by Emerson Rose
“You’re wicked naughty, you know that?”
“You wouldn’t want me any other way, baby.”
And it’s true, I wouldn’t.
Sixty
I’m glad we bathed because there’s no way he will let me wash up now. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet, I stare at my skin, turning and cranking my neck to see my backside.
This is going to smudge if I get the least bit hot. And it’ll smear if I sit down. Oh my God, what if he used permanent ink? I bend over, lick my thumb and rub a small place off of my foot. It disappears easily. Well, thank God for that.
The dress he put out for me is stunning. He has exquisite taste. I can’t be upset with his choice.
In the middle of the closet on a large freestanding hook, hangs a floor length black sequined dress with a high neckline and long full-length sleeves. It has plenty of coverage, that’s for sure. But at the same time, it’s incredibly sexy with a slit cut all the way up the center of the dress. No need to worry about the skin on my legs showing, though; he’s thought of everything.
On the island next to the dress, there are black stockings and a garter belt with panties and bra to match. And as if I couldn’t have handled choosing shoes he’s taken care of that, too.
On the floor under the dress there is a pair of elegant black stilettos that immediately catch my eye and make my heart beat faster. He knows how much I love shoes and he has outdone himself with these.
A strip of delicate rhinestone straps starts around the toe and wrap around to the back where the shoe is enclosed. They are black with a silver heel. I couldn’t have chosen a better pair to compliment the dress.
I ignore the pen marks all over my body and slip into the undergarments. I’m stepping into the dress when Marcus enters with only a towel around his waist and damp hair.
“So, you get to shower, huh?”
“Just a quick one. Do you like the dress?” he says, changing the subject.
“Well, it certainly covers all of me. It’s beautiful, though. Yes, I love it.” I continue to pull the dress up and slide my arms into the sleeves. He gracefully steps up to zip me in and slides his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. We stand and look into the mirror together. His eyes are bright and full of adoration.
“I love you, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
And that’s all that is said. I slip my feet into the glorious shoes and do a couple turns to see how they feel. It’s amazing but they are unbelievably comfortable. I haven’t been working for a long time and, more times than not, I’m wearing heels on a daily basis.
Next, I wonder what to do with my hair.
“Your hair?” he asks, kissing my shoulder chastely before stepping away. He buttons up his crisp white tuxedo shirt meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“Yes, it’s a bit of a mess.”
“Come with me,” he says, turning to walk away from me while he tucks in his shirt.
I follow and watch every muscle in his body working together fluidly. It’s almost impossible to believe that he is suffering such a serious health problem.
He’s chiseled, confident, damp and sexy as hell, like a man on the cover of GQ.
In the bathroom, he pulls a high stool in front of the mirror.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing toward the seat. I must make a doubtful facial expression because he rolls his eyes and repeats the gesture.
I click across the bathroom floor and perch on the stool. He takes out a brush and removes the rubber band holding the mess atop my head and it falls heavily down my back.
He works the brush through every strand, occasionally looking up into the mirror at me. He smiles a tiny satisfied smile each time until my hair is as smooth as it gets without a flat iron.
It’s not the first time he’s brushed my hair but it is the first time he’s gone about styling it. He sets down the brush and picks up a curling iron that’s heating on the counter.
“Uh… do you know how to use that thing? I don’t want you burning chunks of hair off.” He sighs, clearly disappointed in my lack of faith but he doesn’t say a word.
Instead he continues to work with my hair like a professional, separating sections, wrapping them around the iron and slowly moving it down the hair until my head is covered in ringlets.
“How do you know how to do this?” I ask, looking at the lovely end product.
“Practice.”
“On whom?”
He sets the iron aside, unplugging it and turning it off. He rests his ass against the vanity and focuses on my hands in my lap.
“Megan. She liked her hair this way.” I’m not really sure how to respond to that. He just gave me his ex-girlfriend/little sister’s hairstyle.
“Does it remind you of her? Do you miss her?” I ask quietly.
I don’t really want an answer to either question. I asked because I couldn’t think of anything else to say and he looks sad.
“A little. Her hair wasn’t as beautiful as yours and, yes, I miss her.” I appreciate his honesty.
“Thank you,” I say. He nods and pushes off the vanity leaving me there to stare at the hairstyle of a dead woman from Marcus’s past.
I sit and daydream about Megan for a while when I realize I need to pick up the pace. I grab my makeup and carefully apply smoky evening eyes and a touch of powder. I’m not big on painting my face but the dress and occasion call for a little more than usual.
Marcus isn’t in the bedroom when I come out. I find Marcus in the living room standing in the semi-circle of windows that look out over the water with one hand in the pocket of his beautiful black tuxedo pants.
We will make a good-looking couple tonight. He’s right, there’s no chance of people ignoring us. He would be recognized even if he dressed like a homeless man so there was never any question of us remaining anonymous.
I still feel strange knowing I’m covered in Marcus’s signature under this dress. In fact, you can see through the stockings a little. To a stranger, it would look like my legs are covered in tattoos but it’s only barely visible through the front slit.
