Chapter 32
S CARLETT
I’m not buying him a Christmas gift.
We’re browsing the stores for some time, searching for stuff for me.
I never thought shopping with someone, especially a man––more so someone like him––could be so much fun.
I try things on, taste delicious chocolate, and take too many selfies wearing colorful hats, gloves, scarves, and boots.
I only had such a good time when I was little and knew nothing about money or how difficult life could be.
I end up with several gifts. An expensive fountain pen for work. A lucky charm bracelet. A fancy winter hat. A planner. And a few other little things. A box of chocolate-covered cherries, and a smartphone photo printer.
He takes quite a few pictures of me with his phone and mine, and then I insist that he take photos of us.
In most photographs, you can’t see his face. He either has his lips buried in my hair, or he’s nuzzling my neck, but even so, I capture enough of him to feel weak in my knees whenever I peek at them.
“Happy?” he asks as we walk out of the last store we’ve shopped in this evening.
“Yes, it was fun. Where did you learn to shop with someone for stuff like this?”
His eyes move away from mine.
“I used to do it with someone else,” he says before showing me to the posh entrance of a hotel.
My eyes go wide.
“Where are we going now?”
“We’re having dinner,” he says as if our entire shopping trip has been carefully thought out.
We enter the hotel and follow the hostess to the restaurant––a quiet, elegant place with illumination provided by wall sconces and lit candles.
I’m glad I’m finally dressed for the occasion. I wear a simple black dress with a narrow belt and matching heels.
He likes what he sees, his eyes moving slowly over the smooth fabric of my dress.
We place the order, and the food arrives quickly. Roasted cauliflower soup, baked potatoes tossed with olive oil and herbs, grilled halibut, caviar, and bread pudding with whipped cream.
We’ve worked an appetite, so we focus on our food and drinks before slowing down and talking.
“So…” I say as we’re sipping wine, a piano player in the background tenderly moving his deft fingers over the keys. “What made you come to the Christmas party last week?”
He tilts his drink against his lips and takes a sip before setting the glass down with a smile.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
He slowly runs the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip and thoughtfully ponders his answer.
“I owed someone a favor.”
“The man who had an accident. How is he, by the way?”
“He’s doing fine.”
“You weren’t happy at all.”
“I wasn’t. I had other plans that evening.”
My guard goes up, and his eyes come to me.
“It’s not what you think. I just didn’t want to be in a room full of normal people.”
I look at him, intrigued, before laughing, entertained.
“There is no such a thing as normal when it comes to people. Do you think I’m normal?”
A smirk pulls at his lips as he tilts his head back a little and takes me in with a wolfish grin.
“You were a big surprise to me and made my sacrifice worthwhile.”
“Your sacrifice??” I chuckle again. “You sat on a chair and had your picture taken with my students while I had to do everything else, from organizing the event to making sure Santa showed up.”
He studies my face for a little while.
“What made you go into this line of work? Become a teacher?”
“What else could I have done?” I ask, shrugging. “I couldn’t work in a corporation. And working for someone else without having a smidgen of autonomy would’ve driven me up the wall. I’m doing my best to be a good teacher.”
“Why all the side hustles then?”
That’s the thing about having these conversations.
Sooner or later, they become uncomfortable and raw, peppered with unpleasant truths.
My smile fades.
“I make extra money to pay my bills, my mortgage, and my student loan.”
His eyes stay on me a little longer before I escape their scrutiny.
It feels good to speak the truth and don't have to pretend I’m something that I’m not.
On the other hand, I feel uncomfortable.
I don’t want him to think I wallow in self-pity.
That’s not me.
“You should ask for a raise,” he says out of nowhere, and my eyebrows go up. “Yeah. You should. I can send a letter of recommendation to the school administrator.”
“You can do that?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, perked up again.
There’s no point in feeling bad about myself. I’ll take whatever I can get. Even if it comes in the form of a man who has money and connections.
“So you weren’t in any real danger to be kicked out at the Christmas party last week. If things didn’t go all right, you would’ve called someone,” I say.
Smiling smug, he leans to me, takes my hand, and brings it to his lips.
He places a kiss on my knuckles.
“I’m never in any kind of danger. And neither are you. I know how things work in life. And I know how to fix things.”
“Hmm…” I murmur, a smile tickling my lips.
He signals the waiter for the check and pays for our food and drinks before we get our jackets from the coat girl and walk out.
