Page 5 of Dirty, Bruised Martini
I think about you when I hide in shame from his staff.
Crawling underneath the bed I despise to keep from having to face them as they clean the upstairs.
They all know I’m his fuck toy the way he humiliates me in front of them.
Some of them hate it.
Like the traumatized, older woman who cooks his meals. Her sweet face flushing more red than the apples in the decorative white bowl on the counter when he jerked me up from my chair and bent me over the kitchen table. Drizzling fresh maple syrup down my spine before using the sticky liquid as lube. Fucking me right in front of her while she flipped pancakes at the stove, keeping her attention on her task and her eyes averted when she scurried over to set a heaping platter next to my face. My cheek smashed against the smooth black wood. As if her boss wasn’t fucking his play thing on top of her scrambled eggs. Smearing bits of yellow and white all over me and the destroyed place settings and her freshly mopped floor. Making a mess that could never really be cleaned.
Some of them love it.
No one is allowed to touch me but him. Although that doesn’t mean they don’t watch. They love watching. Snickering and grabbing their own crotches while I was on my knees sucking his. While he yanked my hair and garnered grunts of approval from the guards when he said, “This, gentlemen, is what makes me king. Not that motherfucker but me. Only me. Right kitten?”
I had no choice but to nod. Because I know what happens when I don’t agree. I’ve learned very quickly how much worse it will be for me if I don’t say yes.
But I’m not his kitten. I’m not his wife. I’m not his anything. I’m yours. Damn it! I’m YOURS!!! Whether his cum is on me or in me, I’m still yours!!!!
I think about you while he’s gone.
Two entire days I don’t have to worry about what he’s going to say or do. Not fear how he’ll hurt me. Not agonize over what torture he plans for me.
Ignoring him while he kissed my cheek good-bye, I tried to jerk away from his mouth on my skin. He grabbed me but didn’t smack me like he normally would. In a rare good mood, he chuckled instead and said, “Now don’t be that way, kitten. I know you’ll miss me, but I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”
Fuck him!
Like I’d ever miss that monster. Yes, I know exactly how he’ll make it up to me but I refuse to think about that. Right now I’m going to enjoy the next forty-seven and a half hours to think about you. Submerge myself into our little world of only you and me. Where he doesn’t exist. Not him. Not his guards. Not anyone.
I’ve snuck to one of the guest rooms so I don’t have to smell him on the sheets and blankets. Or see his belt draped across the back of the sofa issuing a silent threat. Or touch the bullet he left on my pillow as another warning. Reminders of too many things I don’t want to think about. When all I want is you on my mind.
I’m wearing a t-shirt and leggings one of the maids gave me. Some of the women are actually nice here. Helping me when he isn’t around to catch them. I guess Tara’s as tired of seeing me shiver in the lingerie he always makes me wear as much as I’m tired of wearing it. Absolutely ridiculous being half naked all the time. Always dressing me like a whore. Well, treating me like one too.
Now I’m finally warm and comfortable. Not just from the clothes. But from this little taste of freedom. Without the constant fear throbbing in my muscles, all I can feel is the ache for you. Which makes me want you so much more. I’m going to revel in our memories for as long as I can. Relive each amazing moment with you so I don’t have to tolerate remembering the terrifying ones with him. That fill my thoughts when I’m alone, griping me with fear that tries to strangle me. I refuse to panic. I refuse to let him win!!!
Anyway, this is about you and me. Even if you never read this I hope you’ll always know what’s in my heart.
This decor in here is surprisingly plain compared to the rest of the mansion. Bare white walls contrast with the heavy French cherry furniture. Black leather covers the thick vertical channels of the headboard, the only decorative element of the entire space. Still smooth and flawless from lack of use. An unexpected reminder of the chair I first photographed you in.
The seat was an absolute splurge for my fledgling business, but when I saw the lavish piece at that estate sale I had to have it. I knew it would be perfect. It was—for you. With a wide cushion, broad back, and thin wooden armrests, the ebony fabric highlighted the round silver feet.
You owned that chair. You owned me too... once you stopped being such a grouch. LOL!
Grouch isn’t even a strong enough word to describe you. The very first time I meet you, and you strode into my old house, all brusque and terse, with such an impatient air. Indignant when you realized this was the tiny, insignificant studio your Marketing Director booked for your headshot for your company’s annual report. Nothing but the best for the CEO. And my place definitely wasn’t the best. At least you didn’t think so and made sure I knew it too.
Tucked into my little house—I admit old and a little bit shabby, but definitely clean, organized, and professional. Nothing for me to be ashamed of. I kept on preparing for the shoot while you phoned her. So arrogant as you insulted me and my talent and my workshop while I set up less than five feet away.
Finally, you quit arguing with her and tossed the cell onto the table. Blowing out a long sigh, haughty and exasperated. Unbelievably smug yet still too damn sexy for your own good when you told me “I’monlyhere because you came highly recommended.” I think I shocked you when I paused in adjusting the settings on my lens, looked you straight in your gorgeous brown eyes, and told you, “Well, you’reonlyhere because I need the money.”
Actually, I know I shocked you. For a second I was proud of myself for defending my skills against your boorish behavior. Then just as quickly, I regretted my insult when your relentless gaze blazed into mine. Stealing my breath with your ferocious intensity. Causing a raging blush across my cheeks as you inspected me more than anyone ever had before.
Until your lips twitched, and you tossed your head back and laughed.
Long, deep, genuine, and captivating as hell. I impressed you, and for some inexplicable reason I couldn’t explain, I was glad. Even worse, you boosted my confidence with your approval. Which I’ve never needed or wanted from any man except my father. But, with you...your reputation preceded you, and the idea I could hold my own against a magnate as domineering as you thrilled me.
Once you got over your surprise and finished your authentic chuckle, you put up your hands as if to say “what next?” Feigning a confidence I didn’t feel, I nodded to the chair. Pretending I couldn’t even bother to use words while I continued to fiddle with my aperture. Although I already knew the perfect f/stop for the background, I just wanted to see how much I could control you. How far I could push you before you pushed back.
But my poise shook as much as my fingers when I looked up. God you were mesmerizing. Sprawled in the chair with your legs spread and extended. Back straight yet relaxed. Elbows on the armrests with your palms on your thighs. Absolutely zero doubt at all that you’re the boss. And damn if my panties weren’t wet. That had never happened to me before either. My body responding from a simple look as if being touched.
I lied and told you I was doing some test shots. But they were genuine and perfect and only for me. Sure, I’d take the boring and expected head and shoulders professional pose. But, these candids were the real you that I wanted to capture for myself. The lick of your lips, the lift of your chin, the tilt of your head as you interrogated me. Still trying to figure out why Liliana hired me in the first place. Unaware I had taken photos of her children that she utterly adored, and she convinced me to branch out from my normal repertoire. Expand beyond my usual clients of babies, high school seniors, and families. Never expecting her encouragement to lead me to photographing a reputed mobster with a dubious character who battled my every choice and direction while I made sure the light and angle and backdrop were perfect.
