by K. M. Scott
He tilted my chin up with his index finger and stared down into my eyes. God, those brown eyes could just melt my heart sometimes. I wondered if he knew that and used them to manipulate me or if they were just the windows to a soul that was as lonely as I suspected it was.
"Nina, I want to make you happy. Will you let me?"
I closed my eyes to avoid looking into his as I spoke. "You don't want me to be happy. You want someone you bought to do as you command. There's a difference."
My eyes still closed, I felt his lips brush mine in a tender kiss. Then he spoke again, and my heart broke. "I can't be anything but what I am. I can give you everything your heart desires, but I can only do it this way."
I opened my eyes and tears slid down my cheeks. He softly swiped the pad of his thumb under my eyes to dry my tears and kissed me again. "I had the cook make a meal I hope you like. Let's eat."
We sat at the end of a long dining table with him at the head and me seated to his left next to him. In front of us were five main courses, all my favorite foods. There was shrimp scampi, roast beef, turkey with stuffing, sausage and peppers, and a cheese pizza. I scanned the heaping plates of food and looked over at Tristan.
"Did you know these are my favorite things to eat?" I asked, unsure I wanted to know the answer.
"Yes," he said in that innocent tone that seeped into his voice every so often.
"How did you know these were my favorites?"
He smiled proudly. "I asked."
For the first time, I asked the follow-up question I had never given voice to before. "Asked who?"
"Jordan. I asked her to tell me what you liked when I went to see her today."
He'd gone to my house while I was shopping? "Why?"
"Why did I ask her to tell me what you like or why did I go to see her today?" he teased.
"Please give me a straight answer, Tristan."
He knew I wasn't happy, and I saw the joy slide from his expression. "I asked her what you liked because I wanted to make sure you were happy. I visited Jordan today to give her the rest of your portion of the rent for this year. Now what would you like to eat?"
There was no point in fighting him on this. Jordan would be helped by what he'd done and I had a hard time finding fault with that. His behavior didn't seem to be intended to be manipulative, and as I accepted that, I accepted him.
"Turkey," I said with a smile.
"Excellent choice," he said as he pulled the platter toward him. He carved a slice of turkey off the breast and placed it on his plate. I waited for him to pass the plate to me, but instead he began cutting the slice into smaller pieces. He stabbed one piece with his fork and held it in front of my mouth.
"Eat, Nina."
The meat was perfectly cooked, juicy and tender with just a hint of seasoning I guessed was rosemary and thyme. He scooped up another forkful of meat and placed it on my tongue. Turkey had never tasted as good. I swallowed my food, and he wiped the corner of my mouth with the pad of his thumb.
"Do you do this all the time with women?" I asked, knowing I probably didn't want to know the answer but needing to ask anyway.
He shook his head slowly. "No."
As he readied another bite for me, I asked, "Aren't you planning to eat?"
He smiled and shook his head again. "No."
I ate another bite of turkey, and all the while he watched me as if my happiness was of the utmost concern to him. When I finished, he pushed the platter of turkey away and pulled the plate of shrimp scampi toward him. Scooping up a forkful of shrimp and rice, he turned toward me and brought another of my favorites to my mouth.
The scampi was just as delicious as the turkey, but all I could think of as I ate it was that my breath would stink of garlic. Looking around the table, I saw a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine. I reached for the water, but before I could grab the pitcher, Tristan was filling my glass.
"You don't have to do that. I mean, it's nice, but I can get it."
Handing me the glass, he said, "I don't have to do anything. I want to."
I drank all the water and placed my glass on the table. "This is very nice of you. Thank you for doing this."
"I just want you to be happy, Nina. Are you happy?"
He stared into my eyes as he waited for the answer to his question, and I didn't know what to say. No one had ever worked to find out exactly what my favorite foods were and as he'd fed me, I was sure it was the most erotic experience I'd ever had in my life. His gaze never left mine, and I felt like I was the most important person in the world—the center of his universe. With each forkful of food, I felt cared for.
"I am happy, Tristan. I guess I'm just not used to anyone being so attentive."
He turned away from me to pull what looked like a silver ice bucket toward him. Taking his spoon, he sunk it into the inside of the bucket and pulled out a spoonful of green ice cream. "Mint chocolate chip is your favorite, I believe?"
He'd even asked Jordan about my favorite ice cream. As I savored the sweet taste of it on my tongue, I couldn't help but smile. "Is there anything you don't think of?"
Shaking his head, he scooped out another helping of ice cream and slid the spoon between my lips. "Not if I can help it."
"Is it just with me that you do this, Tristan?" I asked, only half-joking.
"Is it just with me that you ask so many questions, Nina?" he asked in return, once again not giving me a straight answer.
"I liked the way you spoke to me this afternoon. Not only what you said but how much you said. One of these days, I hope you'll want to say that much to me about other things."
His expression quickly clouded over. "You may not like what you hear."
I reached out and squeezed his hand. "I've always asked lots of questions. I guess you think it's a personal flaw?"
Tristan placed the spoon in my mouth so I could have another bite. "No. It's part of your charm."