He’s lost in thought and I wonder if he’s thinking about Megan. That relationship was unhealthy to say the least and I wish I hadn’t asked about the hair, but curiosity is my weakness.
He senses me in the room and pulls himself from his reverie. Slowly turning around, he drags his eyes up the length of my body, saturating me with desire.
“You’ve gained weight,” he says, half grinning and I bristle.
“What? That’s not a way to compliment a lady.”
“It is if she’s been much too thin and is finally filling out in all my favorite places.” Once again, he has a point. I fidget and pass my pocketbook from one hand to the other.
“Imani, don’t be uncomfortable with me. I love you however you look. But you have that healthy glow about you again. Your curves are returning; you’re irresistible, delicious, and impossible.”
The man has a way with words, I’ll give him that. I have no desire to go anywhere but back to bed with him after that compliment. There aren’t enough hours in my life to spend alone with him.
He strides across the room quietly on the thick piled carpet and stops in front of me. He turns me away from him, my back to his front and wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck.
“I’ll take you to dinner and for a drink or two, but I promise to bring you home and wash every bit of that ink off of your sweet skin.” I grasp his forearms and squeeze my approval of our itinerary.
“I could eat you alive right here right now but I’d muss your hair and I worked hard on that.” I feel him smile against my neck. “Let’s go now before I change my mind.”
I murmur, “Mmhmm.” He guides me by the small of my back to the door where Elijah and Mr. Black greet us.
Elijah is holding a full-length white fur coat. Fur. I’ve never even seen one in person but I instantly worry about the poo
r animals who gave their lives to warm my skin.
“Ah, stop, it’s the best faux fur money can buy. I know you’re an animal lover. I wouldn’t dream of offering you the real thing, although they are much softer.”
He will impress me with his little mind reading trick until my last breath. I smile and his face lights up like a kid at Disney World for the first time. It’s easy to please him: approval, attention, affection and, at times, submission.
Marcus takes the coat from Elijah and holds it for me while I slip my arms in and wrap the faux fur around my body. It’s amazing this isn’t real. I wonder if he’s lying to pacify me but I know he’ll never tell.
Outside on the steps a path has been cleared, not shoveled, however it looks like the snow just disappeared from the walkway.
“Heated patio and driveway,” he says nonchalantly.
“Really? It doesn’t snow that much here, does it?” I don’t know why this surprises me. The more I learn about the rich, the more I discover how spoiled they are in ways I never could have imagined and how spoiled I am becoming.
A black Mercedes sits waiting with the monster SUV parked directly behind. Marcus opens the passenger door for me and I slide in. He rounds the car and opens the driver’s door to get in. He just had a seizure; no way is he driving.
“Marcus, you can’t drive after a seizure.” I reach for the door handle but he presses the automatic lock button stopping me.
“I’m fine and I’m driving.”
I twist my body away from the door, “You would risk my life? You could kill us both. Please, Marcus, listen to reason.”
He slumps back in the seat, defeated; he really wanted to drive.
“I miss driving.” I sigh and turn in my seat to face him and take his hand
“I know you do, and after you’re well you can drive me all over the country, all over the world. I don’t care but, tonight, let’s leave it to Elijah, okay?”
“Yes, I’ll get him and you’ll sit in the back with me. I’ll help you.”
I watch him unfold from the front seat and he returns in mere seconds to my door, helping me out of the front and into the back while Elijah takes the wheel.
“It’s a bit of a drive. Are you tired?” he asks and, yes, I am, very much so.
“Yes, I had quite a work out today; my personal trainer is ruthless.” My beloved smirk occupies his face and he takes a handkerchief from his inside pocket. Who carries those anymore? Marcus Castillo apparently, and it even has his monogram on the corner.
He lays it on his leg to protect his tux from my makeup and pulls me gently down onto his lap.
“Lay your head down.” I do as I’m told gratefully, tucking my free hand between his legs where he’s hard and ready as always. He adjusts my hand away from the swell in his trousers. I can’t help but smile against his strong muscular leg.
“Behave.” A shiver runs up my spine at the sound of his authoritative voice. I snuggle into him and close my eyes saying a teeny tiny prayer that I can nap without dreaming.
“Baby. Imani.” Warm minty breath floats across my face as I’m nudged awake. We’re here already and I didn’t have even one nightmare.
Marcus helps me sit up and stretch out the stiffness of sleeping in the same position for an hour. I glance in the direction he is looking out his window at a piece of architecture that looks more like art than a building. The front of Dominus is spectacular.
“Drive around,” he instructs Elijah.
“It’s beautiful.” I say breathless. I duck my head to get a better look out of his window as we pass.
“Why are we turning around?”
“I want to get out of the car first from my side.”
I sit back and look at him tilting my head with question.
“I want to exit first and help you out of the car.”
I smile knowingly. He doesn’t want anyone seeing inside the slit of my dress when I step out of the car.
