1. Other Colors -- Ch. 18


    Date: 9/12/2015, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 4, Source: LushStories

    you to keep busy while I'm gone,” he warned. “There's a sinister adage about idle hands.” A panel of Bosch’s Earthly Delights sank into my head, turning my skin to cinnabar. Playthings . ‘The devil hath power,’ I crossed my legs, wrapping them tight as a braided wire, ‘to assume a pleasing shape.’ “Well… I thought I'd be busy today, Mr. Caine,” I baited him, timidly. “Somehow there wasn't much need of me down at the theatre.” He didn't respond. I suppose he was hoping I would drop it. “Why did you do it?” I whispered. “Je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles.” Like drawing blood from a stone. I rolled my eyes. “Laisse-moi rire. ‘Whipped for overdoing Termagant’?” I turned toward the window, gazing out over the snow-tiled rooftops, and the darkening boughs beyond the gate. “I saw your letter, Monsieur. Subtlety is not your strong suit.” “Je vois,” he chuckled icily, “hoisted by my own petard.” Haven’t we heard enough of Hamlet, sir? My smirk remained, but I didn’t laugh. He was dissembling again. “I’m serious,” I pushed him, “All the arrears? And those renovations? It was too much, Dmitri.” I chewed my cheek, “all I asked for was an hour or two to go help my friend.” "Yes," he conceded coolly. "And you ought to have known I wouldn't allow it." “You,” my eyes widened, “you really weren't going to let me go to the protest?” “To stand in the snow for hours on end? On a fool's errand?” he was brusque, “No, Penny. I can't say I was keen on the idea. Suppose something had happened. ...
    Suppose you got sick. Or injured.” He gritted his teeth, “even on the first flight out, it would take me entire day to get there.” “Then, everything you did for them. The restorations. The taxes. All of it,” almost unconsciously, my lips curled once more into a smirk, “You did it so I wouldn't get the sniffles?” “I did it so you'll still have all your toes when I get back to you,” he sneered. "Which reminds me; you're a painter. I'd like them painted. You'll find some polish and acetone in the upper drawer of your vanity.” My grin flickered. Clearly, he didn't care to be drawn as the knight in shining armor. But I could hardly help myself. He played the villain so naturally. I'd caught him here with his chivalry showing, and it thrilled me to finally find him flustered. “…My hero,” I murmured, ignoring his injunction. “We've been over this, I believe,” he hissed, dismissive. “Heroes are for fairytales, Miss Foster.” “ Peut - être ,” I cocked my head, “some fairytales are more grim than others, Monsieur.” “Pouah,” he chuckled coldly, and allowed his tone to thaw, “Your puns are as bad as mine, mademoiselle.” Presque impossible. I stood up, carrying the cradle, and stepped lightly toward the window. “So. Now you're une propriétaire de théâtre, Monsieur,” I sketched a line on the glass with the tip of my finger, “Doctoring. Diamonds. Dancers, and drama. Il n'arrive tout simplement pas à se décider, no?” “It's less incongruous than you might suppose” he replied, “I grew up at an opera ...
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