The floor felt cold on my feet, so I slid on the pink slippers and slipped down the stairs.
Surprisingly, Mr. Felton sat at the table sipping a cup of cream-filled coffee as he read the paper. Before making myself known, I watched how he acted when he thought no one was looking.
Completely comfortable in his skin, he chuckled as he read and sipped. Although it was barely light outside, Mr. Felton dressed professionally in a brown vest, cream dress shirt, and a checkered tie that brought out the red hues in the browns. I realized how early his days must begin. I supposed being the CEO of a successful sex corporation, and being ranked as one of the sexiest men in business, wasn't easy.
"Come in, Ms. Downs. Have a seat." His eyes never left the newspaper.
Damn it. Busted.
Gently, he folded the newspaper in half and then interlocked his fingers. He greeted me with a soft smile although it never reached his eyes.
"Sleep well?"
"Mmhmm, like a baby."
"How rude of me. Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea, even? I'll make it how I like it. You do know the English are known for excellent coffee and tea, and for many, many other things."
With a purpose, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Cups tinkered together as Mr. Felton hummed a soft tune. He hummed, too?
I couldn't help but fantasize and replay the events of last night. The way he straddled me, and held my wrists above my head, or the way I wanted it.
A delicate coffee cup and saucer with a cookie scooted in front of me. Steam rose from the top and the sweet scent of cream and sugar smelled like heaven.
"It's hot, be careful."
I picked the thin glass cup and blew the steam from the top, then placed it back on the saucer with a smile and a thank you. The tension pulled at the pit of my stomach, and I wanted to talk about last night, but didn't. Awkwardness stretched on for minutes before either of us spoke. With hopes for a distraction, I took a small nibble from the soft, honey-covered cookie. Sweet warmth filled my mouth, and before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing.
"Would you like another?"
"Oh no, no thank you. Did you make them?"
"Does the sun rise every morning? It's my mother's biscuit recipe, passed down from her mother's mother, and so on."
"Biscuit? I thought that was a cookie."
"Not quite."
The thought of him mixing flour and salt and sugar to create something so fulfilling, warmed me.
"Finding a man who enjoys and appreciates cooking is a delicacy. Maybe one day I'll share my secrets with you. Cooking can be fun, you know."
I laughed. "I hate cooking."
"You must have never been taught to really cook. It's rewarding to mix different ingredients together and create a concoction of something you want. Something that your body needs and desires. Something that satisfies you, but leaves you wanting more. And although you might want to share, and others may want a bite, you know deep down inside it's best to be greedy, and keep the secret to yourself. I don't particularly like to share."
Lips, luscious and full, mixed with soft, sensual words created a sexual tension that almost drove me from my seat. I swallowed, and my pulse quickened. I couldn't stop imaging his hands on me, touching me, teasing me, pleasing me. We weren't talking about recipes, or biscuits. No, it was much bigger than that.
"I'm a man who always gets what he wants. But recently, I've found myself caught between wants and needs, and am unsure of which path to take. Life. It's funny, isn't it?"
He sipped his coffee and watched me over the rim of the cup. I hesitated before I spoke, but I had to know.
"What do you want in life, sir?"
"A question I've yet to discover the answer to. Now it's my turn to ask you the same."
Long eyelashes and messy hair made up Mr. Felton. A perfect picture of poise and sex.
"I want happiness."
"It seems like a simple answer to a simple question, but it is much deeper than that. Seems like something is missing in your life, and you are steadily trying to fill the void."
Ding. Ding. Ding. Is he a mind reader?
"That may be true, but I think you struggle with the same thing. The two of us aren't that different from one another."
"It's not easy being this intelligent, or good looking," he said.
Mr. Felton gathered the plates that sat in front of us both and brought them to the kitchen. The refrigerator closed and opened several times, and the water ran in the sink. I leaned on the doorframe and watched him wipe the counters, put up the flour, and rinse the dishes. He was a bit of a Susie Homemaker. I smiled.
"What?" he asked.
"Just thinking about how domestic you are."
"No, I will not fuck you. I'm saving myself for marriage," he said.
"Then you'll be saving yourself forever, won't you?"
His face turned grave. The attitude went from happy-go-lucky to bleak in seconds.
"I'm sorry," he said, and darted his eyes toward me before returning to the counter he wiped so diligently. I didn't respond. There was no reason to. But the silence pressed on, and I knew it was time to leave. I stood, and he wiped his hands on a dishtowel and walked toward me. I straightened instantaneously.
His thumb found my lips and he traced the outside of them before running his fingers through my hair and grabbing the bottom of my chin.
I waited.
I waited for him to make his move, to kiss me, to pin me against the wall, but instead, he stared into my eyes and then walked passed me. My heart fluttered and then fell. The stairs acted as his getaway car to escape me. Before taking another step, he turned around and didn't take his eyes from me.
"You said last night that you wanted to please me. You do, Ms. Downs. You don't even fucking know."
I opened my mouth to speak. To call out to him. But instead, I stood there in the kitchen. Once I heard his door close, I exhaled.
Thirteen
I crawled back in bed, hoping for a do-over on the day. Too many mixed emotions bounced around in me like constantly moving particles. I lay there for at least an hour staring at the blank ceiling, trying to replay the morning.
The trigger was the mention of a marriage. Once that was said, the morning went to shit. I would never mention that in a conversation again and made note to find out more information.
Maybe Lori would know.
I grabbed the little notebook next to the bed and wrote a quick, little sentence to remind me to ask her. Since she'd been back, we'd both been busy. But today, we had planned to have brunch: mimosas and turkey sandwiches at a cute, little diner in town. It reminded me of home, and did the same for her, so we met for lunch, once a week. I wore a cute little dress; yellow and sunny, hoping it would bring my sour mood to another level.
No panties today. I didn't feel like it. I wanted to be scandalous in my own little way. And then my mind traveled back to Mr. Felton. I hated that he walked away from me. How could I know what I said would upset him when I don't really know him at all?
I tucked the little notebook into my clutch, grabbed the keys to the Honda, and arrived five minutes early. Lori, always on time and punctual, had been waiting for at least ten minutes.
We sat in the corner, in our regular place, and I pulled out the notebook and started going down the questions.
"Why do some men like to be called 'sir'?"
"It's because they like to be thought of as the dominant to their submissive. It's kinky and sexy all at the same time. I've got a few sirs."
Next question. I didn't know how to say it or how to word it, but I asked anyway.
"Does Mr. Felton train all of his girls, you know, to be sexual?"