I can’t help but admire Lorenzo’s house as we continue our journey to the kitchen. The house is large and has an elegance to it that I have never seen before. This is the type of thing that can’t be seen anywhere—magazines won’t even do it justice. It is designed and decorated to a specific standard, and I assume that standard is Lorenzo King.
The kitchen is huge. Dark wood cabinets line the walls with stainless steel appliances accompanying them. The fridge is the biggest I have ever seen, and the eating area is so large that you could easily feed two families on Thanksgiving. Floor to ceiling windows take up the far wall, allowing light to come through at all angles. The floor is white marble, I presume, since I haven’t a clue. All I know is that it probably cost more than it is worth for me to be standing on it.
I take a seat at the table, my eyes never leaving the surreal view. It is a shame someone like him has a view like this. Even if he isn’t hurting me or demanding something from me now, I know it will happen sooner or later.
In a matter of minutes, a steaming hot plate sits in front of me. Red spaghetti sauce, meatballs, and noodles are the only things I can see.
“Eat it, it’s amazing. This is my mother’s recipe, actually.” He smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. I can tell that there is something brewing just under the surface. He is a hurricane, capable of taking everyone out with him once he meets the shore.
I would never admit it, but he was right. Now that I smell this food, I am hungry despite the dread of the unknown holding onto me.
Picking up my fork, I shove a heaping bite into my mouth. It is warm and extremely delicious. I moan, completely accidentally. When I open my eyes to take another bite, my gaze collides with Lorenzo’s. His eyes are dilated, and it looks as if he is about ready to jump over the table and devour me himself.
“This is really good,” I compliment the food. He nods at me, dismissing the look he has just given me altogether. A coldness settles into me. I don’t really want him to look at me like that, but then again, I kind of do. I feel as if I am missing something without him, without that look.
I finish my food and stand, readying myself to wash my plate and silverware so they can be put away.
“Stop,” he commands. I turn to him, my face growing red. I feel like the kid who got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.
“The housekeepers take care of that.”
I scoff at him, not sure if I am going to listen to him. I’m not one to allow others to clean up after me.
“You’re already thinking about disobeying me, aren’t you?” It isn’t really a question because I haven’t done anything wrong yet, but how can cleaning up my mess be disobeying him?
“No…” I lie. I refuse to tell him I am not going to listen to him, especially over something as petty as washing my dishes after eating. My mother raised me to clean up after myself.
“Now you’re lying,” he remarks, taking an aggressive step in front of me. His eyes narrow as his hand snakes around my back to directly behind my neck.
His fingers dig into my skin, gripping me just above a painful level. “Never lie to me.” There are no emotions on his face, and his voice is cool and firm. Fear slithers up my spine and deep into my brain. It is plain to see that even the littlest things can get me killed here.
“Okay.” I try my hardest to hold my chin up high. I don’t want him to think that he has broken me yet. I will never be broken, though. I’ve lost far too much in my life to be ashamed of anything.
“Good. Things like that can get you killed here. Always be honest. Always.” His eyes grow softer, and an understanding settles over me. Honesty is huge with him. I store that information away, knowing that is something I need to keep front and center.
“I will. Always be honest, I mean.”
“Good. Honesty is always the best policy, Amara.” His hand releases the back of my neck and slides to my lower back. With the tiniest press to the small of my back, he is pushing me forward, forcing me to let the maids clean up my mess.
“In all fairness, I could really clean up my own mess, Lorenzo.”
“Enzo,” he says.
“Pardon?” I ask in confusion, coming to a standstill.
“Enzo is what you may call me.”
I nod, surprised that he wants me to use his nickname. “The maids get paid to clean up after my guests and me. If you were to clean up your mess, then they would be out a job. I’d have to fire them. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?” That is a low blow if ever I heard one— holding one’s job over someone else’s head.
“That’s a bit harsh, wouldn’t you say?” Questioning him is a bold move for me to make. I know he doesn’t owe me any answers.
“Harsh…” He laughs, but it is anything but a cheery kind. “You have a lot to learn about me.”
If that isn’t the understatement of the year.
“Come now. Let’s get ready for bed.” He turns and starts to walk out of the kitchen. Glancing out of the window, I realize it’s just now getting dark outside. It can’t be later than eight. Does he really expect me to go to bed right now, or does he mean something completely different by getting ready for bed?
We pass multiple guards as I follow quietly behind Lorenzo, not wanting to draw more attention to myself.
I think I’m still in shock. I haven’t freaked out yet, which seems absurd. I just had a mostly civilized dinner with my captor, who sees me as a possession.
I wonder what it was that broke him. What made him so dark and cold? What made him into a person who takes women as payment? Most importantly, is there any good left inside of him?
Desperately, I wish there is. Because at this point, I think a sliver of goodness inside of him is the only hope I have.
4
Enzo
I watch her step back into my bedroom… our bedroom for the time being. She walks through my house like it’s a museum, scanning every room and every item with wonder and fascination. If it wasn’t for the lingering fear in her eyes, she would look like a kid in a candy store.
She stops a few feet away from me, suddenly looking out of place. She eyes me curiously as if she is waiting for my direction.
“Get undressed,” I order, leaning against the desk casually.
She doesn’t move. Her gaze is locked on me, and even from across the room, I can see her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“I know I agreed to do whatever you want, and I will, but I would really appreciate it if you would tell me what’s going to happen exactly? I mean, you said we’ll get to know each other first before we…”
“Fuck?” I finish for her.
“Yes, that.” Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, and I feel a grin tuck on my lips.
“I wasn’t planning on fucking you tonight. I simply asked you to undress so I can look at you.”
She takes a final deep breath before doing what I asked her to. She starts with the blouse, taking much too long with each button due to her shaky fingers. Next, she takes off her shoes, then she fumbles with the zipper on her jeans.
It’s the least sexy striptease I have ever seen, yet my cock is growing rapidly in my pants. Clumsily, she pulls her jeans down her slender legs, almost falling over in the process.