Chapter 10 Victoria #2
She is so careful with every word she speaks, except when she gets angry.
“More you.”
A giddy feeling rushes through my body, and I cannot keep my breath from quickening.
“Do you know what comes with me?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and her eyes wander back down to her fumbling fingers in her lap.
“I only know what I read online,” she says. “The part where you don’t believe in love.”
“I did say that,” I say, and add in a knowing tone, “But this is a public interview. They are given for performance purposes; what is said carries little meaning, and it is all very superficial. Also, I am generally open to life to teach me otherwise.”
She looks back up at me. I am still struck by how every emotion shows on her face so rawly and imminently.
“You are?” she asks.
“I am. But I’m also aware of the life I live. And as of this point, you know nothing about that life.”
Her eyes flicker, and she asks me with subtle humour in her voice, “Are you telling me you’re a disguised MI6 agent?”
I laugh out loud wholeheartedly.
“If I were, I could neither confirm nor deny,” I say. “But I am not. I simply have very peculiar tastes when it comes to sexual and life’s pleasures.”
She looks at me as if I were speaking in riddles, and her cheeks turn red the moment I use the word sexual.
I smile vaguely.
“Have you ever had sex in your life?” I ask.
She blushes even further and shakes her head.
“I didn’t even kiss anyone,” she says. “I…um…with boys…men…it never felt right, and my mother told me my interest in girls was merely a phase, and she would not have a lesbian daughter, and then I got older, and well—“
“Are you telling me that kissing me was the first time for you?” I cannot believe my ears.
She nods and gets as small as she can.
“Do not hide,” I tell her and pull her chin up. “None of it is bad.”
“I’m a wallflower,” she says, and I feel the pain in her voice. “You said it yourself.”
“Yes. I told you that you hide behind it. There was no, and never will be, any judgment. I rather enjoy it. You should have noticed earlier.”
“Is that what you mean by peculiar tastes?” she asks. “That I kneel for you?”
“A small part,” I say. “I can show you more.”
Our starters arrive. A wonderful, in a square arranged guacamole on a round plate, decorated with edible flowers and Emiliano’s sourdough bread.
She stares at the three sets of cutlery, and then her hands clench into fists.
“The outer one,” I say. “You work yourself from the outside to the inside with each dish.”
She sighs, and I sense it does more to her than it should.
“There is nothing embarrassing about it,” I add. “You grew up in a different environment. There is nothing I cannot teach you.”
Her eyes wander up into mine in a stolen glance of pure devotion. “Show me more,” she says silently, and a fluttery sensation surges once more through my chest.
“I will,” I say. “I am going to ask you some questions before, all of which you will answer without hesitation and in absolute truth.”
“Okay,” she says and takes a forkful of the guacamole in such a lucious way I have to take deep breaths in and out.
Images come to my mind's eye, and because I am who I am, I grasp her chin and brush over her bottom lip with my thumb, so its tip enters her mouth.
Her eyes bore into mine, but all I can see is my thumb in her mouth.
“Suck it,” I tell her, and she rolls her shoulders in utmost discomfort. Her eyes flash towards the other guests in the restaurant.
“Do it,” I reinforce my order. “No one will notice.”
She opens her mouth further and sucks in my thumb. Her tongue trails around it, and for a single moment, she pushes her mouth onto it, so my thumb is fully in her mouth.
My lips curve with pleasure.
“We are going to have so much fun, Miss Phillips,” I say as I remove my thumb and take my own cutlery.
I give her a moment to eat in peace before I start questioning her.
“Tell me,” I say. “How do you touch yourself when you’re alone?”
“Touch myself?” she asks.
“Yes, touch yourself. Masturbating.”
Her gaze drops down immediately, and I can already guess the answer.
“I—I don’t. Why would I?”
“For pleasure, of course. Have you truly never masturbated?”
“N-not really,” she says. “I don’t like my body that much…I…um—” Her voice trails off.
Never have I met a person who has not explored herself by that age. Nothing about it is bad; it is just so rare, and for all the wrong reasons.
“I devour your body,” I say, and my hands wander on her thigh. “Your body causes me to dream of my hands gliding over it, grasping it, losing myself in it. When I watched you earlier, it was the most wonderful thing I have seen in a very long time.”
This time, not only her cheeks but her entire face flushes.
I lean in on her, and my hand wanders to her inner thigh and further up.
“If you let me, I will show you how to do it tonight,” I whisper in her ear.
She nods.
“Tell me yes or no, be truthful.”
“Yes,” she says with a weak voice.
“Are you scared?” I ask and lean back and let go of her.
“Yes,” she says.
“What are you scared of?”
“That I’m not good enough,” she says.
“I hear you, but you will stop this thought,” I tell her.
“What we will do is not about performance. I have absolutely no expectations of you. I wish you to feel yourself tonight, to feel what it is you want and what it is you do not want. I require you to say no, loud and clearly, whenever something does not feel right. Is that something you can do?”
“Yes,” she says, and wipes over her cheek to remove a tear.
“Let’s eat,” I say to reduce the intensity of the situation.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks me after a while.
“Doing what?”
“Me. Dealing with me and my issues.”
“Because I am not dealing with you. I am exploring a woman I find as interesting as appealing,” I say with a smile.
A weak smile appears on her face.
The rest of dinner, we are talking about more superficial topics, something she feels more comfortable with.
We wish Emiliano farewell and leave for the elevators.
We step into it, and before the door is fully closed, I push her by the forehead into the wall with my hand, gliding over it through her hair to cup her head as my lips meet hers. A rather bold move, but three glasses of wine fire my desire and lust.
She melts into my touch.
I kiss her demandingly, with tongue, and when the elevator sounds with the arriving ding, I let go of her as if nothing had ever happened.
She is not as quick to switch; she is quite a mess. A beautiful one.
Henry waits for us and opens the door to the car, and I let her get in first.
“Home,” I tell Henry, and he nods, maybe an increment too knowingly.