Chapter Forty-Two #5
He remains stubbornly silent until I tug his leash, forcing him to speak up. “Jesus… I wasn’t sure if you’d be expecting heels,” he grunts sarcastically. I chuckle, continuing on while he cracks a teasing grin. “I wanted to look good… for our date.”
My heart leaps and I tug my lip between my teeth.
Wow…
“That is, until you showed up with cuffs and a collar.”
“Not the accessories you had in mind?” I sneer, and he fakes a laugh. “Angelito, you could be wearing an oversized t-shirt with ketchup stains on it and still be the most beautiful person in any room. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
His cheeks flush deeper pink and he bites his lip. It’s clear that normally he’d be fussing with his hair, or his clothes, as a form of expelling nervous energy. But he can’t, and I think it’s good for him.
I want him to be comfortable with himself always. Beneath my gaze in particular, with nothing to hide behind.
Sure enough, I get his backup defense mechanism of snarky attitude when he grumbles, “Says the man who dresses up to get the mail…”
“First of all, I don’t get mail,” I jest, and he laughs. It’s such an intoxicating sight and sound, I feel drunk. “Second of all, I know you enjoy dressing up. And that doesn’t have to mean suits and ties, skirts and heels. Fashion is self-expression, not labels.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I can’t imagine you in normal clothes…” His gaze wanders, as if he’s actually trying to picture it, which has me grinning. He peers at me. “Do you sleep in a suit?”
“For your information, I sleep naked.” I wink.
His lashes flutter, but he scoffs, “You’re annoying.”
I chuckle, stomach going all topsy-turvy. It’s uncomfortable, so I continue the conversation, to get away from it. “Regardless, you do look stunning. You are a natural beauty, pajarito. I hope you can see yourself as I do.”
He’s deep in thought again. I’ve never noticed how introspective he is. but then, how would I? This is really our first time getting to know one another, outside of the physical.
That’s why this date is so important, and also so nerve-racking. We dove head-first into mauling each other… Now we’re slowing it down, and I don’t know what to expect.
“Well, I’m glad the lingerie fetish collection is working for you,” he mumbles after a beat.
I huff, “Why sleep in perfectly good clothes when you can sleep naked?”
“I prefer sleeping in underwear,” he chimes casually.
A thump rocks my loins at the image.
“Is that an invitation?” My voice comes out throaty.
“I don’t think I want to sleep in handcuffs,” he deadpans.
“Don’t be silly. I could just tie you to the bed.” I smirk.
He gawks at me, shaking his head. “Dios mio…”
Grinning, I lead him through the passageway around the outer edge of the mansion to the back staircase.
“I’ve been in there.” He points to a door, the one that leads to the hidden passages behind the first-floor den and library.
“Is that so?” My lips twitch.
Sneaky little thing.
“I’ve been all over this place,” he professes, almost triumphantly. It’s purely adorable. “In fact, the only part of this mansion I’ve never explored is your floor.”
“That can’t be true,” I hum.
“It is. The only time I ever went up there was the night you caught me.”
His wording fills me with many things I decide to store up and think about later.
But one question is too persistent. “Is that how you see it, pajarito… That I caught you?”
He peeks at me. “You don’t?”
I have to think about it for a moment. “Maybe… But you returned on your own. I wasn’t out hunting you. Not for lack of trying, anyway.”
He chuckles softly. I can barely even fathom how unperturbed he seems by the notion of being abducted. I know he tells himself he hates being locked in that cage, but in truth, I think he’s comforted by it. It offers him a more concrete excuse as to why he isn’t killing me, like he’s supposed to.
“Well, I had to come back to you, didn’t I, Diablo?” Mirth decorates that sultry mouth. “How else am I supposed to kill you?”
A buoyant grin sweeps up my own lips. “You got me there, baby bird.”
We take the back staircase up to my floor. It’s much narrower than the grand staircase, and thus a bit harder to ascend cuffed and leashed. But we manage, and I bring him through the doorway to my floor, though he’s lingering and distracted.
“I thought your floor was the top,” he questions. “Where do those stairs lead?”
“Roof, my love,” I tell him, yanking him along to keep him moving. “The helipad is up there.” I pause, noting how fascinated he looks. “Would you like a tour?”
Some excitement flashes in his bright eyes, and he nods enthusiastically.
I can’t pretend that his interest in my home doesn’t please me immensely.
It’s often overlooked how intricate and incredible this mansion really is.
I haven’t had a guest I wanted to impress here in a while—not since Lemuel, and I was too busy to give him the tour of the mansion myself.
I’m pretty sure Kent did it, though he wasn’t allowed on my floor.
With Angelito, I have the rare opportunity to show off my private fortress of solitude.
And so I do. I bring him all around my floor on a leash, giving him a brief history lesson. I tell him about the island, where the prison came from and how it came to belong to me. And then, as we take a seat in my den and I pour us a glass of wine, I tell him about The Ivory Mansion.
