by Madison Faye
“Well, yes. I mean, it is a chair,” he answered.
She laughed and glanced over at him. “No, I mean it should be in a museum on display, not for use.”
“You are so inhabituel.” He grinned at her.
Angel wrinkled her brow. “What? I’m inhospitable?”
“No. You are so unusual!”
The language barrier was too funny, and she laughed. It felt strange; she hadn’t laughed in so long. Not a genuine feel good laugh anyway.
He motioned to the chair.
Taking a step, she carefully sat as though it might have pins in the seat.
Grinning at her, he shook his head. “Il suffit de s’asseoir… Just sit.”
Leaning back, she sighed. “Oh, now I may never want to get up.”
Chuckling, he walked into the kitchen. “I am going to get us dinner, then you can have a hot bath and finally relax.”
Angel felt so at home, so comfortable and tears filled her eyes. “Um… thank you?” she called to his receding back.
He halted and turned toward her. “I am more than happy to share what I have with someone who knows how to like—?” He shook his head and looked thoughtful. “Appreciates?”
Smiling, she swiped a tear from her cheek. “I am grateful. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No, I mean you appreciate all of this.”
Angel felt surprised. “Why, hell yes, I do!” She reached out to gently caress the maple wood of the dining table. “Who in their right mind wouldn’t?”
Bastien laughed outright.
Again, she was shocked.
“Many girls.” He paused. “I did lie before when I said I had no… um, how do you say, wife…”
Angel sat up in the chair, feeling her breath sucked from her lungs. Married?
Catching her look, he laughed. “I had one but fortunately, she is close to being my ex-wife.” He sighed and gazed around. “Very soon, the divorce will be final. She hated all this old stuff, as she would say. Not modern or functional.” He rolled his eyes. “But I have brought a few dates here, and most? They either hated it or did not care.”
Angel felt relief at the fact he wasn’t a married man. Technically, he was but… She would have lit out of here so fast had he been really married. No marital affairs. There would never be a man so alluring that she would ever break that rule. Her mother always cheated on her husbands, time after time. She’d been married more times that Angel could count. “Dumb.” She shook her head thinking of females like he’d described. Her sister and mother were the same way. They used to make fun of her for going to secondhand shops and picking up old things. Turning their noses up at her finds. Things she felt were treasures.
Seeming to study her, he stared at her for a long moment as she contemplated her paltry and sad family life, then he turned away to the kitchen.
Angel shook all over now that she was safe, like an aftershock or something. Or am I safe? She gazed around. Brandon was still searching for her and he may find her again. She bit at her nails. Dammit. Why had her mother moved? She could have helped her out with a place to stay at least. Angel had found three addresses then the trail went cold.
“Don’t worry so much.” Bastien stood in front of her with a glass of wine in his hand.
Angel gasped as he’d startled her, then she shrugged while feeling hopeless. “I’m sorry—I just can’t relax until…”
He handed her the glass. “…until you’re safe?”
She nodded.
“Well, he can’t get in here.” He motioned to the door. “Pas d’entrée—not without knowing how.”
Angel remembered the metal door and the beeping. “Oh.” She smiled with a little relief and drank her wine down.
“Take it easy with that. I am sure you have not eaten in a while,” he warned.
Angel set the empty glass down to her lap, because she would never set it on an antique table. And thought about when she last ate. The cherries. Brandon had made her eat cherries and spit them out while aiming at… her face flushed as she looked away.
Bastien seemed to still as he watched her. “That’s what I thought. You have not had a decent dinner.” He walked back into the kitchen.
Suddenly afraid to be alone, Angel stood up and followed him. She grew dizzy and stumbled, falling to the floor. “Oh!”
Bastien rushed over. “Are you okay?”
A little embarrassed, Angel tried to laugh it off. “I think you were right about the wine.”
He shook his head and carried her to a stool that sat in the kitchen. “You just stay here, while I finir… finish.”
Chapter Four
Sitting at the marble-topped bar, Angel watched him move around the kitchen. Her worries about everything just seemed to disappear as she watched this seemingly kind, gentle man cook dinner for her. He was well built and had nice biceps. He looked like maybe a boxer or an athlete of some kind instead of a cabby. She decided to just sit still and be quiet. She was past exhaustion now and the smells coming from the stove made her stomach growl.
He turned toward her and set their plates on the bar. The very expensive-looking bone china tableware was full of pasta, garnished with white sauce and chicken.
“Oh, wow, this looks wonderful.”
Nodding his head, he pulled up a stool and set their wineglasses down next to their plates.
After a few satisfying bites, she began to feel better. She now only sipped at the wine and after a few minutes, she’d cleared her plate.
“Can you talk about it yet?” he asked quietly.
Swallowing the last bite, she shrugged. “I can, but you don’t want to know, believe me!”
Bastien placed his hand over hers. “I do. I want to help you to get over it.”
Angel froze. Get over it? She gazed over at him. “You may want to kick me out when I’m through telling you.”
The bewildered Frenchman looked perplexed and shook his head at her.
“You might think I’m unhinged,” she added while turning his hand over and squeezing it. “Yes, you will.” She gazed into his eyes. “Just promise to at least let me make arrangements for a place?”
