I stare at him blankly. How am I blindfolded to his flaws? Why can’t I just have him? If his so bad for me, why does he insist on playing this stupid game with me? I don’t understand.
“How am I blindfolded to your flaws? I barely know you. You haven’t shown them to me, you couldn’t have.” I respond.
“I have.” He whispers, looking away.
What? He has shown me his bad side? He has shown me his flaws? When? And why can’t I pick them out? Am I really that blinded by his beauty or whatever it is I feel for him? I barely know him.
“What are they?” I ask.
“Surely if you not blinded of them, you should know what it is.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Exactly…” he trails off.
“If I am so blinded of your flaws that are so bad for me, then why do you insist on playing this game?”
“You fascinate me and as long as this is a game, I can build your trust, I can get to know you and see the world a bit differently, and I can have you in one way and her in another. I can control the game, but I cannot control you, I know enough about you to warrant that. It’s a game and it will be exhilarating if we play by the rules.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Oh, I will find an entertaining way to publish you.” he responds, seriously with a grin of mischief.
“Should I be scared?” I ask, because his grin says I should be warned.
“I said entertaining, didn’t I?”
“Entertaining for whom, you or me?” I ask.
“Perhaps it will be more entertaining for me, than you, but you will have fun.”
“How is that?”
“Defy me and find out.”
“Tempting…”
“You are very open-minded.”
“Yes I am, it’s a wise way of life.”
“Indeed it is.”
We laugh and our food arrives. I stare at my plate, gosh, I’m hungry, but I feel uncomfortable eating before him. Gosh, his seen me with my hair undone and my alcohol levels high, yet I’m still feeling too shy to eat.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, softly.
“No…” I respond.
“Then eat.”
“Gosh, you want to control when I eat as well?”
“Is this one of those girl moments, when you cannot eat in front of me, because you barely know me and you uncomfortable?”
“Yes…” I murmur.
He chuckles and gets out of his seat. What is he doing? He moves his plate and drink, to the place setting next to mine. He takes a seat.
“Does this make you more confortable?”
“Sort of.” I mumble, gosh, his so sweet.
He takes a sip of cola and places his left hand on my thigh. What is he doing? My heart races, how dare does he touch me there? Why am I not responding in my usual loud way? I gaze up from his hand to his face, he smirks at me. The beauty and innocents behind the smirk is incredible. How does someone that seems so demanding melt my heart with a smirk? How does he make me forget about his violation? He squeezes my inner thigh, with his fingertips. I inhale. He tilts his head, raises his left eyebrow and it feels as if he possess me.