“The architect and I used to get drunk together and come up with funny ways to spend more of the board’s money,” I tell him, chuckling nostalgically while I unbuckle the leash from his collar. “Like the secret passageways and the conservatory.”
Angel shakes his head, grinning. “How much did this place cost?”
“In total? Start to finish?” I tip the glass to his lips, offering him a sip.
He’s glaring, unamused. But he concedes, allowing me to feed him wine. It’s unbearably fucking sexy.
“Just shy of eleven million,” I answer.
He coughs into the glass, and I pull it away. “Jesus…”
I swipe away some Tempranillo from his lip my thumb, popping it into my mouth. “And that’s just the mansion.” I smirk at the way he’s blushing, taking a sip from the glass myself. “The prison was… less costly.”
“Yea, no shit,” he scoffs. “The place is a hole. I mean, even before…”
“Hm… yes, well, Alabaster Penitentiary is like a cockroach,” I grumble.
“It will survive nuclear holocausts and probably the next great flood.” He chuckles.
“Three thousand years from now, some new race of creatures will stumble upon a weathered concrete shell with Ren was here carved on the walls…”
Angel rumbles some more, watching me closely. I cock a brow.
“You seem much less enthusiastic about the Pen than this mansion.” He’s giving me this knowing little look that has me squinting.
“What’s your point?”
He shrugs, nodding for another sip. Of course, I oblige.
“I’m just saying, if you hate it so much, why are you fighting so hard to keep it?”
“I’m not fighting to keep the prison, pajarito.” I shift to face him. “You’re right, I don’t really care about it. It’s the principle. This island is my kingdom, and I’ll be damned if someone thinks they can overthrow me.”
Angel blinks. “You mean like you did to my father…?”
He could easily be smug in his line of questioning, because he definitely makes a good point, not that I care to admit it. But he doesn’t seem to be calling me out as much as he is genuinely wondering.
“Angelito, I realize this may be difficult since you were three years old when he died, but you need to take your father off the pedestal you have him on in your mind. The man was… more than flawed.”
I sip my wine to distract from how much I dislike what I just said to him. But I’m not getting into the things he doesn’t know right now.
His eyes shift away defiantly. “Yea, well… I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get the chance to know him.”
He leans in and parts his lips, signaling that he wants more wine.
Already settled into the notion of me feeding him.
It’s this enticing prospect that cemented the decision to keep him cuffed, at least for a portion of our date…
Because I’m much less concerned about him killing me than I am aroused as fuck by the idea of feeding him dinner. And dessert.
I give him more wine, finishing the glass myself, eyeing his mouth, dewy with red wine that I just want to taste with his flavor.
“Let’s eat, love,” I mumble, setting his glass down and forcing myself not to pounce on him. “I hope you’re hungry…”
He shifts and bites his lip.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “For food, pajarito malo.”
“Right.” He stifles a smirk. “Are you really going to leave me cuffed the whole time? I’m worried you don’t see how insane that is…”
I have to laugh again, taking his chin between my fingers. “But I want to feed you, sweet thing.”
“Fuck…” He breathes, green eyes set on my mouth. “I want you to.”
“Angel… dinner, baby,” I hum, forcing an admonishing tone to disguise how enchanted I am by his apparent feral desire to entwine our bodies until we’re one damn person. “So so naughty.”
“I wish I could say I’m sorry,” he mutters, sliding his tongue seductively over his lower lip.
And as much as I want to climb on top of him right now and spend an extended period of time devouring him, I stow my eagerness and force myself to heel. Because this is my first time doing this… Dating, that is.
I wanna do it right. Sort of.
I give him the tsk tsk. “You are being fresh, gorgeous. If you keep acting up, you won’t get dessert…” I cock a taunting brow, lashing his top lip with my tongue. Then I stand up.
His lips are parted, pupils enlarged as he pouts. “Mean.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Mira, carino, this is my first date… I’d like to at least make it through dinner before whipping my dick out.”
“You mean our first date…” He tips his chin. “Right?”
I blink down at him.
His eyes round. “Wait, is this your… first time going on a date? Like, ever??”
My grin is uncontrollable. “I like that this surprises you. Do I seem like the type to date, pajarito?”
Shock fading a bit, he rasps, “No. You definitely do not. In fact, I thought you were having a stroke when you asked me…”
My expression is purely charmed.
“But still!” He goes on. “Not even one…? When you were young?”
“Not my thing.” I shrug.
He stares. “Then… why did you want to date me?”
“I told you, baby…” I drop to my knees beside him on the couch, trailing his jaw with my fingers. “You’re special. You are different, Angelito. And I just want to spend time with you.”
He looks completely flabbergasted. I think I really love it…
“Okay.” He nods enthusiastically. “Let’s eat then. I’m starving.”
So… maybe there is something to be said for having no fucking clue what in the holy fuck you’re doing.