Bastien squeezed her hand back. “How could someone as sweet as you be so bad?”
Angel sat still, very still and gazed into his eyes. “I am bad, I mean—I wanted it.”
He blinked rapidly at her.
“See?” She shook her head and now downed the wine she’d been so careful with. She turned and stared at this nice, wholesome, good-looking guy who probably did it the normal way—foreplay and the missionary position. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it wasn’t what turned her on. She took a deep, concentrated breath and let it out. “So, do you promise to at least let me stay till the morning?”
Nodding, there seemed to be a new curious light in his eyes.
Angel smiled nervously. “Well, you won’t think I’m so sweet after this tale.”
Leaning closer, his expression looked even more interested.
“What is your definition of a good night of sex?” she asked outright.
He pulled his head back and looked a little annoyed. “This isn’t about moi.”
“Well, let me guess then.” She leaned on the counter with a sigh. “You may like the standard foreplay and getting blown, maybe with some good old-fashioned titties in your mouth?”
His eyes rounded at her.
“Well, that’s normal,” she added.
Bastien clenched her hand in a tight grip and he looked a little upset.
“I’m sorry.” She went to get off the stool. “Maybe I shouldn’t—”
Grabbing her wrist gently, he shook his head at her. “No, I am afraid you will have to finish.” His voice fell lower.
Angel stared at him and wondered why he wanted to know so badly. But since he’d been so kind and had witnessed all that he had already, she felt she might owe him an explanation. “Okay.” She sat back down. “Can I have another wine though?” S
he laughed with a nervous chortle. “I will need more liquid courage for this.”
Reaching behind him, he produced another bottle. “I am French, oui? I have wine on top of more wine!”
Angel laughed.
He poured her glass full.
Tipping it back, she drank it straight down in one long gulp.
“Are you sure I should not break out the whiskey?” he teased.
Angel giggled. “You might, and it’ll be for yourself, after I am through.”
“I am a Frenchman, living in Paris. I think I am grown up enough to hear anything. I do not think you can shock me.”
Angel tilted her head at him and gazed at one of his tattoos. It was a strange design of a chain with a fist grasping and it seemed familiar in some way.
“But as I say before, this is not about me, no?”
Angel released a breath. “I like it rough.”
The seemingly nice, normal Frenchman sat still and nodded.
“I like,” she paused, “to be forced, spanked, punished, and manhandled.” She sighed. “I love a bit of pain served with my pleasure, to be on my knees in worship of a hard pulsing cock. I might come if you shoved it straight down into my throat and ordered me to drink your cum as you came.” She took a deep breath. “I love nipple clamps on a lead and to be spanked with every…” Her pussy started to throb with her words. “I would love to be fucked as you spank me and make me hold back until you deemed I had suffered with enough pleasure from want and need of your lovely fingers, mouth, and cock. I love force, and to be fucked like mad from behind makes me scream with pleasure,” she finished and bit her lip.
From beside her, there was a stunned silence.
Angel was afraid to look at him, knowing he was probably staring a hole through her while his face would now have an expression of repulsion.
“That’s all?” he asked.
Her eyes shot over. “Yes.”
He was breathing a little heavily. “And what does that have to do with this man?”
Angel was the one who was stunned by his casual reaction. “He was my master.”
Bastien seemed to flinch with the word, but his expression remained impassive. “So?”
“I guess you just don’t understand.” Angel shook her head at him.
Bolting up, he grabbed her, forcing her to his chest. “You are right… I don’t! What fucking right did he have to—to…?” He jerked her sundress away from her shoulder.
Angel stared at his face, at the anger in his eyes and got immediately wet between her legs. It was the sort of thing that started out turning her on, and she would end up in pain.
“He should have never marked you up!” His body shook with a seeming rage. “What kind of idiot does this?” He jerked her dress further down and her bare breasts were exposed.
Her nipples were swollen and nearly purple; Angel shook all over as he held her. Shame flooded her at his staring at the marks Brandon had left on her body.
Gently, Bastien lowered his lips to her tender flogged nipples and gave one a gentle kiss, and then his mouth moved to the other with a gentle swift swipe of his warm tongue.
Angel trembled to her core and her head fell back as she wept.
Bastien halted and set her down, pulling her dress back up to cover her. “I am sorry. I saw them when you passed out. Your dress, it… I did not mean to—”
“It’s not your fault!” she yelled as she cried. “It is mine, dammit!” She sniffled and tried to get her bearings as she started to step away from him and clumsily, she fell backward.
Bastien reached out and grabbed her, scooping her up into his warm embrace. He looked livid, like he might kill.
Angel shuddered with tears and something else. Excitement? Sexual excitement? No! How?
He carried her to the bathroom and set her on an antique toilet with gold plating. She stared at it. “This is beautiful!” she exclaimed.
Nodding, he didn’t look at her as he turned the water on. He moved to a cabinet and searched around. Next, he poured some bath salts into the warm steamy bath.
