by Lucian Bane
What had his solution to pollution been? She tried to recall, and all she came up with was… his face. His voice. Probably because that’s all she’d been focused on.
Wonder what other classes he took? Guess she’d be finding out soon.
Shit, soon! She flew off the couch and went in search of those trash bags she’d cram all her stuff into. She had time.
****
Mordecai pulled up his menu on the phone and scrolled to the one he’d carefully prepared. He allowed himself to smile. It was the little things that pleased him the most. That he’d created this evening’s meal for two was a small victory, but only because he was accustomed to high stakes playing in everything. In the ordinary sense, wagering she’d call this day and agree to this arrangement would impress anybody who didn’t dedicate their lives to predictions and controlling their outcome.
He had so many calculations in place with her and he was all but high with the idea he’d be collecting his winnings on each, soon. The value of prediction was far greater than money to him. And even more valuable than that was causing predictions to happen. And the less effort he exerted in doing that, the more satisfying it was.
Some wanted to spend their days with people, to love them, to use them, to hate them. He wanted to spend his days solving puzzles or wagering their outcomes. But his professor believed that until he was able to bring his puzzle solving ability into the realm of people, he'd not solved a true puzzle. Whether his professor was right wasn’t the reason Mordecai took the challenge. It was simply because he’d challenged him. And Mordecai couldn’t resist those even if he wanted to, just like any normal man couldn’t resist the breasts of a woman in his face.
He’d told Miriam and his professor that his thesis was disproving chaos. And while he would still use that ruse, he couldn't care less about it. All he cared about was proving to himself that he could make Miriam. Make her do whatever he wanted her to do. In all the months leading up to this, he’d not even let himself think of all that could possibly be, it was enough to just know there were no limits.
He planned to let the unpredictability of every day be the rod by which he measured her obedience to him. Maybe he’d find the entire experiment boring, he wasn’t really sure. But he was eager to find that out.
Professor Dorchester would call it Machiavellianism and considered such cunning to belong to the Dark Triad traits of Sadism. But Mordecai disagreed. He had many sadistic traits and tendencies, but he had something most sadists didn’t. He had a high regard for the rules set by the Universe. Whether it was vices or virtues, both were his tools to use.
It didn’t make him a saint or even religious. It made him what he craved to be. A conqueror. And true conquerors won fair and square.
“I told you,” she said when Mordecai opened the door, barely lifting two, overstuffed trash bags.
He eyed them. “You sure did. I’ll take them.”
“Oh no! Please, I’ll… I’ll bring them. I beg you.”
At hearing the desperation, he did what any normal person would do. “Of course. Follow me then.”
He allowed her to step inside then locked the door, turning to find her gawking with open mouthed awe at the mini-castle’s interior. “This is amazing,” she squealed in childlike excitement before looking at him. “Do you love it here?”
The sincerity in her gaze affected him to a point he’d have to journal about later. “I do love it. It’s why I bought it.”
She went back to open gazing as she turned in every direction. “And I get the third floor?”
Mordecai went ahead of her. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Okay? I’ve had childhood fantasies about a place like this! Cinderella lived in the tippy top of the castle if you recall!”
The sudden dump of puzzle pieces right into his lap brought a dizzying need to study them immediately. Instead, he led her upstairs while his body gave off its own set of news-flashes. He’d not allowed himself to guess or wager if he’d like any of the games he’d play or not. It wasn’t really winning if he manipulated his own body into fulfilling his mind’s wishes. But he was relieved to learn that, so far… he liked it. Except for her bags thumping along the stairs as she struggled to carry them.
Every step became a fight not to turn and take them from her. He wasn’t sure why but if he had to wager—and he did, always—the rules of the Universe said so, which made it mathematical. The stronger should carry the heavier burden. As it was, they were an improper fraction climbing two flights of stairs.
The internal chaos this caused in him brought bad flashbacks. He remembered the trick to get past them and turned his conquering strategies on himself, all while she chattered non-stop. Puzzle pieces poured out that he couldn’t hear because he was too busy in a senseless fight, whose victory came with zero satisfaction other than being relieved when it was over.
“Done,” Mordecai all but growled when he reached the final step. He turned to see her struggling with her bags and yanked them right out of her hands.
“I-I had them,” she huffed, out of breath.
“And now I do.” He turned and made his way to the room at the end of the hall, next to his beloved library. He set one of her bags down and opened the door, gesturing with a hand. “The Princess room. It’s literally called that,” he said as she gasped her way into it.
“It has the circle wall!” she squealed, jumping lightly up and down before turning glittering eyes to him. “Confession!” she whispered, holding both hands up. “I literally prayed I’d get this very room when we drove up!” Her eyes went big before she squinted with guilt. “Is that bad to pray?”
He walked in, not permitting his mind to dictate what his body did and apparently it wanted to violate personal space rules. A foot before her, he set her bags down, staring at her upturned face, unable to keep from collecting the platter of information she gave him in just a look.
He went about putting the puzzle pieces together, and instead of doing what every good, responsible sadist did when stumbling into an unexpected weakness, Mordecai instead devoured it in silence.
