and her mother, they might just get the shit knocked out of them—they are Francesca’s blood after all.
Emilio leans in and touches his lips to the edge of Francesca’s mouth, and as he pulls away slowly, his eyes move to look at me in a sidelong stare; a grin dances on his lips.
“Please,” Francesca says, unfolding her hand toward me, “make yourself comfortable.” She gestures toward the furniture placed not far from the bottom step of the dais.
Emilio descends the steps just as we make our way to the sofa, and the moment Emilio moves out of the way of his sister, the two slave girls who had been waiting on the left and right of her, get to work on her hair and makeup; another comes up and sprays perfume in her direction.
I take a seat on the sofa; Izabel sits next to me; as always Nora sits at my feet on the floor next to my briefcase.
“Emilio,” Francesca says, “bring Niklas my whip.”
“Of course,” he says with a sly grin.
I want to glance at Nora, see if she looks nervous, but I don’t. Besides, I know she’s not afraid of me—she let Fredrik torture her.
Emilio moves somewhere on the other side of the vast room; I keep my eyes on Francesca.
“I have a few cyprians for you in mind,” Francesca speaks up. “I will have someone bring them here soon for you to look at. But as they do not reside here in my mansion; it may be an hour or so before they arrive. I trust an hour isn’t too long to wait?” The girl putting on her makeup always pauses when Francesca speaks, and then starts back up again when she’s done.
“I can wait two hours if I need to.”
Emilio appears in front of me, leather whip dangling from his hand. With a crooked smile he holds it out to me.
“Unless you’d like me to do the honors,” he suggests, glancing at Nora.
I think on it. “You know what,” I say, “I’d like that very much. Be my guest.”
They didn’t expect that; Francesca and Emilio lock eyes momentarily. Then Emilio turns his attention back to me and says, “Well if you insist,” and he reaches down and grabs a hold of Nora’s elbow, yanking her to her feet.
“You would let another man punish your girls?” Francesca inquires suspiciously.
“Sure, why not?” I answer indifferently, with the shrug of my shoulders. “I wouldn’t let another man touch Naomi, but Aya might benefit being whipped by someone other than me. It’ll make her envy Naomi more than she does already, and maybe she’ll work harder to earn the same respect. Besides, I came here to do business and I don’t really want to waste time dealing with other issues.”
“Naomi, she’s still very…obedient for someone who isn’t a slave,” Francesca says.
“Yes, she is.” I look at Izabel next to me. “Naomi is however she wants to be; just so happens she chooses to be what I adore most about her.”
Izabel as Naomi smiles bashfully, her green eyes skirting mine.
“And what do you adore most about her?” The more Francesca talks about Izabel the more I feel like she’s working her way toward something.
Reaching out and cupping Izabel’s chin within my fingers, I turn her head to face me. “Her kindness,” I answer Francesca, looking into Izabel’s eyes. “There’s a dangerous fire inside this girl, but she covers it up with compassion and love—things I’m incapable of possessing—she’s greatly flawed; sometimes she acts too quickly, is too impatient for her own good; she speaks before thinking; and I admit sometimes she maddens me. But most of all, Naomi is very…human. And I admire that about her.” I stop long enough to give Izabel a thin grin that only she can see, and something flickers in her eyes. Then I shake it off, whatever the fuck that was, and look away from Izabel, dropping my hand from her face.
“She’s still obedient to me, sure,” I tell Francesca, “but despite her obedience, she can still get herself into trouble with me sometimes.”
“I want you to kiss her,” Francesca says, and it feels like a dare without being obvious.
My heart stops beating all of a sudden.
I turn to look at Francesca sitting up there on her throne; the slave girls working furiously on her hair and makeup. Francesca gazes down at me through gleaming eyes, growing darker as they’re painted in black and gray eyeshadows.
Something as simple as a kiss shouldn’t be a reason