His attempt at making me feel good was sweet and I appreciated it. I don't think anyone had ever thought my questions were charming, but he did. By the time I'd finished eating, it wouldn't have mattered what he'd done. I'd have forgiven him.
Reaching out, I touched his hand. "This was wonderful. Thank you, Tristan."
"Nina, I have something to show you. I hope you're happy with it."
He led me from the dining room to a hallway on the opposite side of the house from the room we'd slept in the night before. Stopping, he gently backed me against the wall and kissed me. His lips were tender but insistent, taking from me what he desired and giving me that part of him that I so wanted.
Nervous at what it could be that he wanted to show me, I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. "I can't wait to see your surprise."
My answer seemed to make him happy and he led me to a bedroom that looked just like his. He opened the door and proudly announced, "I had everything of yours brought here. If you need anything else, just tell me and I'll make sure you get it."
"You had everything from my home brought here?"
"Yes."
"Tristan, I need to know. Am I a prisoner here?" I asked feeling fear for the first time with him since we were racing through the city in his Jag that first night.
His expression hardened and he dropped my hand from his hold. Without a word, he turned and left me standing there feeling terrible for asking a question anyone with a brain in their head would have asked.
I checked the closet and dresser drawers, and all my clothes were in exactly the same spots and the same order as they'd been at my apartment. He'd transferred my life exactly from Sunset Park to his house upstate, the only difference in his mind that I was living with him instead of Jordan.
I couldn't decide if I should be terrified by his behavior or touched by his thoughtfulness.
Lying on the bed in my new room, my mind was a muddle of ideas, one more conflicting than the other. I had the job I'd always dreamed of, yet I seemed to have signed a deal with the devil. Tristan was
everything I'd ever wanted in a man. Gorgeous, his face was pure beauty and his eyes were gentle hints at the quiet soul beneath who shone through far too infrequently. He was more successful than any man I'd ever been with and seemed intent on lavishing upon me anything I could desire, no matter the cost, yet I had to leave my home. He was attentive to my every physical need, taking my body to places of pleasure any woman would beg to experience even once, yet there was a distance he forced between us. Above all, he wanted more than anything to make me happy, but it was to be on his terms.
What had I gotten myself into?
I needed to clear my head, so I stripped down, hoping a nice hot shower would help me figure out what to do. As the water steamed up the room, I stepped in and saw every item I kept in the shower at home with Jordan was there, only replaced new. My razor. My soap. My shampoo and conditioner. Each was there brand new. Had he gone shopping too?
What kind of person did this?
Standing under the hot water as it trailed over my head and body, I wondered if I was the one who was wrong. Tristan hadn't done anything to hurt me, and even his attempts to make me feel at home I considered suspect. Why? What kind of person was I to see sinister motives behind everything?
The shower had helped me see things more clearly, so I quickly dressed in one of my new outfits and set off to find him. I wasn't sure what I'd say, but maybe if we could talk a little I'd be able to show him I knew he meant no harm.
But he was nowhere to be found. Either was Rogers or the driver, so I wandered around the house, peeking my head into every room looking for him. By the time I made it to the pool, my spirits were crushed. I'd asked the wrong question and he'd left, likely returning to his penthouse in the city, and I would be left alone here in the country. I began to wonder if I really was a prisoner.
It was a beautiful warm summer night, so I took my search outside to the grounds, knowing he was likely nowhere nearby. The fireflies were putting on their nightly show, one that I hadn't seen since moving from Pennsylvania. I sat down near the front porch and watched as they illuminated the garden, my mind traveling back to simpler times and the nights when my father would watch as I ran around our yard with a glass jar trying to catch fireflies to keep as my own.
Just thinking about his death in my senior year in college still made me cry. After my mother died when I was only five, he raised my sister and me, never having much of a life other than us. I regretted how much he gave up for me, always there to take me to art classes and dance lessons instead of finding someone to share his life with. He died alone before he got the chance to see me as an adult who so wanted him to find love again.
That was the reality of life—loneliness was often a choice. Here I was with the opportunity to have everything I'd ever wished for and all I could do was look for reasons why I shouldn't accept it. Whatever it was that I was letting hold me back—fear, mistrust—I had a chance to share my life with someone. I had a chance to not be lonely.
Now all I had to do was take it.
The sound of footsteps on the porch behind me roused me from my thoughts, and I turned my head to see Rogers. He approached me stiffly, as was his style, and descended the porch stairs to stand in front of me. The man was oddly cryptic, but he seemed to have something to say, so I waited.
"Miss, do you require anything? The master instructed me to ensure you want for nothing."
Shaking my head, I gave him a weak smile. "No, thank you, Rogers." He stood there a moment longer, so I added, "Actually, I do need something. Where is Mr. Stone?"
Whatever warmth the butler had offered disappeared at my question concerning Tristan's whereabouts. If I had ever doubted it before, I knew now that Rogers was more than just a mere butler. He was the protector of his employer's secrets.
"He is gone for the evening, miss."
I nodded, disappointed that Tristan had left me there with just this spooky shell of a human. "Oh. Tell me, Rogers. How do you stand living out here?"
