Breakfast on Tuesday

10. Silenced girl

Dante essentially dragged me upstairs by my neck and I went willingly. Too willingly. He didn't force me up the stairs, no ma'am. He led me there, confidently, his large hand wrapped around my smaller one, his grip determined.

With each step I took, my heart palpitated rapidly and my tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth, but my eyes remained curious. I stared at the man holding my hand so gently, his thumb flicking almost absentmindedly over the back of my hand.

The warm light that fell from above the staircase was soft but it didn't do anything to soften the sharp angles of Dante's serious face. I guessed he was determined to shut me up for good.

Oh my, not for good. For now.

He was determined to shut me up for now. That was much better. Thank you very much.

You could still change your mind.

Yeah, about that... the answer was no. Not happening. I was ready.

Are you?

Yes...

Yes! I was ready. If the scorching heat spreading throughout my body was any indication, I had reached my ideal cooked through temperature and it was time to take the turkey out of the oven and serve it on a platter.

I hoped Dante was hungry.

Are you sure you don't have a fever? All this talk of scorching heat doesn't sound healthy. It sounds like the coronavirus to me.

"Shut up," I muttered to my inner voice. "The coronavirus was years ago."

Dante slowed his steps at the top of the landing. "What was that?"

"Nothing. That was nothing. Where are you taking me?"

"My bedroom."

"To do what exactly?"

It was a dumb question, but maybe I needed to hear him say it out loud... that he was going to fuck me and take my virginity. And maybe, just maybe I didn't want to appear too eager for him to stuff his filling up my turkey.

Do you plan to play hard-to-get and then still give it up?

Yes! It was a solid plan.

Dante picked up the pace again. "As much as I'd like to fuck you on the tables downstairs, I would rather spare my sister the details," he said coolly, his deep voice sending vibrations down my spine.

A couple of steps later, he shoved a door open and ushered me inside. The bedroom was large, the walls painted a soft white, and there was a wooden accent board running across the lower part of the wall behind the bed. Above the unmade king-sized bed with the black headboard, the other two paintings by Roka were on full display.

Engrossed by what I saw, I stumbled and came to a stop at the end of the bed. The paintings captured my attention and I couldn't take my eyes off of them. The black woman was even more beautiful here and more exposed, her taut nipples pointing forward as her enigmatic lover held her waist in one picture and then cupped her jaw in the next.

I felt Dante's presence next to me, watching the work of art as if for the first time. I didn't fully understand his fascination with the paintings, but I knew they were the most natural and raw depiction of a black woman's beauty that I had ever seen.

What if he had a fetish or something?

Slowly, I turned to him and the burning desire in his eyes. He was just as enigmatic as the man in the painting and I found I kind of liked it that way. I loved the thrill of the unknown. I loved how I couldn't guess what he was going to do or say next.