She liked him.
And he liked that.
The first was a wager won. The second was… intriguing.
“I cooked dinner,” he said, looking down like any normal man would before walking to the door on the right and opening it. “This is your private bath.” He opened a door inside it. “Your private closet.”
She hurried inside the bathroom with more squeals of delight before a burst of “Omg, omg,” happened at the closet. “This is as big as my last bathroom! I could sleep in it!”
“You have plenty of bedroom for that,” he said, pulling out of the space as any gentleman would.
“I do! I do, I do, I do,” she cried, waltzing back into the bedroom for another turn in happy circles. She stopped suddenly, appearing worried. “I…” she shook her head. “I’m so sorry; I’m not normally this childish!” She hurried forward, and he looked down at her outstretched hand. “Thank you,” she said, as though informing him of her intention.
He reached out, and she shook his hand briskly, her touch warm and firm before releasing his.
“This is such a blessing,” she said.
His eyes flew to hers at hearing an overflow of emotions. Fuck. Tears?
He spun to the door and hurried out. “I’ll warm your dinner. Don’t forget about the curfew.”
“I won’t,” she called. “And thank you!”
****
Shit, what was wrong with her? She’d cried, and it had clearly repulsed him. She didn’t blame him, she hated blubberers. And usually she wasn’t, but this was… oh God, what was wrong with her? She cringed inside at recalling how she behaved.
She’d have to fix that. Dinner. He’d cooked.
She flew to her trash bags and dumped them onto the floor. Spotting one of her good dresses, she smoothed it out on the floor. Lord, it was frumpy!
She could shower and let the steam hel
p with that. She’d have to hurry, he sounded like dinner was ready an hour ago and he wasn’t the type to serve things late. He was clearly a man of time. One who valued it respected it and utilized it. No harm in that.
She’d shower quickly.
She dragged her toiletries to the bathroom and made quick work of showering in the huge glass shower. Next to the huge claw-foot tub. “Ohhh, I will be using you next!” she promised it longingly. “Lord, give me wisdom and self-control,” she prayed as she washed her hair. “Tie my tongue in knots before I say something stupid. I don’t want to be a bad witness but you know I’m just human! And a woman,” she hissed. “Oh God, why did you make him so handsome? I’m not blaming you. I just don’t need the added pressure and distraction. And he’s so tall; I don’t recall him being that tall! Such blue eyes… I quit, God, I know you don’t want to hear all about what you already know, but it’s not like I have anyone else to talk to. Never have and probably never will if I keep up like this.”
She rinsed all the soap off her body. “Please remind me to Google how to act in the presence of the opposite sex! Please don’t let me forget that!”
C H A P T E R T H R E E
LET THE GAMES BEGIN
Mordecai stood at the kitchen counter gripped in what he could only describe as a prison of bafflement.
She’d cried.
Over what? She wasn’t in pain. Or sad. Tears of joy? He’d thought that was a myth. But what else could it be? If they were tears of joy, what did that mean about her?
“Smells amazing.”
Mordecai spun, only to go from one prison right into another. His eyes devoured her, checking off all his correct wagers.
Blue dress with the white polka dots. Wager won.
Hair down. Wager won.
Very little makeup. Wager won.
He turned away the second his eyes snagged on another piece of information. No bra.
Wager lost.
“As soon as I’m done eating, I was hoping you could show me to the laundry room. I have a need for important… items that got wet during... well. I’ll sit here, dinner smells amazing. As I’ve said. What did you cook?”
His breath released. Not a loss. She’d have worn it had she one to wear. “Artichoke and shrimp linguine.” He turned, forcing his gaze on his own plate at the snack bar. He’d never seen her without a bra and the brief glimpse merely created a puzzle with fifty missing pieces. He shouldn’t look. It wasn’t what a normal man would do. Not the kind of man he had to play if he didn’t want her leaving before he ever started. But he needed to look.
He glanced up and found her praying over her food. He stared at her chest, making out two hard points right as she whispered “Amen.”
He stirred his food errantly, focusing on what she’d done, not on what he’d just seen. Hard nipples. He’d never seen her nipples through any of her clothes. She was always the perfect picture of modesty. Unbreakable, untouchable. Incorruptible.
He’d watched her pray over her food every day in public. Whether she’d do while alone with him was another wager. Easily won. Her faith was her shield and sword and as delusional as it might be, she wielded it with a ferocious honor that had earned his respect. In the face of ridicule and hardships, of which she’d had plenty, it held her together, turned her into a warrior. One that called to him, beckoned he challenge her, test her, fight her, defeat her.
Of course he answered it. Even without an assignment, he would have. Even if he wasn’t an obsessive sadistic bastard, he would have. But as a normal man, he imagined he’d want her for other things. Marriage and having babies. She was prime perfection for that. But he wasn’t normal. He didn’t want her for marriage and having babies. But no matter what reason he had her, she was prime perfection for all of it.
****
He’d seen! He’d looked right at her chest! Oh God, oh God how bad could it go? He’d probably kick her out now. “So good,” she repeated around her mouthful of the most delicious food she’d had in ages. “I usually eat Ramen.”
