Sweeter Than Wine

Blackout

I was awoken by an earth-shattering clap of thunder. My eyes quickly surveyed the room I was in. Barren walls with the exception of the occasional Chuck Berry poster. A lovely chocolate brown hard-wood floor. A wardrobe, and an extremely cluttered drawing desk overflowing with pages and balled up papers.

Another crack of thunder shakes the house. I glance to the curtained window on my right and see the flash of a bolt of lightning behind the sheer fabric.

I try to sit up, and notice my hands are bound together with a black silk tie. I frown to myself, wondering how I'm going to get out of the situation I've gotten myself into.

Suddenly I heard faint voices coming towards my current prison. I breathe slowly in and out calming my rapid pulse. I squeeze my eyes shut and strain my ears, listening to the two strange voices whisper heatedly to one another outside the door.

"Are you out of your BLOODY FUCKING MIND?!" a low, heavily accented voice accuses. "It's her. I KNOW it is." The second, familiar sounding voice counters.

My eyes pop open as I recall that second voice ringing in my ears just before passing out earlier in the evening. I squeeze them shut again as I await more details to the current situation.

A sharp curt laugh cuts through the thick silence. "That's what you said about the other 3, and you were never so wrong in your entire existence, Lennon." Thunder rumbles through the house.

"Taste her, Hazza. I would never forget that taste....sweeter than wine.." My eyes fly open. My mind is racing and I start to breathe heavily. What did 'Lennon' mean? Sweeter than wine? Did he...lick me?! Is that what the wetness was on my forehead earlier?

A vicious clap of thunder rattles the house, and the power cuts out. I let out a small shriek. "Damnit." Speaks 'Hazza'. "I'll go check it out." Lennon grumbled, then presumably left.

"You'd better not be wrong this time, John...I couldn't take the heartache again..." for some strange reason, my heart ached for this unknown man.

I try separating my wrists lightly, not getting far with the soft tie keeping me captive. The door gently creaks open and I gasp softly, hoping I wasn't heard.

"....are you awake, love?" His thick accent sends delicious shivers up my spine. My heart quickens in fear of my body's reaction. Why is this stranger making me feel this way?

"...uh..y-yeah.." I whisper, pleading he wouldn't hear. I feel an unfamiliar tension fill the room as I await a response. I hear soft footsteps cautiously approach the bed, and his gentle voice sounds next to my ear, "...do you mind?" He asks softly, lightly tracing a finger over my tie.

"...not at all" I breathe. Strong calloused hands quickly remove the tie. "thank you..." His fingers linger on my wrist, and when he realizes he pulls them away quickly.

"Sorry about the lights, the storms have been strong lately. Our pitiful little generator tends to give out in heavy rain." As if on cue, lightning and thunder strike in perfect harmony, illuminating the small room.

I catch a small glimpse of my dark knight. The only features I caught were his well-defined cheekbones, and his thick eyebrows raising in what seemed like recognition.

He clears his throat, "Lovely to meet you, darling. I'm George." He gently grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. My words catch in my throat, "I...I'm _______..."

Why is he making me act this way? They've basically kidnapped me! I refuse to fall into some deranged Stockholm situation! But...why do I feel like I know him...

"You hit your head pretty hard on that branch, you should rest, comfortably. Come with me love, you can stay in my bed."

My heart skips a beat hearing the words 'my bed'. He gently tugs my hand and I stand up, teetering slightly from not using my legs for a while. "It's dark, so don't let go. I know this place like the frets on my guitar, so I won't run you into any walls or the like."

I nod, unseen by one of my strange kidnappers, George. He leads me down what I assume to be a hallway. A few seconds later we arrive at our destination.

George pushes the door open. From the low light of the moon peeking through the large bay windows I see a large king bed, a huge wardrobe, and what looks to be about a dozen different guitars.

He leads the way in and opens the wardrobe. He rummages for a minute, then pulls out a lovely silk slip.

I quirk my eyebrows, wondering why he has a ladies garment in his wardrobe, but I'm too tired to raise any fuss.

He lays the slip on the bed and turns to me, "You can have my room for the night, we'll talk in the morning." He strides over to me, still gawking in the doorway.

He gently cups my cheek, "Goodnight, darling. Sleep well, yeah?" And with that he swiftly exits.

I close the door and lock it for good measure. Slowly I strip down to just my knickers and slide the silk slip over my head. It feels so soft and familiar.

I slide delicately under the comforter, vaguely thinking how amazing the sheets felt, before passing out from exhaustion.