated down my throat and over the slope of my chest to rest over the swell of my breast.
“I’ve been groomed for this since I was a boy,” Alexander said softly as he pressed his palm flat over my heart. “But I never imagined how heady it would feel, owning something of such exquisite beauty.”
“Groomed for this?” I questioned, trying to pull the shroud off the mysterious man before me to reveal the true lines and form of him.
His chuckle was merely a gentle exclamation. “Such a curious mind, topolina. Haven’t we spoken about how much trouble that will get you into?”
“I don’t think we’ve really spoken at all,” I countered. “I don’t know anything of value, at least. Why you’ve repaid me for saving your life by ruining mine? Why you’ve kept me locked in the dark with my demons like a mental patient?”
“Careful,” he warned on a low growl that Riddick nor Mrs. White would hear. “I enjoy your spirit, but this game we are playing is about more than enjoyment. It is about survival for the both of us.”
I gasped softly at both his words and his fingers as they tweaked my sensitive nipple, and sensation radiated like a targeted blast through my nerve endings.
“Now, kneel,” he commanded, loud enough for his voice to echo through the hall and into the ears of anyone watching.
I shivered as it occurred to me that truly anyone might be viewing our exchange. My ears strained to pick up any ambient noise that might give away the presence of other diners.
“Kneel,” Alexander ordered again.
I fell to my knees.
There was something I didn’t understand about this dynamic between us. He’d been sinisterly mysterious when I had saved his life in the Milanese alleyway, but he hadn’t seemed cruel or sadistic. That, combined with his enigmatic words about our mutual survival, threw into question his entire motivation for degrading me.
So I kneeled.
And I prayed, though God had never been particularly good to me or mine, for answers that would absolve me of my servitude.