Either from the chill in the air, or from the emotion coursing through me, I shivered hard and gripped my arms. Vasile took note, grabbed an afghan from the settee and draped it around me, sweeping my hair aside, and then sat down on the floor.
“I will get you some clothes tomorrow. You can’t be running around in this cut open nightdress for the rest of your days.”
I giggled, looking down, realizing how unkempt I must appear, and yet also taking note I didn’t care. I felt right with Vasile, although it felt strange having this big beast of a man sitting below me. And yet, I didn’t mind. He kept one of his huge hands on my thigh in a sturdy, possessive grip. With his other hand, he took a candied fig from a simple pottery bowl and held it up for me to eat from his fingers.
“I can feed myself,” I said, a rush of shyness at the affectionate gesture.
“Sure you can,” he said, with eyes twinkling. “But I won’t let you.”
Feeding me the fig, he pressed the tip of his thumb to my lips.
When I took it from him, I sucked on his thumb for a little longer than was necessary. My clit responded instantly to the taste of his skin, the smell of his leather riding gloves. Musky and manly and utterly delicious.
He fed me cheeses and meats, taking some for himself as we ate in silence, enjoying the flavors and the simple act of nourishing ourselves.
After a few moments, I slid down on the rug beside him in front of the fire. He positioned himself so that my folded legs fit neatly inside the gap he left for me between his. Against my ankle, I felt the unmistakable heat and warmth of his cock and balls, resting on the fabric of his pants.
I glanced down at his groin when I was sure he wasn’t looking, feeling flushed and turned on by the realization that clearly, his pants had been custom made to make extra room for how big he was. It was all I could do to stop myself from moaning into my glass of wine.
Sitting there, we ate and talked. We got to know each other in a way that our wild passion hadn’t allowed us to before. I learned about his years in the east, and he learned about my life, about the shameful sort of privileged poverty that I’d tried so hard to hide from everybody.
But not from him. We talked about our fathers, his so much more successful and so different from mine, and about our mothers. About that particular ache of a mom who is unwell and suffering, and how much we wished we could help.
Guilty as well, that we were missing out on a certain care they were unable to provide.
Being there with him, it felt like home. More so than my own in a way. With every comfortable moment in his company, I felt myself falling harder and faster for him. It wasn’t just that I could love him. Watching him there, talking to me, staying close and attentive, I realized I already did love him.
That thought closed my throat in its own conflicted terror.
I felt like I was being swept away, losing my internal sense of what was best for me and my situation. A sailor adrift in an unfamiliar ocean. I knew I was being irresponsible. So many things were swirling around in my life and I sat here as though none of it was real. How easily we deceive ourselves sometimes.
He had a power over me, an indefinable strength, that I’d never felt around another person; I knew in my heart that if he asked me to do something, I would to it. Anything. Everything.
Whatever it was, my answer would be yes.
And I was petrified. The feelings in my heart put me on the defensive, and before I knew it, they’d made me lash out without thinking.
“If you ever abandon me like that,” I said, “I will never speak to you again. Be a good boy, or I’ll take all this,” I waved a hand to indicate myself, “away from you.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I kicked myself for saying them. But the words were already out there, hanging between us. And there was no way for me to take them back.
“Excuse me?” he said, flashing with that dominant anger I’d seen in his eyes now more than once.
I was too afraid of the look in his eye to say anything else. My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment at the outburst in a moment that should have been left alone. But also with fury. Because I really did mean what I said. Even if I shouldn’t have said it.
He didn’t speak either, but instead pushed the table aside and then planted his hand on my sternum, heavy and foreboding, forcing me onto my back on the floor.
The V of his hand pressed into my throat, and I felt my own heartbeat ricocheting back at me. With his other hand, he slid my nightdress up my body, rough and intense. Then he placed one knee on either side of my hips and let me take some of his weight.
“Don’t you fucking pick fights with me, Princess,” he said.
Glancing down, I saw his erection pressing hard against his pants. So hard, in fact, that I could make out the outline of its thick shaft and broad head.
“Sorry,” I whispered, looking up at his face. The flickering fire highlighted the strong angles of his
