Rule 7 : Rage

Chapter 27: Whispers Of Intentions.

I bowed my head, consumed by self-pity and sadness. Biting my lip, I fixed my gaze on his loafers. Abruptly, he gently placed his hands on my chin and lifted my face upward. A gasp escaped me in fear, hoping fervently he wouldn't cut me again.

"I don't have my outfits here, and besides, I can't come with you. I don't have any business there, and it's not suitable for someone like me to be seen during your private operations," I replied in a subtle tone.

"That's good; you remembered the rule. However, don't you have business there as my doctor?" He tilted his head, looking at me with an inquiring expression. I gazed back, my confusion evident.

He left me alone, his footsteps echoing as he sauntered towards my table. Swiftly, he settled on my seat gracefully swirling on the chair until it faced me.

Memories flooded my mind, recalling the disturbing posture he assumed when he demanded me to strip naked. The room seemed to spin as my thoughts spiraled out of control, entangling me in a web of fear and uncertainty.

In that moment, his voice sliced through the chaos in my mind, breaking the silence. "Do you have a stick?" he questioned his tone steeped in curiosity. It was as if the air itself held its breath, awaiting my response.

"What could he possibly want with a stick?" I pondered quietly, intrigued by his request. With a subtle shake of my head, I expressed my doubts, though it didn't dissuade him. Instead, he beckoned me closer, his voice a blend of authority and yearning.

As I approached, my body moved in a hypnotic dance, each step exuding an irresistible rhythm. The atmosphere crackled with tension as I drew nearer, my hips swaying in a captivating motion that entranced him.

His lips glowed with eagerness as he reclined in his chair. My heart raced with each step forward, the tension mounting. Then, unexpectedly, he drew me onto his lap, filling me with a mix of comfort and horror.

A whirlpool of conflicting feelings swirled within me while I sat there, cuddled against him. There was a palpable heat between us, and an electric charge persisted. However, beneath the surface, an unpleasant sensation of unease persisted, doubting his next step.

"I don't understand," I questioned, my confusion clear in my tone.

"I mean a cigarette, or a cannabis stick," he clarified, his voice infused with a hint of interest.

"No, I don't smoke, nor do I drink alcohol," I retorted firmly, emphasizing my stance.

He clasped my hands, guiding them to rest against his chest, his warm palms interlocked with mine. "I understand your anxiety about joining me," he said softly," but are you certain you don't want to come?"

I locked eyes with him, a storm of emotions raging within me. His gaze, a weakness I couldn't resist, lured me in. My lips quivered reflexively as he moved closer, his face just inches from mine.

"Tell me," he urged, his voice a persistent yet gentle whisper, his breath hovering around my face.  Amidst my indecision, the faint hope of his kindness lingered in my thoughts.

"My Lord, I don't wish to accompany you," I asserted.

"But why?" he interjected, his brow arched inquisitively.

"I'm unprepared, my clothes are back at home," I explained, a shrug punctuating my words.

"I don't know how to prepare for missing you," he responded. His deep voice reverberated through me.

"What?" I questioned abruptly.

"I've made my decision. Pack whatever clothes you have here; everything else you need will be arranged," he stated firmly.

"I..." I faltered.

He brushed his lips against my earlobe and whispered, "Martini, time is not on our side. We leave in a few minutes."

Releasing his grip, I rose to pack my electronic gadgets, a handful of clothes, and some spare footwear among my other belongings. I managed to fit everything neatly into my oversized Chanel Deauville bag, even slipping in a sniper gun.

Wearing a faint smirk, he stood and moved closer to me. "I won't hurt you," he calmly assured.

"I must adhere to the rules. It's crucial for me to learn self-protection," I replied, shaking my head in dissent.

"Martini, nothing will bring you harm. Remember, I am the Shaque," he reassured softly as he lifted me gently into his arms and retrieved my bag. As he acted like a gentleman this time, I couldn't help but wonder why, a thought swirling within me.

As his warmth encased me, intertwined with the rhythmic beat of his heart, a mixture of reassurance and hesitation enveloped my senses.

"Where are we headed?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"We're taking my jet," he replied.

"What if someone spots us?" I inquired, looking up at him from his grasp.

"I don't care. Does it bother you to be seen with me?" he queried, meeting my gaze.

Question: Who's the indecisive one here, would Dr Martini acceptance become her worst nightmare?