Page 25 of Sinister Games

“She better not shit on my dress!” cried Jane as she hunched her shoulders, protecting the clothes in her arms.

Coco flew several laps around the small bedroom before returning to the cage. Dior sat demurely on her branch and just cocked her head from side to side, staring at me with shining dark eyes.

“She just wanted a little bit of excitement,” I cooed as I filled their dish with birdseed. Just then, the church bells started to chime. Looking out through my bedroom window, I could just make out the spire to the Romanian Saint George Church. The view got me every time. It was so gothic and romantic.

“I’m jumping in the shower first,” announced Jane as she snatched up my shoes and headed out the door with my dress over her arm. On her way, she picked up a small brass-handled mirror I had on my vanity and held it up to me. “There is also this… Angelina Jolie!”

Taking the mirror from her hand, I looked at my reflection. As Jane’s laughter drifted down the hallway from the bathroom, I slowly sat down on my bed and stared. My lips were dark pink and swollen. With my tousled hair and huge pouty lips, I looked like I had just spent the better part of a week screwing in bed. With a huff, I fell back amongst the covers.

Dragging the blankets aside, I reached for Richard’s coat and hugged it to me. Inhaling deeply, I felt a stirring between my legs at the spicy masculine scent that still clung to the fabric. Pulling my knees up, I rolled on my side and closed my eyes. Memories of him pushing me up against that rock wall and kissing me senseless danced across my mind. The taste of him as his tongue sparred with my own. I had never been kissed so passionately… so forcefully before. It was something straight out of a romance novel. And the feel of his thick fingers as he kept pushing one, then another, then another inside me. My body felt stretched to the limit and yet wanted more.

Still, there was this sense of unease in the back of my mind. At first, I just thought it was me practically giving it up on the first date but now I knew there was more to it.

As much as he excited me… he frightened me a little bit too.

His grip on my wrist at dinner when I didn’t immediately obey him. The dark way he insisted I touch myself under the table. The way he refused to stop the assault of his fingers even when I told him it hurt.

In some sick, twisted way, I found his domineering forcefulness sexy. It took a pretty powerful and confident man to boldly toss a woman up against a wall and take whatever he wanted. Let’s face it, that kind of arrogant confidence was hot as hell in a man. But still, there was a reason you only saw stuff like that in the movies or read about it in books. In real life, it should be a red flag.

Richard might just be too intense for me.

He talked about playing games, but I wasn’t so sure I was playing at his level.

* * *

Is there anything in this world that feels as good as a long, hot shower?

Richard’s cock?

Stop that!

I would never be able to concentrate on classes today if all I could think about was Richard.

Wrapping my hair in a towel, I padded barefoot into the tiny kitchen to put the kettle on. Jane was leaning over the sofa straightening our picture of Audrey Hepburn. Every time she put the sofa bed away, our canvas pictures of Audrey, Marilyn Monroe, and Brigitte Bardot all blowing bubblegum bubbles went all crooked.

“I keep telling you to pull the sofa bed away from the wall an inch or two and it won’t jar the pictures.” Cutting a scone in half, I buttered both sides and spooned on some lemon curd before handing half to Jane.

“We can’t afford to lose an inch or two in this place,” grumbled Jane as she slumped down on the sofa.

Taking a seat at my drafting table, I spared our tiny flat a rather jaundiced glance. Jaundiced being the right word since the walls were covered in a rather sickly yellow lime color. The rent was not too outrageous and we were very close to school, which was mainly what mattered. Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t dream of living in someplace grander. Perhaps the estate where Downton Abbey was filmed? Imagine being able to swoop down a grand staircase every morning as I made my way into a parlor or drawing room for breakfast. Or telling a butler I would have tea in the library that day. If I lived in a place like that, I would wear gorgeous sweeping gowns with long trains and hand-embroidered shawls every day.

“When do you start?” asked Jane as she picked a crumb off her shirt and popped it into her mouth.

Turning in my swivel chair, I looked down at my printed schedule. “I have Introduction to Costume for Performance at two.”

“Yikes. Professor Hands!”

“It says here Professor Handleson.”

“Yes, but everyone calls him Professor Hands. Let’s just say, don’t wear any low necklines or skirts in his class.”

I scrunched my nose in distaste. As a first-year student going for my BA in Costume for Performance, I listened to every bit of Jane’s advice. She was in her second year and although she was going for her BA in Fashion Buying and Merchandising, there were some cross-over courses.

“So, are you going to tell me about your mystery date last night?”

The electric kettle started to whistle. Jumping up, I made my way to the kitchen. Reaching into a cabinet for the mugs and teabags, I said evasively, “I’m not sure it was even a date.”

I didn’t know why I was being coy about telling Jane about Richard. It was almost as if I wasn’t certain he was real. If I talked about it, I might ruin the dream.

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