erotica with D/s elements
Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
If he had struck me it couldn’t have hurt more, but it wasn’t just the words, it was how easily he saw through me. I forced my tiny voice to sound strong and authoritative. “You may call me Miss Farfalla, and I do hope you will be finished the job today. My work is very intense and your presents is distracting.”
He gave me that irascible grin again. “It is, huh?”
I couldn’t halt the color flooding my cheeks, but I kept my tone cool. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
The grin grew and with it a look that spoke of such power and confidence that I shivered.
“Don’t have to, girl,” he said. “The way you’ve been looking me over is about as flattering as it gets. And…” he paused, severed the distance between us and had the audacity to hook one blunt finger under my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “You can hide behind convent walls and over-sized glasses, but you can’t hide what you need or who you are...” he paused and winked, “… Gia.”
Another, more assertive person would have known what to say. Would have rebuffed him or have ordered him out. Instead, fear took hold. I tore away from him, running from the office. I didn’t return until I knew he had left for the day. Yet, the next day he was back, his grin in place along with a new determination to make me aware of his presence. His constant interruptions made my work suffer and I ended up staying later and later each evening to make certain I met deadlines. The nuns didn’t seem to notice much of my coming and goings. And I never once thought to complain about Chase. He was a hard worker and always stayed longer than I did. The job wasn’t as simple as I first thought. He had to replace the windows as well as sand and stain all the molding. After that he mentioned something about replacing the floor to ceiling bookcases.
After the first week, I realized he often worked through lunch with only a pack of crackers and endless cups of coffee. In an Italian household one never skipped lunch. And although I wasn’t heavy, I had the full curves and firmness of my heritage and had no intention of skipping lunch to become a stick. I was comfortable with my build, and even though I tried to hide it, I couldn’t help noticing that most men appreciated it as well.
Finally, one day I broke down and brought him lunch. It resembled dinner, with chicken cutlets on thick slabs of crusty, homemade bread, potato salad, fruit, cheese and a large biscotti for dessert. “Did you make this yourself,” he asked while indulging.
I nodded, munching on an apple and cheese. “I like to cook and always have a ton of food in the refrigerator, which I end up having to give away since I live alone.”
“Yeah, when I was a kid it was like an open house every day, but I was the youngest of a youngest son. One by one the old people died and the family broke away. We moved across country and once my parents died I find I only return home on holidays.”
There was such sadness in his tone that I had all I could do not to invite him to dinner, but that would open doors I didn’t want opened, not ever. I found myself liking this carpenter, liking the way he laughed, the way he ate, the way he looked at me as if I mattered. For so long now I had been afraid of everything and everyone. I had been raised to be a virgin until my wedding night. I had never been to a nightclub nor ever ran with a fast crowd. At twenty-five years of age, old-fashioned and virtuous labeled me like packaged meat. Yet I wasn’t. My dreams soared with images of twisted limbs and thrusting bodies. Within me reigned a lusty wench with needs that burned my cheeks and tortured my soul.
However, the singular time I allowed that part of me out in a youthful surge of unrequited love, I had been used and tossed aside like stale bread. Even worse, I had been left pregnant, my family, being old-world, turned me away. I lost the man I loved and my family all in a few days. However, I had a baby to prepare for and focused on that new life, for I refused to destroy it or abandon it. However, it wasn’t to be. The baby was stillborn. After that, I never again allowed myself to stray and had become a cold, impregnable fortress, except in my dreams.
“I’m sorry,” was all I managed as I went back to work.
Days turned into weeks and before I knew it nearly two months had passed. As the weather warmed, we had our lunches outside and we’d talked as we worked. Somehow, I managed to be productive even with the interruptions. He asked me out for an official date only once. I declined, stammering I had a boyfriend.
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