Elijah swings the Benz around, pulling up to the curb where I can get a better look at Marcus’s life’s work.
The building rises high into the dark but several floors have lacy wrought iron terraces that are lit from underneath. There are three large archways at street level where people are entering the restaurant.
Above each archway are identical nude statues of women with elegantly molded decorative bases made from marble.
There is no reason to go inside. I could sit and admire the outside of the building for hours.
“You like it. I can tell by the way your beautiful brown eyes are sparkling. You should see how alive you look, Imani. You look like you’re lit up from the inside.” He squeezes my hand and tears spring from nowhere.
Sometimes his compliments are overwhelming, especially since no man has ever loved me this way before.
“Hey,” he says, and cradles my face in his hands. He has a thumb under each eye to catch the two matching tears that fall, just two.
“None of that.” He rubs his fingers together to remove the moisture and kisses me softly on my lips, cherry red lips to cover my bruise. Consequently, he has a dab of red on his mouth and I rub it out with my thumb.
“Let’s go.” Elijah exits the car, swings our door open. Marcus glides out as only he can do and reaches for me. Aware of the signatures under my stockings, I shuffle to return my dress to a position where it covers me best.
Yes, he knew what he was doing when he covered me with ink; no one will see one inch of me. I will keep even the parts that could accidentally be seen, like my leg, under wraps. I don’t want anyone to see that he’s been using me as a notepad. Smart man.
Sixty-One
The beauty of the restaurant on the inside equally overwhelms me. It’s similarly set up in a floor plan to the one in Seattle but completely different in style and interior decoration.
Seattle Dominus is modern, sleek, and contemporary where Milan Dominus is old world style Victorian. It has beautiful detailed molding and huge windows with heavy drapes lining one wall. It has a royal color scheme with inspiring gold and purples and creams. The tables have long double cream-colored cloths and a small pastel purple and cream flower arrangement on each one.
The tables are set for two and have the chairs right next to each other. The flower arrangement is placed on the far curve of the round table giving the guests better use of the space on the table.
Green plant life is strategically placed in areas that make it pleasing to the eye and busts on pillars are scattered here and there.
The details are overwhelming. Maybe this is how it feels to be in a castle, everything screams royal, classy and expensive.
There is one thing I can see that has been replicated from the Seattle location however. The chandelier there is very similar to the one here. I thought I had seen the most beautiful array of crystals in my life, but I stand corrected. These are more dazzling.
The ceiling is dripping with pieces of glass, all intricately cut and hanging at different heights and intervals from each other, casting a heavenly glow across the room.
A woman greets us at the door with a double take of Marcus. Good Lord, did he not call ahead and let them know he was coming? I’ll bet not. He probably wanted to be sure things were being run smoothly in his absence. And the best way to do that is to surprise everyone.
She recovers quickly and smooths the front of her blush-colored skirt and steps to greet us right inside the door.
“Mr. Castillo! What a pleasant surprise! I’m so glad to see you are doing so well.” Then she catches sight of me and falters. I can see she’s scrambling mentally, trying to understand what’s happening and what to do next.
Marcus slides his arm around my furry waist and her eyes bug out of her head and she begins to ring her hands glancing from him to me. She doesn’t know what to say. This doesn’t happen often apparently, maybe never.
He informs the beautiful Italian woman that we need a table for two with another nearby for four. He’s pleasant but f
ormal, and why the table for four?
“Yes, sir, right away, sir.” The hot hostess teeters on her painful looking black heels to a large table where she whispers into another employee’s ear and he takes off like he has a firecracker in his pants.
“I should have introduced you. Her face is familiar but I can’t place her name,” Marcus says, apologizing. His lack of memory frustrates him. I imagine he had a photographic memory before the tumor invaded his brain.
“It’s fine. She was a little stunned, though, huh?”
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought to dinner here.”
I see now why she got a case of the nerves. Seating the boss who has brought a date for the first time has to be daunting.
The table for four is for Mr. Black and Elijah. They have dates so they don’t look so out of place.”
“Won’t dates distract them?”
“Not these dates; they have been hired to help. We have four guards instead of two.” Well, isn’t that just great? Eight eyes instead of four watching every move I make, every time I go to the ladies’ room, every drink I order.
I don’t complain, though. I know he feels bad about the constant intrusion and it’s necessary to keep me safe and protected from him.
Firecracker Pants returns in mere seconds to whisper in hot hostess’s ear. She approaches again, this time collected and confident.
“This way, please. We have your private table ready, Mr. Castillo, and one for four directly across.” He nods and moves his arm from my waist to the small of my back to guide me.
Elijah and Mr. Black are right behind us accompanied by two gorgeous elegant women who look like they could be the men’s wives.
A little pang of protectiveness comes over me when I see Elijah with another woman; not jealous, I don’t think, but possessive. He’s become important to me and I feel a connection with him that stems from our relationship with Marcus. I know it’s all a setup and the women are just there for show, and muscle apparently, but it makes me uneasy just the same.
