The Saint
Page 93
“I don’t know.” She looked up at him. She smiled, yes, but it was through tears. “I can’t tell if I’m happy or miserable.”
“An appropriate reaction,” he said, lightly tapping her under the chin.
Turning to her meal, she reached for her fork, but Søren snapped his fingers. She stopped and slowly placed her hand back in her lap.
“You do nothing without my permission.”
“Yes, sir.”
He picked up a strawberry, red and wet, and brought it to her lips.
“Eat,” he ordered.
She parted her lips and let him lay the strawberry on her tongue. Her cheeks ached from its sweetness. She swallowed it because she knew he wanted her to.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, now serving her a spoonful of the soup, some sort of miracle in a bowl. And yet it might have been ashes on her tongue for as much as she enjoyed it.
“Not uncomfortable. Weird. I feel weird.”
“You’ll have to elaborate.”
“I feel …” She paused and looked at her own naked body. She had her legs firmly pressed together, her stomach pulled in tight. She’d positioned her arms to cover her br**sts as much as she could. “Very aware of my own body.”
“Exposed?”
“That.”
“I have seen you naked before,” he reminded her.
“That was different. We were on a bed in the dark and doing stuff.”
“Doing stuff? You can do better than that. What were we doing?”
“We were.” She exhaled, feeling strangely tongue-tied. “We were kissing and touching and you used your fingers to make me come twice and you came on me and it was amazing.”
“Where did I touch you?” Søren gave her another spoonful of soup. She couldn’t believe he was feeding her.
Eleanor’s feet went numb and her hands trembled.
“You’re seriously trying to embarrass the hell out of me, aren’t you, sir?” She added the sir quickly at the end.
“I am. But also you need to be comfortable talking to me about anything. If you believe you’re mature enough to do the acts, you need to be mature enough to talk about them. So tell me, where did I touch you?”
She closed her eyes to remember that night with him in his childhood bedroom. But also so she wouldn’t have to look at him while she answered his humiliating questions.
“You kissed me on the mouth and on my neck and shoulders. You kissed my br**sts and my ni**les. Um …”
“I have to say it amuses me that a young woman with your notoriously foul mouth is struggling so much to say words like br**sts.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I am. And you’re blushing and beautiful, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the show. Continue.”
“Am I allowed to use slang terms, sir?”
“Not tonight. You have to be clinical and precise. You called Kingsley a cocksucker to his face the night he beat you at blackjack. But tonight I have to wonder if you can use the word penis in a sentence without fainting.”
“Next time I play blackjack with King I’m calling him a penis. There. Happy, sir?”
“Of course I’m happy. You’re here, naked and obeying my every order despite the fact you’re nervous and mortified. It’s intoxicating to see you so uncomfortable.”
“You are totally getting off on making me miserable, aren’t you, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I hate feeling like this.”
“Like what?”
“Awkward. Scared. No, that’s not it.”
“Vulnerable.”
“I hate it,” she repeated.
“I’ve noticed. You rarely let yourself be vulnerable. Your brashness and boldness, your brutal honesty, keeps people at bay. But now here you are, stripped of your defenses. It’s quite becoming. So please continue. Where else did I touch you? And do open your eyes.”
Eleanor reluctantly obeyed. She took two seconds to mentally drown Søren in the soup bowl before answering.
“You touched my shoulders, chest, br**sts, back, ass, I mean bottom, derriere, whatever the official term is. And my hips and thighs. You put a finger inside me.”
Søren coughed.
“You touched my clitoris and put a finger inside my vagina,” she said, enunciating each word as nervous sweat beaded under her arms. “And I loved it.”
“I did, too. Where did you touch me?”
Eleanor groaned and dropped her head onto the table.
“Eleanor, you’re eighteen years old. If you want to be treated like an adult you must act like one. Sit up straight and answer the question.”
She sat up and straightened her spine like an iron rod.
“I kissed you on the mouth and the neck and shoulders and chest. I think that’s all.”
“It is. In the future, I will allow you more access to my body.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Where did you touch me?” He reached into his water glass and pulled out an ice cube. He placed it at the top of her spine and she gasped at the shock of the cold.
“I touched your face and your neck and your shoulders and your chest and back and penis, and there, I said it. Are you done torturing me yet?”
“No.”
“A girl can dream.”
