Page 49 of Mr. North
I eye the key dubiously. “What’s inside the room?”
Raphael shrugs. “Nothing out of the ordinary. A bed. A chest of drawers. A lamp. A desk. A mirror. It’s where I sleep.”
Raphael wants to show me his bedroom. He wants to share it with me. Raphael is such a painfully private person; it must cost him a great deal to extend this offer to me. “Yes,” I whisper. “I want to see it.”
He nods. His eyes shine brightly, filled with emotion. “The door is locked. It’s always locked, whether I’m inside the room or not. I want it to be forever open to you, though. Take this. Use it whenever you like.” He holds out his hand, the length of green ribbon looped around the end of his index finger, the brassy, old fashioned key spinning on the end of it. I take it from him.
“I’d like to see it now,” I tell him.
Raphael doesn’t argue. He turns and walks silently down the hallway, up the stairs at the end, and then continues along the upper corridor. He halts outside the very last door on the right hand side. Stepping out of the way, he gestures for me to open it with the key he’s just given to me. We enter inside together. The space is dark and filled with a textured kind of silence that feels like a living, breathing thing. It occupies the room from corner to corner, floor to ceiling, and I feel like I’m wading through it as I walk into the room. A light switch. I need a light switch. It takes me a second to find it, mainly because Raphael doesn’t appear inclined to point it out. When I locate the switch, a warm, subtle glow blossoms from a hidden light fitting that runs around the perimeter of the room, set back under a lip in the ceiling. Just as Raphael said, the space is nothing out of the ordinary. A huge bed monopolises the room. A dark, almost black wooden headboard juts up toward the ceiling, and a slate grey, heavy, expensive looking bedspread accents the much lighter ash grey of the walls. The desk to the right of the room, underneath the window, is free of clutter. The only thing that rests on it is a globe—black, with the countries, longitude and latitude lines marked out in burnished gold.
The floor is marble again, black this time, shot through with white and hints of silver, and a cream, thick-piled, luxurious rug lays beneath the bed. The kind of rug you immediately want to walk on barefoot, to dig your toes into. There are no books on either of the simple nightstands. There is no artwork on the walls. Blinds are drawn at the windows, effectively keeping the room in utter darkness. It was pitch black in here before I turned the lights on; I get the feeling Raphael likes it this way most of the time. This room serves one purpose and one purpose only: it’s a place for Raphael to sleep. There are no distractions, nothing to catch at his attention and prevent rest. No television, no radio, no literature or bright colors. It’s a cool and very calming environment. One I can imagine falling in love with, given the chance.
Walking over to the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room, I run my hands over the beautiful, sleek mango wood. My fingertips rest on the handle of the top drawer.
“Go on. Open it.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to pry. I was just admiring the—”
“Open the drawer, Beth. I want you to see what’s inside.”
I stand, tense, not knowing how to proceed. Raphael tuts softly from the doorway. “Do it, Beth. It’s important.”
Slowly, I close my grip around the black wrought iron handle, and I open the drawer.
I stop breathing.
Handcuffs.
A braided black whip with leather fringe, knotted at each of its ends.
A ball gag.
A black velvet mask.
Silver knuckle-dusters.
A solid black gun.
A length of gold chain.
A flat-ended black leather paddle.
An array of vibrators and dildos.
An elaborate cock ring, attached to a length of beads.
I take a step away from the drawer, my pulse thrumming all over my body. “This is all for me,” I state.
“It is.” Raphael’s moved, standing close behind me now. “I have a…strange appetite. “There are things I can control in my world, Beth. And there are things that I can’t.” He sighs under his breath. “Being in control while I’m fucking is very important to me. I like to use toys. I like to use restraints. I like to push beyond the boundaries or normality and comfort.” Slowly, he runs his finger down the back of my neck. There’s something possessive in the way he traces his fingertips up and down my skin, something exploratory and dark. It frightens and excites me in equal parts. I close my eyes, stilling myself, trying to calm my uneven breathing. “I want to experience all of that with you, Beth.”
Raphael’s hand cups the back of my neck, then, holding it, as if he might tighten his hold at any moment, forcing me to bend to his will. “I have a question for you,” he murmurs. “If your answer is yes, then we can try this. We can see how we both fair, and proceed with caution from there. Are you prepared to answer honestly?”
“Yes. I am. I will.”
“Good.” He steps closer to me. The warmth of his body heats my back, and my skin prickles. It’s as if a static charge runs between us, and I can feel how close he is, despite the fact that, save for his hand on my neck, we’re not touching each other at all. “I need complete control. I need you compliant and submissive. Do you know what that means? Have you had experience with that before?”
“I—I haven’t had experience, no. I know what it means, though. You’re dominant. You’re in charge during sex.”