Angel had let the wine get to her and she watched him with a sweet malaise. Her focus suddenly centered on his firm butt as he bent over. I bet his cheeks feel like the smooth surface of—he turned around and her thoughts came to a screeching halt.
Stepping forward, he ripped the ugly oversized dress that was closer to being a rag up and away from her body. Promptly tossing it to the floor, he ground the heel of his boot into it, and then looked up at her. “I may burn it in the morning.” He gazed at her breasts again as he clenched his fists. “I’m sorry, but I feel such anger, such—”
Gaping wide-eyed at him, Angel realized with a shock that he had promptly disrobed her after his seeming quiet way and courteous manners had given her no warning.
Lifting her up, he set her nude body in the tub.
Angel let out a soft sigh. The warm water and the scent instantly soothed her tired, sore body.
“You may like it rough.” He raised a sponge. “But for now, you will get nothing but gentleness.” He lightly soaped her breasts with the soft sponge.
Slumping down, she released another relaxed sigh.
Bastien chuckled. “Next? I am to put you in my jammies and I will even tuck you in.”
Angel laughed. “I think I may be in a fairy tale now.”
She could hear him chuckling as he sat her up and shampooed her hair.
Angel never felt a touch so gentle and so wonderful. It was as if magic sprang from his fingers. She gazed at them. I wonder if he—She shook her head to shake away the sexual thoughts. You’d think I had better sense! Running from a mad beast, and then I start looking at another man while feeling hot all over? She allowed him to wash and rinse her hair and she remained still and sleepy even as he took her out of the water, toweled her bare skin dry, and placed her on his lap while untangling her hair. Angel never felt so cared for, so absolutely caressed by a pure gentle wave of tenderness.
By the time he carried her to bed, she was almost asleep.
Bastien laid her down and tucked her in just as he’d promised. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, douce Angel.”
Sweet Angel. She gasped and looked up at him with wonder.
He placed his hands over her startled eyes and closed her lids with his deft fingers. “Dormir,” he whispered.
The world faded away for Angel as she let out a soft relieved sigh; her sense of security and warmth from his care was so complete that her body felt paralyzed and she did exactly as he said—she went to sleep.
Chapter Five
Angel awoke and stretched out in the silken sheets. Her mind was blank as she stared up at the canopy. How long have I slept? She sat upright and looked around. The room was even more beautiful than the other rooms she’d seen.
“Good morning.” Bastien stepped in through the doorway, carrying a tray.
Pushing her sloppy red curls away from her face, she sat up straighter in the large bed.
Setting the tray down, he raised the pillows up behind her. “Scoot,” he ordered.
Angel scooted back.
Quietly, he set the tray over her lap.
It all smelled so good and looked yummy. “Wow!”
Bastien pulled up a velvet Saint Petersburg chair and sat down. “It’s a little something.”
Taking the juice glass up, she sipped at it. “Mmm,” she moaned. “No, it’s a feast!”
Bastien stared at her face and seemed so still.
Angel glanced over at him as she picked up a croissant. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded. “Um, yes—Oui.”
“I thought maybe that you might be at work?” She took a bite.
“I work when I feel like it.”
Angel proceeded to eat everything he served her—eggs that were buttery and perfect, the bacon crisp, just as she loved it. With enjoyment, she dipped the bacon into her eggs and grew more delighted by the lovely meal—more than
she could remember ever enjoying one. She halted and realized she’d made a real pig out of herself. She slowly peeked over at him.
Bastien’s dark eyes twinkled at her while he wore a huge grin.
Angel swallowed the last bit and laughed. “Oh, my, now you see what an oinker I am!”
Looking startled by the word, he laughed. “You mean like pork? A pig? I hardly think that! I was thinking you needed to gain some weight, actually.”
Startled by the assessment, she flushed. Brandon had called her a fat pig more than once. She pushed that ugly memory away and studied this man who was such a mystery. She realized his laugh made her feel joy and a happiness that had always been so elusive for her. She stared at him for a long moment.
His laughter slowed and his eyes met hers. “What?”
Angel looked away. “I just think you are wonderful.”
He grew quiet again and she glanced over.
His dark eyes were full of some indefinable glint.
Angel thought for a second it may be passion, but she shoved that away. He’s just being nice and feels sorry for the dumbass sex slave gone wrong.
His mood seemed to change again as he smiled, stood, and grabbed the tray.
Her gaze rose up.
“Well, you do my ego good, sweet Angel.”
She gasped and remembered he’d said that last night.
At her pause, Bastien looked over.
“How do you know my name?”
“Your passport?”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Well, I thought that meant my name was Dead.”
Bastien didn’t laugh at her lame joke as he set the tray on a side table and reached down, lifting her up.
Gasping, she gazed up at him.
He grinned. “I am your host, no?”
Angel was startled.
“As your host… You will be polite and just allow me to do for you, if I want to, vous voyez?”
She had no reply. Why the fuck not? It’s not as if I’ve had this kind of treatment in many years, or maybe I have never had it?
Carrying her to the ornate gold-plated bathroom, he set her down on her feet. “I will allow you to use the toilette by yourself, however.” He chuckled and stepped back. “Please knock on the door when you are done.” He stepped through the door and closed it.