My idea of hell is having an indoor pool in my own house and never utilizing it.
The smoothness of Nicola’s expression was noticeable. You need to inquire with Mathew.
Once again, only Mathew could solve this puzzle. Once again, I told myself that I didn’t give a hoot as long as I could use the pool.
“I Please, I need some new swimwear badly! “I I was certain that Nicola would fulfill his word, so I asked.
After that, he smiled devilishly at me. “I didn’t buy you underpants. Are you really expecting me to go out and purchase you each a swimsuit?
Having my nipples exposed while out in public was one thing. Being totally nude in Mathew’s home was a whole different ballgame.
It occurred to me that Matthew may overhear us talking.
“I You seem to care a great deal about it. ”
With that, Nicola’s grin dissolved. I am aware of the fear he caused you. And I realize how terrifying it was when he took you away from your family. But I assure you, he has no intention of harming you.
There was some doubt in my mind as to whether or not I should trust it. To say I’m OK with him seeing me nude is an absurdity.
It seemed strange that Nicola didn’t agree with this. Despite their obvious differences, I realized that Matthew and Nicola were close friends. Why Nicola wasn’t as protective of me with him as he had been at Havard baffled me. Had he lied to me to gain my confidence by acting protectively?
Nicola looked me over, trying to gauge my disapproval.
He finally conceded, his tone remorseful, “Okay, angel. I’ll shop for bathing suits for you. I really don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. “I
My shoulders relaxed a little in sigh of relief. There was nothing I could have done if he had rejected. It struck me that I was utterly depending on him for everything as long as I was confined here.
I’m not trapped. Because this is the only place I can feel secure, he won’t let me go. I’ve decided to wait it out here till the threat has passed.
I tried to reason away my uneasiness, but it persisted until Nicola kissed me so deeply that I blacked out. As I surrendered into his embrace, every care melted away.
Emily
After drying off in the bathroom, I walked out and looked around Mathew’s room. In my haste to find a tablet the night before, I had left Mathew’s stuff scattered around the room.
By tomorrow afternoon, I want to have this mess cleaned up. I kept replaying his severe remarks in my mind. I still resented being treated like a disobedient kid, but I didn’t dare put Mathew to the test. I would comply with his request to tidy the space if he made such a request. Besides, I was the one who made the mess, and it was his bedroom that I had completely destroyed.
For a while, I was confused as to why he was letting me sleep in his room, but eventually I determined it didn’t matter. It’s possible that he preferred one of the other bedrooms. Really, I couldn’t have cared less.
My main priority was finishing up some housekeeping chores so that I could join Nicola for supper later. He and I had spent the day snuggling on the sofa and watching dramas, but he said his dad had called and he had to go. While he was on the phone with his dad, I showered in the hopes that Mathew wouldn’t be in the house when I went to meet Nicola for dinner. I dreaded being in the same room as him and secretly wished he’d finish eating and leave before I got there.
First, though, I needed to tidy up the chaos I’d created. The room had been immaculately tidy with everything in its proper place before I had thrown Mathew’s belongings about. Even his pencils were in order, lined up in the top drawer with razor-sharp points. I couldn’t figure out why a single individual would require so many pencils.
It didn’t matter to me why he took them; what did important was that I returned them to their neat little row. And I’d been known to toss the occasional biography or two. Once I saw the trend, I returned the books to their proper location on the bookcase and even rearranged them alphabetically by author. If Mathew found any mess, I didn’t want him to blame me. I didn’t want to give him an excuse to act aggressively and invade my personal space again.
When I had the library back in order, I went back to my desk. Before closing the drawers I had almost wrenched out of the desk in my haste, I replaced some notepads on the polished mahogany top.
As I was looking through the drawers, I saw a big book with a leather cover. The faded, sage green leather was surprisingly gentle to the touch. There were no identifying marks on the cover, and the book did not seem like one of Mathew’s many non-fiction volumes.
Intrigue made me pick up the book and open it.
There was no secret biography or book behind the leather cover. A sketchbook, to be precise. And that first drawing was just… scary.
The lead pencil strokes were delicate, much like the figure depicted. It was really stunning as an artistic creation. The artwork itself was impressive, but what really caught my attention was the subject matter. The nude lady arched her back and let out a muffled scream. Her eyes were closed, and the contours of her face were drawn with sensual tension, giving her a look of bliss. Her chest was protruding and her nipples were jutting.
However, the painting itself was more shocking than the sight of her without clothes. Rope was twisted and tied around her, exposing her breasts and making a sexual object out of her. The tight clasp of her arms behind her head had her arch her back awkwardly toward the artist. She knelt with her legs spread wide, baring her naked sex.
I finally turned the page to attempt to erase the picture from my memory. There was a pause as I tried to catch my breath. Another confined lady was present. Her hair was darker, her nose was narrower, and her chin was sharper than average. The two ladies were stunning to look at, but in very different ways.
In order to continue reading, I turned the page once again. Here’s another female prisoner, her body contorted by the rope holding her captive. Her lips were agape in a soundless scream, and I couldn’t tell whether it was one of delight or agony.
I became engrossed and started to go through the book, where I discovered obscene drawing after vulgar sketch. Even as I attempted to admire the artist’s ability, my thoughts kept returning to the ladies whose features were twisted into different obscene expressions. Some were quiet and content, while others yelled their joy. Those women’s screams unnerved me more than anything else because I had no idea if they were cries for pleasure or prayers for compassion.
The book had me about two-thirds through when I let out a startled squeak. To no one could this lady be subservient. In other words, she was not nude. A close-up of her beautiful face was captured in the painting. Her complexion was really light, and her hair was very black. Her dilated pupils almost completely hid her practically black irises. Her long lashes were brushing her brows, and her full lips parted in a gasp that matched mine.