Page 53 of Kept

Vincent smiles. “Are you touching your wet little pussy with my cock in your mouth?”

I nod.

“Good,” he tells me, as he slowly backs out before thrusting back inside. With his hands gripping my hair, holding my head in position, there is nothing stopping him from fucking my mouth, something I didn’t fully understand was a possibility until right now. Regardless, I’ve sunk two fingers into my very wet center and am rubbing my thumb on my clit when I feel the tension building in my core, a wire coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, and I’m tumbling headfirst off of a cliff and moaning around his cock.

Vincent has been watching me intently, watching me make myself come. “Oh fuck, baby,” he says, before thrusting deep down my throat again. I feel his cock swell, and the small spasms of his cum shooting down into my stomach. He pulls his cock from my mouth, and I use my tongue to catch the last drop of cum from the tip.

Vincent pulls me to my feet and presses his lips to mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth. He kisses me like he’s going to be executed and only I can grant his pardon.

When he finally comes up for air, we’re both panting. He mumbles something in Italian that sounds dangerously close to “Jesus Christ” and a few other words I can’t pick out.

I then spend the next twenty minutes of my life getting the most thorough, detailed, hair and body washing of my life. Everything from combing the conditioner through my hair to massaging down the muscles of my back, arms, and legs. He’s surprisingly good with his hands.

Or maybe that’s not surprising, on second thought. I bite my lip to keep from giggling at my own observation.

He washes himself in a tenth of the time, kills the shower, and wraps me with a giant fluffy towel that smells like clean air and fabric softener. Then he produces a smaller towel so I can wrap up my hair.

I return to my now very cold coffee, with zero regrets about my decision to let it get cold, and Vincent disappears into the closet to dress. He emerges in yet another designer dark suit, this one navy blue and clearly custom made to hug every glorious part of his body. He’s finishing the knot in his tie, and the movement of the colorful silk gives me flashbacks to last night. When I see his eyebrow quirk up at me, I know he is aware of exactly what I was thinking. I proceed to turn what I assume is a lovely shade of fire engine red.

He leans down and kisses my lips, his cedar and leather scent drifting down around me. “Marie will text you when she’s on the way up with the therapist.” He checks his watch. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

“The who?”

“Massage therapist.”

I stare blankly at him.

“And then Marco is bringing Robert over when the designer gets here, so you have someone to shop with.”

“Marco—Robert?—”

“Apparently they get along now.”

“Oh,” I say. “Umm, question, what’s going on?”

Vincent walks to the other side of the bed and removes a gun that I didn’t know was in the nightstand and drops it into his holster. At my boggled expression, he nods towards my nightstand. “There’s a gun in that one, too.”

I pull the drawer open. I’ll be damned. “Ah, why are there guns in the nightstands?” I ask.

Vincent shrugs. “Because I am what I am.” As if we’re not having yet another completely bizarre conversation, he answers, “Concerning tonight, we’re going out. Black tie. Tell Marie if you’d like help doing hair and makeup or if you want to do it yourself and she will arrange it.” With a final kiss on my cheek, he waltzes out the door.

I don’t have long to be dumbfounded, as my phone buzzes.

This is Marie, we are headed upstairs now, are you decent?

Does a robe count?

Yep! We will be right in.

Marie knocks softly at the door before opening it to a smiling middle-aged woman wearing pink scrubs and carrying a folding table. She introduces herself as Janet, lists off her certifications, and announces that she is here for my massage. Marie helps her set up in the corner of the room and reminds us to call if we need anything.

Janet proceeds to give me the best massage of my life, starting at my scalp and working down to my toes and then back up again.

Somehow, Marie magically knows when Janet is done because she appears with my green smoothie, a recipe I told her about exactly once and somehow she managed to recreate it perfectly.

“Are you actually a fairy or something?” I ask her.

She smiles. “Not by a long shot. I’m just good at making things happen.”

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