He traced the length of her spine with the ice cube from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried not to squirm.
“An appropriate reaction,” he said, lightly tapping her under the chin.
Turning to her meal, she reached for her fork, but Søren snapped his fingers. She stopped and slowly placed her hand back in her lap.
“You do nothing without my permission.”
“Yes, sir.”
He picked up a strawberry, red and wet, and brought it to her lips.
“Eat,” he ordered.
She parted her lips and let him lay the strawberry on her tongue. Her cheeks ached from its sweetness. She swallowed it because she knew he wanted her to.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, now serving her a spoonful of the soup, some sort of miracle in a bowl. And yet it might have been ashes on her tongue for as much as she enjoyed it.
“Not uncomfortable. Weird. I feel weird.”
“You’ll have to elaborate.”
“I feel …” She paused and looked at her own naked body. She had her legs firmly pressed together, her stomach pulled in tight. She’d positioned her arms to cover her br**sts as much as she could. “Very aware of my own body.”
“Exposed?”
“That.”
“I have seen you naked before,” he reminded her.
“That was different. We were on a bed in the dark and doing stuff.”
“Doing stuff? You can do better than that. What were we doing?”
“We were.” She exhaled, feeling strangely tongue-tied. “We were kissing and touching and you used your fingers to make me come twice and you came on me and it was amazing.”
“Where did I touch you?” Søren gave her another spoonful of soup. She couldn’t believe he was feeding her.
Eleanor’s feet went numb and her hands trembled.
“You’re seriously trying to embarrass the hell out of me, aren’t you, sir?” She added the sir quickly at the end.
“I am. But also you need to be comfortable talking to me about anything. If you believe you’re mature enough to do the acts, you need to be mature enough to talk about them. So tell me, where did I touch you?”
She closed her eyes to remember that night with him in his childhood bedroom. But also so she wouldn’t have to look at him while she answered his humiliating questions.
“You kissed me on the mouth and on my neck and shoulders. You kissed my br**sts and my ni**les. Um …”
“I have to say it amuses me that a young woman with your notoriously foul mouth is struggling so much to say words like br**sts.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I am. And you’re blushing and beautiful, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the show. Continue.”
“Am I allowed to use slang terms, sir?”
“Not tonight. You have to be clinical and precise. You called Kingsley a cocksucker to his face the night he beat you at blackjack. But tonight I have to wonder if you can use the word penis in a sentence without fainting.”
“Next time I play blackjack with King I’m calling him a penis. There. Happy, sir?”
“Of course I’m happy. You’re here, naked and obeying my every order despite the fact you’re nervous and mortified. It’s intoxicating to see you so uncomfortable.”
“You are totally getting off on making me miserable, aren’t you, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I hate feeling like this.”
“Like what?”
“Awkward. Scared. No, that’s not it.”
“Vulnerable.”
“I hate it,” she repeated.
“I’ve noticed. You rarely let yourself be vulnerable. Your brashness and boldness, your brutal honesty, keeps people at bay. But now here you are, stripped of your defenses. It’s quite becoming. So please continue. Where else did I touch you? And do open your eyes.”
Eleanor reluctantly obeyed. She took two seconds to mentally drown Søren in the soup bowl before answering.
“You touched my shoulders, chest, br**sts, back, ass, I mean bottom, derriere, whatever the official term is. And my hips and thighs. You put a finger inside me.”
Søren coughed.
“You touched my clitoris and put a finger inside my vagina,” she said, enunciating each word as nervous sweat beaded under her arms. “And I loved it.”
“I did, too. Where did you touch me?”
Eleanor groaned and dropped her head onto the table.
“Eleanor, you’re eighteen years old. If you want to be treated like an adult you must act like one. Sit up straight and answer the question.”
She sat up and straightened her spine like an iron rod.
“I kissed you on the mouth and the neck and shoulders and chest. I think that’s all.”
“It is. In the future, I will allow you more access to my body.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Where did you touch me?” He reached into his water glass and pulled out an ice cube. He placed it at the top of her spine and she gasped at the shock of the cold.
“I touched your face and your neck and your shoulders and your chest and back and penis, and there, I said it. Are you done torturing me yet?”
“No.”
“A girl can dream.”
He traced the length of her spine with the ice cube from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried not to squirm.