“Ramen?” he wondered.
“Noodles? Ramen noodles?” At seeing his confusion, her cheeks heated up. “It’s… poor man’s food, never mind. Just noodles and a packet of… dry flavoring,” she finished on a low note.
“Sounds deadly,” he muttered, nearing his last bite.
God, she was so full but didn’t want to offend him. He’d fixed enough food for an adult man! And yet it was so good, she could keep eating.
“I have dessert.”
“Oh God, I’ll burst!” she cried.
He eyed her plate, making her want to cover her breasts. “You can stop eating if you’re full. I had no clue how much food you might eat,” he said.
“It was so delicious.”
“I won’t be offended if you’re full,” he chuckled, lifting his glass of juice.
She eyed her glass. “That’s not wine, right?”
“It’s not, no.”
“Right,” she whispered, taking up the glass for a tiny sip. At confirming it wasn’t alcoholic, she guzzled the rest and set her glass down. She paused at finding him watching her then swallowed her final mouthful in a loud gulp. “Oops,” she whispered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand right as she remembered she had a napkin. She picked it up and dabbed at her hand then mouth.
“You didn’t believe me,” he mused, leaning back in his chair in a lazy slouch.
She tried to figure out if he was offended and couldn’t tell. “I don’t drink and… I… just prefer to make sure, I don’t, uh, count on others to keep me sober.” Guilt pricked her as she toyed with her napkin before giving him a smile. “Sorry. I’m… not used to being around people,” she said quietly.
“Me either,” he said back.
“Really,” she nodded. “I can’t tell, you… you do well.” She looked to the right before blurting, “I’ll clean the dishes.”
He stared at her until she felt the need to look away. “Are you… are you conducting your… studies?”
He lowered his gaze, and she noticed how dark and thick his lashes were. “I was, yes.”
“I see. I’m… I’m not used to being watched. Or knowing I’m being watched. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “I feel like I should be posing. Hope you’re not drawing secret pictures of me.” Shut. Up. Just shut up. “I didn’t believe you about the wine,” she admitted. “I have never met another person in college who did not drink. Ever. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, sounding curious.
“For doubting you.”
“I would never lie to you.”
She was suddenly stuck in his gaze with a fountain of stupid things bubbling up in her. She put her hands in her lap, remembering her laundry. “If I could… get a tour of the house and know where everything is, I’d be very grateful. I have homework and laundry I need to do.”
“I’ll take care of the dishes,” he said, standing. “You take care of your laundry and getting settled in. After I give you the grand tour.”
“Okay,” she said standing and following him. “Right behind you.” Her eyes lowered to his jeans as he walked and became trapped there. Dear Lord was there anything on him not perfect?
“The laundry,” he turned and announced, right as she snapped her gaze up.
She peered in the huge room, whistling. “Very nice. Fancy machines.” She patted what would appear to be the washer. Maybe.
“If you need help operating them, let me know. They can be annoyingly complicated in their simplicity.” He flipped off the light as she gave a light laugh and followed him to the other side of the kitchen, then across a hall.
“This is a sitting room,” he gestured with a hand. “You’re free to sit in here.”
She looked in, reminding herself not to blurt and blubber over everything. “So lovely,” she said. “Beautiful fireplace. How old is the home?” she wondered as he went farther down the hall.
“It was bui
lt in 1892. Refurbished in 1985, then updated again in 2015.”
“By you?” she wondered.
“Yes. I changed out all the plumbing and appliances, updated the kitchen and laundry. The important things.” He opened a door. “The gym.”
She peered in, sucking in a breath. “Holy smokes, it has a pool. You added that?”
“I did. Swimming is good exercise.”
“So you use it, that’s good.”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “I keep to a strict schedule.”
“That’s very good,” she said, happy for him. “Maybe you’ll rub off on me. Lord knows I can use a good exercise program.”
“I’d be happy to tailor one for your needs.” He opened the next door.
“Oh that would be nice,” she said, peering into it.
“Garage.”
Nods and smiles. “Plenty of space. Very nice.”
He shut the door, and she stood back, giving him room to pass. “What sort of routine do you have?” he asked, heading back the way they came while giving her a fill of his cologne. Mercy. Deep and gritty. Earthy. Yet, natural.
“Oh… I-I… get up at six and have personal devotion, then I shower and eat and head to the library for research.”
“I have a library here, you’ll love it.”
“You do?”
“Yes, next to your room.”
“Ohhhh wow!” she cleared her throat, smoothing her next words. “Imagine not having to leave home except for classes twice a week.”
“I’m done with classes,” he said, heading up the stairs. “All I have left is my clinical study.”
Her stomach somersaulted with that. All I have left is to stare at you. “Same,” she said, following him upstairs. “Only I don’t have a live specimen to study for my thesis like you do.”
“Maybe I can help you find one.”
She was sure he couldn’t. “Maybe.”
“What sort of study are you doing?” He pointed to the right when he reached the landing. “This entire second floor has three rooms. A billiards room at one end, and two bedrooms with an adjoining bath at the other. But I want to show you my library,” he said, continuing up the next flight of stairs.