Other Colors -- Ch.16 - Sex Stories

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Other Colors -- Ch.16

Date: 12/23/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

down at the shop. And since you only want me working there part-time…” He held me in his gaze a while. I could almost feel him tweezing through the gyri and sulci of my mind. “You think you’re quite persuasive, don’t you, Miss Foster?” he ran a rough hand through his hair, and closed his eyes. “But this protest of yours. It’s really this important to you?” “Marie is important to me,” I murmured. “She’s supported me. She let me stay with her when I had nowhere to go,” I drummed my fingers anxiously along my arm. “I never would’ve met you if not for her.” He sniffed at me, and shook his head. “Vous êtes vraiment dangereux, mon ange,” he snatched a pen from his breast pocket. “Tell me the name.” The name? I narrowed my eyes, confused. “Of the theatre, Penny,” he glanced up sharply, “I’d like to know precisely where you’ll be tomorrow.” “Wait,” I blinked, believing I’d misheard him. “You mean… you’re letting me go?” “A driver will take you over after work. He’ll bring you back here at four-thirty.” He pointed sternly to the black handset on his desk, “I’m going to call at five. And you are going to answer.” “Y-yes, sir,” I breathed, still half-stunned. “Merci beaucoup.” “Now,” he leaned over a notepad, “about that name.” I had to rack my brain for a moment, “l’Oxtiern. On Rue Sanguinet.” “L’Oxtiern…” he scribbled it down, then tore out the page, and stepped toward me. “You need to swear to me you’ll be careful tomorrow. I’m not in love with the thought of you going out while I’m ... away, and the only thing standing between a protest and a riot is a little broken glass.” I smirked as he wrapped his arms around my waist. Overbearing as it was, his concern for me was almost endearing; at least, now that I knew he wouldn’t let it stand in my way tomorrow. Just two days prior, I wouldn’t have thought twice before doing something like this. My idea of what was hazardous to me and his were obviously very much out of sync. I raised a coy brow, “You don’t think that’s a little paranoid, Mr. Caine?” “Perhaps,” he cocked his head, and pulled me closer. “But I was in Moscow for the Constitutional Crisis. Three days, they were shooting protesters in the street.” His eyes flickered, and dimmed, “My Mother and I—we sat up all night, watching tanks shell the Bely Dom from our living room window.” Mon criss… I felt something sink in the pit of my stomach, heavy as lead. No wonder he worries… For all the tens of thousands of questions I might’ve asked him, somehow I found the restraint to stay silent. Not once before had he ever mentioned his Mother to me. At times, I almost doubted he had one. And perhaps I was just projecting, but I sensed his feelings on these ancestral matters were even more guarded than my own. I laid my head against his chest. By our nature, we two were never truly equal. But at least in that moment, it seemed to me he’d made us even. “Quoi qu'il arrive, Penny…” he cleared his throat. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” I nodded solemnly, “I will. ...