Chapter 3 RED ROOM-(I)

CORINNA

Complete darkness swallowed me.

What was this? A serial killer's den?

I clutched a portion of my dress in my fist, the misty lavender fragrance of the room wafting beneath my nostrils, and then the shuffle of feet.

I wasn't alone in here.

“Hello?”

My voice came out squeakier than I intended.

“I was told you expressed… interest in me. The drink and everything”

Complete silence.

“Hello? You don't…” maybe he didn't speak English? But Millie wouldn't send me in here without the heads-up of a language barrier. I only knew English, and a bit of French.

Maybe he was French?

“Bonsouir….” I started but a voice cut me halfway.

“Hi.”

I went still.

The voice was low and unhurried, and it came from somewhere in front of me. There was a roughness to it, a texture, and beneath that an accent I couldn't place, something Eastern European, maybe.

"It's dark," I said uselessly. "I can't see you."

"I'll fix that."

A soft click and the lights came up, harsh and red.

I was distracted by the dark walls, low furniture, and along one side, mounted and arranged near a large steel table were things I had only ever seen described in books.

A rope, handcuffs, toys, clamps, bandage wires, suspending hook, blades, and a riding crop resting on a hook. Restraints I didn't have vocabulary for.

And in the middle of all of it, watching me with the patience of someone who had nowhere else to be was the owner of obscura.

A very young owner.

"H-Huh?" I blinked and stuttered.

I had been expecting someone my age, or at least older, a man in his forties or fifties maybe. Instead he was standing there with dark hair, dark amber brown eyes, a sharp jaw and broad shoulders filling out his tux with effortlessness.

This was not what I was expecting.

I rubbed my eyes and blinked.

“This… this is a mistake. I think I was brought to the wrong room or the wrong… I don't know. Something is wrong.”

He titled his head a little.

“What is wrong?” His tone was husky, rougher to the ears.

"You're.." I gestured at him. "You're young."

"Twenty-five."

"That is exactly what I mean."

His lips stretched a little in amusement.

"You were expecting someone older?"

“Of course. I wouldn't… I'm not a cougar, I wouldn't have walked in here if I knew that the person who expressed interest in me was fifteen years younger than me.”

A lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned off the walls and started to approach me like he aimed to circle prey. He was tall, really tall.

“I’m twenty five. I own obscura, I'm a man of my own world, will and terms. I'm not a kid or… what do you call it in America? I'm not a hormonal teen looking for anywhere to rut. I am a fully grown adult male who has shown interest in a fully grown adult female.” His eyes swept over my figure while I swallowed another stutter. “You can leave at any moment, but if you walk out of my door, as tempting as you smell, I doubt I'll be letting you walk back in. Rules of the red room.”

He uncrossed his arms and started to take apart the upper part of his tux.

“But, if you choose to stay then I'll be yours for the night.”

My mouth went dry.

He shrugged the jacket off one shoulder, then the other, and laid it over the back of the chair like he had all the time in the world and absolutely no awareness of what he was doing to the air in the room. Then his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt.

I should look away.

I did not look away.

The shirt parted and he slid it off his shoulders and I... I forgot to breathe for a moment. He was carved. There was no other word for it. Broad shoulders tapering into a lean waist, every line of him defined without coming off as excessive, the kind of body that spoke of years of discipline to acquire.

“My medical reports are present for formalities.” He muttered. “I'm clean.”

“I'm clean too.”

Shut up Corinna, saying that means you're indirectly agreeing.

He started working his belt and the room became five Fahrenheit's hotter. I still didn't find the courage to look away. Not even as he crossed toward me and stopped close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"So," he smiled. "What is it going to be?"

I opened my mouth and closed it like a fish out of water.

He waited.

"You're very..." I started.

"Young?" he offered.

"I was going to say sure of yourself."

"I know what I am," he said simply. "And I know what you need." His eyes moved over my face. "You've been running your whole life on empty, haven't you? giving everything to everyone and there's nothing left for yourself."

My chin lifted defiantly, if I dared to call it that.

"You don't know me."

"No." He reached out with one finger and tucked a loose strand of hair back from my face. "But I'd like to."

I was absolutely going to combust.

"One night," he murmured. "That is all I am asking you for. No strings, no morning after conversations and definitely no complications." His eyes held mine. "Just you, finally, taking something for yourself."

The room was very quiet.

My pulse was very loud.

"I …" my voice came out unsteady and I hated it. "I don't even know your name.”

“Zoltan.”

“Zoltan.” I repeated. It tasted foreign on my tongue, yet smooth. “Your accent, it's… Russian?”

He leaned into me and I half-froze, watching as his nose dragged across the visible patch of my shoulder.

“Hungarian.”

“Oh. O-okay I… ” His muscles rippled each time he moved, I was caged between his arms, my lips a quivering mess.

He pulled away, locking eyes with me.

“Go on.”

“We… you aren't going to use the chains or blades on me, right? Because I don't think I'm into that type of thing.”

“I won't, except you change your mind.”

I was confident that I would not.

“Another thing.” This was embarrassing to admit, “I haven't had sex in like six years, I've almost forgotten what it feels like. My movements might come off as uncoordinated or messy and..”

His pants hit the floor before I could complete my sentence.