We stop in front of the hotel, and as I look up, a few specks of snow melt on my lips.
Christmas carols echo over invisible speakers, and as I glance at him, I catch him studying me.
His expression changes swiftly, and we’re back to lusting after each other.
“My place?” I ask in response to his intense gaze.
I’ve learned a thing or two about this man.
I know when he’s angry, in a good mood, or hungry for sex, like now.
“My place, Ewan?” I offer again, and he gives me a knowing smile.
“It’s too far.”
“Do you have another idea?”
He thinks about it.
“A hotel room?” I murmur.
He clicks his tongue.
“I have a better idea,” he says, grabbing my shopping bags.
“Why don’t we take a cab?” I murmur.
“No need to. We’re not that far.”
“Far from what?” I ask, yet my question remains unanswered as he pulls away from me with no intention of giving me more information, and I follow him without insisting.
SCARLETT
We stop in front of a beautiful brownstone house with faintly lit windows on the third floor.
“Who lives here?” I ask, looking up.
“We’re not going up there,” he says, showing me to the few steps leading to the basement.
I stop at the head of the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask suspiciously.
He flashes a smile.
“It’s a secret room. You’ll like it.”
“I need more than that.”
He pivots to me, closes the space between us, and speaks softly.
“It’s a unique space designed for sex.”
At first, I have a hard time believing him. It sounds like something he just made up on the fly.
“Who designed this room?”
“Us.”
“Who is us?”
He laughs at my bafflement when the voice of a man travels to us. Amused, he looks up the main stairs.
Someone is in the doorway, talking to another person inside.
“It’s the staff. Are you coming or not?” Ewan asks.
“The staff…” I mumble when he grabs my hand and pulls me to the dark basement door downstairs.
He punches in a code, the door opens, and we walk into a dark corridor.
Startled, I pull back.
“I can’t do this. It scares the shit out of me,” I say quietly.
“Stay scared,” he says, unfazed. “See how wet your pussy gets. Your orgasms will be even more intense.”
“You really get a kick out of this,” I comment, leaning into him as I take the last step down.
His lips come to my ears, his breath coasting over my neck.
“You don’t have to fear me, but if you want to, be my guest. You’ll only get more turned on.”
“I don’t want to know how you know this.”
His hand slides over the wall, and a dark purple light glows down the corridor.
“Wow. It looks… nice,” I say with sarcasm, moving my gaze around.
The walls are dark and smooth, like velvet.
“Is this velvet?” I ask, running my fingers over them.
“The walls are soundproof.”
My eyes flick to his.
“Ewan?”
“Scarlett?”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“Don’t talk to me like that. You make me feel like one of your students,” he jokes.
“You’re not serious.”
“Why should I be? There’s no need to panic. No one has had the chance to use this room before.”
“The sex room.”
“Yeah. My brother and I came up with the idea. We were out for drinks one night and probably had a drink too many when we talked about this. Actually, no…” he says, taking my hand and making me follow him.
“We were in a club, and everything was purple inside that venue. That’s why we chose the walls, rugs, and lights to be purple.
We went crazy on the design. But we wanted it for sex. ”
“You and your brother.”
“Yeah.”
He pushes a massive door open, and a large room stretches out in front of us.
“I told you no one had used it.”
The furniture is massive and decadent. Carved chairs and nightstands, and a huge bed. Thick curtains line a wall.
“Are windows behind those drapes?”
“Yes, there are, and they are locked. You can’t open them. Besides, they have security bars.”
“Are you sure this is for sex? It might as well be a torture room.”
“It is a torture room. It depends on how you look at it. Make yourself comfortable.”
Frankly, I’m a bit claustrophobic, especially knowing that there’s no way out.
“Can I at least walk out of here, or do I need a code.”
He takes his jacket off and drops it on a chair.
“You can do that, although it might trigger the alarm, and you might get to meet the staff.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, smiling, yet not interested to learn whether he is right or not.
Small lights glow around the ceiling and above the headboard. Fit for a king, the bed has sets of smooth, comfortable pillows, crisp sheets, and silky covers.
Anywhere else in the house, this would look like a dream.
It still looks like a dream, although being locked in this room feels like a nightmare.
“Relax,” he says, removing my jacket and placing it on the chair as well. “What would you like to drink?”
“Something sweet with a lot of alcohol in it. I think I need it…” I say when his eyes meet mine. “You probably don’t have that here.”