For the first time, Rogers seemed like someone I might be able to relate to, but I doubted he found living in the country as boring as I already did. To my surprise, he answered, "You may avail yourself of the car if you choose, miss. I can have Jenson bring it around, if you'd like."
"Thank you, Rogers, but I have nowhere to go. I had hoped to see Tristan, I mean Mr. Stone."
The butler's expression changed back to its usual stoic look and he merely nodded before he walked back into the house, leaving me wondering where Tristan had gone.
I sat outside watching the fireflies and looking up at the stars for hours. Living in the city included many great perks, but stargazing wasn't one of them, so I found a spot on the grass and watched the night sky as it moved above my head. The night was so dark, with no moon at all, and the stars had the stage all to themselves. They winked at me as I made a wish, hoping it would come true before I grew tired and had to go inside to my lonely bed.
By midnight, my wish hadn't come true, so I laid back in the cool, damp grass, closed my eyes, and painted a picture of my perfect night sky in my mind. I'd always found solace in that ever since I was a child. Whatever was bothering me, I'd close my eyes and imagine a scene I could paint. Then I'd rearrange things exactly the way they'd look if I were painting the picture.
Finally, I gave up waiting for Tristan and walked to my room, tired and disappointed. As much as I tried to push the thought out of my mind, I was sure he was out with another woman at some event much like the one I'd first seen him at less than a week before. Jordan's comment about him sleeping with a different woman every night chased all other thoughts out of my mind until I was convinced he'd never cared anything for me and all of this was some game he played because he could.
I was still tossing and turning when there was a knock on my door at three a.m., and I braced myself for Rogers' face on the other side of the door giving me the message that Tristan wasn't coming back. Anger at what I'd done to make that happen churned in my stomach, but there was nothing I could do now. I didn't even know where he was.
I opened the door and hoped I could at least keep my emotions together. Something told me Rogers wasn't good with tears and seeing me break down and cry would probably make the top of his head explode. But instead of the butler, there was Tristan standing in front of me dressed in a tux and looking even better than he did in a suit, if that was possible.
"Tristan!" I said with no attempt to hide my happiness at seeing him.
He was stunning in the black tux, white formal shirt, and black bow tie. The last time I'd seen a male close up in a tux was at my prom, but poor Bobby Jackson had been out of his league in that. Tristan wore it like other men wore jeans and t-shirts.
"Nina, I have something I want you to do. Come with me," he said as he held out his hand.
I looked down at my shorts and t-shirt I liked to sleep in and felt distinctly underdressed. "Should I change?"
"No. You look beautiful as you are."
Taking my hand, he led me to a sitting room similar to the one we'd sat in before, but this one had an enormous painting of an impressionist country scene on one of the inside walls. I began complimenting him on it and explaining the background of the style, but he continued walking to a door next to the painting, paying no attention to my impromptu art lecture. Opening it, he placed his hand on my lower back and escorted me into a narrow room with no lights.
"Tristan, what is this?" I asked as I turned to take hold of his of his hand and looked around in the darkness.
"Wait."
He spun me around to face the other wall, and I watched as lights began to illuminate the room. Unlike all the other rooms in the house, this one had very few furnishings and little decoration. It was painted white and had a single couch and table. Otherwise, the room was bare.
I reached my hand out to touch the wall and felt cool, smooth glass against my skin. "Are these windows?"
"Yes. I have something I want you to see," he said in a low voice in my
ear.
My excitement grew with each second that passed until I saw two people enter the room, one woman and one man. Both were attractive and young, and they acted as if they were a couple.
Confused, I turned toward Tristan. "What's going on?"
"I want you to paint them."
Looking around, I saw an easel, canvas, and paint pots at the far end of the narrow room. "I don't paint portraits. I simply paint what I feel."
He caught my face in his hands. "Exactly. I want you to paint what watching them do makes you feel, Nina."
"What do you mean? Can they see us, Tristan?"
For the first time, a tiny grin formed on his lips. Shaking his head, he answered, "No, but it wouldn't matter. All I care about is what you paint."
Just in case somewhere in the back of my mind I doubted what was going to happen next, the man and woman showed me I was right in my suspicions. As I watched, they began to undress, the man slowly easing the woman's dress off her body to show her wearing nothing underneath.
"Tristan, who are these people? Why are they here?"
"They're here because they like to have people watch. We're here to watch them, and you're here to paint what it makes you feel to watch them fuck."
I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed or excited by his words. It didn't matter, though, because in seconds they were both naked and the show he'd brought home for me had begun.
I stood transfixed at the sight in front of me. The woman knelt down in front of the man and took his cock in her hands, running her tongue the full length of it. The expression on her face was one of pure joy, as if licking his cock gave her a kind of happiness that was only found in the way she made him feel.
Tristan stood next to me and whispered, "Watch her. She loves sucking cock."
His comment instantly made me wonder if he'd been with her. "How do you know?"
As he watched the woman take the man's cock deeper into her mouth, he said, "They love having people watch them. I've seen it at parties."
I liked to think I'd seen a lot, but never had I seen people perform sex at parties. That usually happened behind closed doors at the parties I attended. Jordan was right. Wealthy people were different.