Broken Beast

My dress on the floor.

His hand in my hair.

His cock in my mouth.

Fuck.

I try to push the images into something appropriate for a photo shoot, but they stay illicit.

After I finish my tea, Trish shows me to my room. The spare room with the four-poster bed and the framed photos.

I studied these images for weeks. I dreamed they'd hang on my walls.

Now, they're mine.

"Mr. Pierce thought you'd enjoy this space," she says. "If it's not to your liking, I can find something else."

"It's perfect."

"It suits you." She smiles. "And it's yours. Mr. Pierce asked me not to enter without permission. Promised the same."

A room that's all mine. Is it a gift or a curse?

"Adam's office and room are off-limits. And the old bedroom…" Her voice trails off as she fights a memory. "It's locked. You're welcome anywhere else in the house. The movie theater. The study. The gym."

"The gym?"

"Yes. On the first floor. Past the ballroom."

Past the ballroom. Of course. That's a normal sentence.

"Mr. Pierce uses it every morning. Mostly weight training equipment. You know men and their muscles." She chuckles. "It's a marvel. Adam was the skinniest boy I'd ever seen. His brothers called him string bean. He never wanted to play sports with them. He preferred to sit inside, with his fantasy books and his video games."

"Really?"

She nods. "Until Bash was old enough to get into trouble." She smiles wistfully. "He was an adventurous boy. Adam followed him everywhere, to make sure he wouldn't get lost or hurt himself. He even coached Bash when he started playing soccer."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. He was like the Adam you see now. Tough. Unyielding. But full of love and joy too."

Like in the old pictures.

"He always kept that part of himself hidden. It only came out with Bash. And Bash… he was trouble, but he was bright. Passionate. The way you are. I could hear you gushing over these photos downstairs."

"I can't help it."

"I know." She turns to the door. "Adam saw it too. He didn't say it, but I could tell he couldn't stop thinking about you. He's a good man. And he means well… He may not deserve your patience, but I'll ask for it anyway. As a favor. To me."

"I don't know you."

"Then an exchange. You give Adam time. I fix your favorite breakfast every morning."

"Oatmeal."

"You don't want something grander? Chocolate chip pancakes. Or stuffed French toast?"

"Grander than oatmeal? I thought you wanted to be friends."

She smiles. "Oatmeal it is."

"What does Adam eat?"

"Whatever I fix. He isn't picky."

"Really?"

"Not since Bash passed. He wouldn't eat if I didn't force him to do it." Her lips curl into a frown. "I'm not sure he tastes his food."

"He must. Dinner was great."

"It will be nice to have someone around who appreciates the effort." She shakes off her frown. "And I will fix oatmeal if that's your preference. But I hope you'll let me fix something more complex on the weekends."

"I can't turn down chocolate chip pancakes."

She nods. "What time do you rise?"

I guess the rest of the night is mine. And the morning too. "I think I'll sleep in tomorrow if that's okay."

"I'll guard your room."

"Thank you, Trish."

"I run the house, sweetheart. Anything you need, you let me know. Even if it's unusual. Even if you have to wake me at three a.m."

I'm not waking her at three a.m., but I might be able to get used to someone cooking and cleaning for me. "I appreciate it."

"Anything you tell me stays between us, Danielle. Anything. I promise."

"Thanks."

She looks at me the way my mother did. Like she can't believe I've grown into this beautiful young woman. Then she says, "Good night," and she leaves.

I spend a few minutes exploring the room. The closet is already packed with today's finds. The dresser is packed with undergarments and lounge wear.

I find my camera in the corner, set up my laptop, unpack my books.

There isn't much. I'm used to a smaller space. But between the stack of photography books and the images on the wall, the place already feels like it's mine.

I move into the attached bathroom—it's as luxurious as the rest of the house—and shower off the day. Then I slip into a new set of pajamas. Wine-red silk. Smooth. Sensual. Begging for touch.

Begging me to slip into Adam's bed and strip.

Maybe one day, but not tonight.

First, I need to get my bearings.

I explore the rest of the house. The first floor is just as grand in the dark. Dining room, kitchen, foyer, ballroom, gym, study, some kind of coffee room. There are speakers hidden in the walls, but there's no sign of a TV anywhere.

The second floor is a mix of offices and bedrooms. Adam's is the furthest on the left. His door is closed. The room is silent except for the soft hum of instrumental music.