Marquise

I continue eating the delicious breakfast he prepared, like it is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Honestly, it is the best thing I’ve eaten in six months. My mind continues to rehash over and over, that I haven’t felt this connected to anyone, not anyone who wasn’t my parents at least. I don’t have time to explore my feelings because he is staring at me intently. If I am being honest, I would say that I am mesmerized by this man. He’s quite a bit taller than I am with a light brown skin contrast, very much different than my own pale skin.

“What?” I ask, wiping my mouth with a napkin off of the counter. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, Goddess,” he says reaching out and touching my cheek. I lean into his touch like a puppy starved for attention.

“What is it then?”

“You are so fucking beautiful. I am having a hard time keeping my hands to myself,” he admits.

“No one said you had to,” I blurt out, shocking myself. His eyes widen. I’ve never been this forward before, but it feels right, so I go for it.

“Oh Chrissy. Right now, I have to because being a gentleman is all I know,” he says with a thick voice. I frown wondering why, but I don’t ask any questions because I don’t really want to know the answer.

I move out of his reach and go back to my breakfast trying not to pig out, but I am starving. At least he doesn’t say anything as I eat. We end up finishing the meal in silence. I sit sipping my coffee, surprisingly not uncomfortable with the way he’s staring at me. His dark brown eyes are boring holes into my soul, but it’s not creeping me out or anything. Normally, I’d be self-conscious with someone continuing to stare at me like that, but everything is different with him. Everything.

Automatically, I begin to clear the dishes from the island before he stops me by putting a huge hand on my arm. I look down at his hand touching me, and I about swoon.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You don’t have to do that, Chrissy. I have someone on staff that handles that kind of thing.” I can’t help the frown on my face.

“I insist on doing the dishes. It’s only fair. You cooked an utterly delicious meal, and I’ll do the dishes,” I tell him, continuing to carry the dishes to sink. He throws his hands up in a placating motion allowing me to continue. Once I am done, I turn to lean against the counter and dry my hands. This was the least I could do. Maybe if I am helpful, he’ll let me stay longer.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” he asks, shaking his head. Raising his hand to swipe his thumb across his full lips, causes me to lick mine slowly.

“Get what?”

“This is your future. You and me. Ask me anything, if you think it will help you understand just what is happening between us.

“What’s happening between us?” I parrot, like an idiot.

“Okay, Goddess. This is real. The only future I can see has you starring in it,” he says. I nod like a loon not quite understanding what he means, but I want to. I want the future he is possibly talking about, but it seems too good to be true. Usually, things that seem too good to be true, are. If the last six months have taught me anything, that’s it.

“Do you rescue girls often?” I ask. It’s the question that has been rolling around my head more than any. I’d hate to find out that I was just one in a long line of many girls. I’ve played the scenario over and over in my head that he has a White-Knight Syndrome.

Suddenly, his large hand wraps around my throat. He’s not hurting me, but it’s hard enough to make me stop in my tracks and my pussy actually gushes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I wet myself.

“Do you want to ask that again, Little Girl?” he asks, leaning down speaking into my ear in a raspy voice. He sniffs my neck and hair, like an animal scenting his mate. That is so fucking hot, I have to squeeze my thighs together and hold in the moan that is desperate to escape. Goosebumps are standing on every uncovered inch of my skin. I shake my head no. “Words, baby. Words.”

“I don’t want to ask again,” I whisper. I lick my lips for preparation of the kiss that hangs in the air, but it never comes.

“Good girl,” he says. As suddenly as he was there, he’s gone, and I am bereft at the loss of his warmth.

Shaking my head, I drop the towel on the counter and take several deep breaths preparing for my next encounter with the enigma of a man, who makes me wetter than I ever have been.