I'm pulled from my thoughts at the sound of approaching footsteps. Maria enters the large dining hall first, followed by a clearly reluctant Number Seven. Maria tells me in Spanish that she's going to fetch the first course, and I give her a nod to dismiss her.
Seven looks nervous, twisting her fingers around her left ring finger. She must be doing this absentmindedly; because when she looks down, a frown appears on her face, and she immediately stops. When she lifts her chin and her gaze meets mine, she takes my breath away.
Maria picked out an emerald green dress, which suits the girl's hourglass figure perfectly and brings out the green of her eyes. Her long, thick, dark locks cascade down her shoulders and back, and I can't seem to tear my gaze away from her beautiful, flawless face. Her olive skin looks soft like silk, and my fingertips twitch against my thighs as the thought of finding out exactly what it feels like under my touch.
I don't ever remember being this attracted to a woman before, and I find myself anxious to even be near her.Another first.
Standing, I pull out the chair adjacent to mine at the head of the table and wait for her to come to me. This is a test. And she will be tested often while she's here.
Some of the previous girls thought they would come here and be the boss of me or the boss of my staff, but that is not how this works. I want them compliant and respectful…andimpeccable. I demand their perfection.
It's what I paid for, after all.
She hesitates at first, but then she eventually begins to cross the room towards me. The dress hugs every curve of her luscious body, her hips swaying slightly as she walks. She's walking timidly and on her tiptoes as if she's used to wearing high heels.
I don't allow shoes to be worn in my home, and Maria always instructs the girls of that fact.
She stops about a foot from the chair and stares at me. Our gazes lock in a tense-filled moment before I gesture for her to sit in the chair I presented to her. She hesitates a moment longer before finally pressing her delectable ass into the plush chair. I gently push her in until she's at a comfortable distance from the table before I take my own seat just several inches to her left.
The table is long and seats fifteen. She could have sat anywhere really, but I want her close to me. I want to enjoy her since our time here is, unfortunately, limited.
"Hello. You look lovely," I tell her, hoping for a response, but disappointedly not receiving one.
I want to hear the sound of her voice. I talked to her on the first night, but she was just waking up out of a drug-induced fog and no doubt in pain. I imagine her voice to be melodic, and I can't wait until she decides to finally speak to me.
The girl simply tears her gaze away and stares at the empty plate before her.
Frowning, I grab a freshly laundered linen napkin and place it on my lap. Then I unbutton my cufflinks and methodically roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt over my strong forearms, being careful to roll each side the same number of times. I lost my suit jacket a while ago, having been too anxious and overheated while waiting for her arrival to dinner.
The first course, a cream soup, is served a few short moments later.
Seven stares at her bowl as if something is going to jump out and grab her. Hesitantly, she picks up her spoon, and I watch her hand tremble as she dips the utensil into the soup and slowly brings it to her mouth.
"Am I making you nervous?" My deep voice echoes in the large room, causing the girl to jump and dribble soup down the side of her mouth and chin.
Normally, the sight of food on someone's face would have me retching uncontrollably, but the fear in her eyes at doing something wrong has me concentrating on nothing but her reaction to me. Clearing my throat and surprising even myself, I grab one of the extra linen napkins from the table and gently wipe the soup from her pretty face.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," I whisper as I make sure every drop is wiped up. Her eyes are wide and trained on me, her breath coming out in short gasps, caressing my hand. My eye twitches as I begin to think about where her mouth has been. How many people has she kissed? How many cocks have been in that filthy mouth; juices and fluids and…? So many questions swirl around in my mind until I can't concentrate.
And that's when it happens.
My fingers accidentally graze across her lips, and it's like an electric shock going through me. I snatch my hand back and toss the used napkin to the floor.
I'm barely able to gain control of myself as my mind races, thinking about her breath on my fingertips and the fact that I touched her mouth…her mouth that is crawling with bacteria. I squeeze my eyes shut, reciting in my mind what the tests showed me earlier. I have the damn paperwork memorized. She's clean.She's been tested; she's clean, I tell myself over and over.
Nevertheless, I grab a bottle of hand sanitizer from my pants pocket and apply it liberally to my hands. I know I won't be able to continue on with my meal until I do so. I rub the antiseptic-smelling liquid into every crease and crevice, making sure that I get every inch of skin that may have been in contact with her.
After a while, I'm able to settle myself down enough that my heart stops racing and my breathing returns to normal. When I look up, I realize the girl's staring at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It's making me feel extremely uneasy, so I clear my throat and tell her sternly, "Eat."
Her head bows and her eyes meet the table as she grasps her spoon in her trembling hand and eventually scoops a mouthful to her lips. This time she doesn't spill a drop, and I'm pleased. In fact, she continues to eat quite eloquently, almost as if she's been trained.
We make it through the first course without talking, both of us consumed with our own thoughts. I'm angry that I almost had a meltdown in front of her. I don't let the women I purchase see that side of me. None of them had any idea that I'm…not normal. They didn't spend enough time with me to determine that.
But Seven knows now. I could see the confusion andpityin her gaze. I clench my left hand into a fist under the table, trying to ease my temper. I don't need anyone's fucking pity.
One of my staff comes to clear our bowls --- fine china that will be unceremoniously tossed out in the trash. I never eat from the same plate or drink from the same glass twice. The utensils are sterling silver and hand washed before being put into a high-pressure, high-temp, industrial-sized dishwasher and ultimately polished dry, so I do allow the staff to clean and reuse them. But everything else must go in the trash as a one-time use only.
My gaze keeps straying to Seven. I can't stop staring at her, and I'm sure it's making her uncomfortable, but I don't care.She's mine to do with whatever I please, I tell myself. But I don't know if I truly believe that.
