Chapter Five
Silas is at his desk. I’m at mine, working to process the second chapter of my financial literacy textbook. Aside from the sweet ache of my ass and my pussy, last night might as well not have happened. He’s back to his more formal demeanor, and I tell myself this is a necessary function to get me to focus. I tell myself that this is all an odd arrangement that I instigated with my ad, that I should enjoy it and not expect more. I tell myself that seventy-two hours is not enough time to develop feelings for a man I don’t really know.
“Eyes on your book, young lady,” he says when he catches me stealing glances at him. I scowl. How did he even know I was looking at him?
I force myself back to the book, where today I am learning about the difference between earned and unearned income, employment versus self-employment, and taxes. As I work, Silas taps away on his laptop, presumably answering emails. I think of my correspondence with him, and wonder if he’s scanning Craigslist again, planning ahead for someone else, for another girl to train when he’s done with me.
You’ve done this before…
Yes.
We work side by side, in silence. I manage to get through the chapter, and Silas repeats the previous day’s routine, handing me another test, with questions and an essay. And this time I surprise myself, writing confidently on the subject matter. When I turn it in, he looks at it and I’m pleased to see him grin as his eyes dart to mine.
“You’re getting a good grasp on the material, even if it’s remedial,” he says. He turns and puts the paper on his desk. “I think your behavior calls for some kind of reward.”
“A reward?”
“Well, if you’d rather do chores.”
“No,” I hasten, rising from my desk. I’m dressed today in a plaid skirt, blue sweater, knee socks, and loafers that look like a feminine version of the ones he’s wearing. He grins at my exuberance.
“Then come with me, my dear.” Silas offers his arm and I accept. He takes me first to the atrium, where he summons Mrs. Kim.
“Two ice cream sundaes with all the trimmings,” he says, then looks at me as if an afterthought. “I take it you do like ice cream sundaes?”
“I love them, actually.”
“All the better.” He inclines his head in my direction. “Extra whipped cream and cherries for the young lady.”
Mrs. Kim trundles away. The room is warm, and all the plants are lush and pretty. Silas remarks that it’s not so cold today, reminding me of a world beyond these walls that I’ve forgotten. We tuck into our desserts when they arrive. Before today I’d have been self-conscious about indulging in such a huge dessert—especially before lunch—but my appetite seems to delight my host, and I realize another advantage to the curious dynamic of being treated as something of a foster child in his household. Children are allowed to enjoy their sweets, and do, from the thick whipped cream topping to the rich ice cream to the plump cherries to the chocolate sauce. I even eat the bananas after mashing them into the remaining ice cream at the bottom of the oblong bowl.
“Mrs. Kim, do you think you could find Lindsay a jacket? It’s still chilly out.” The kitchen maid has come back in to collect the dishes, and smiles amiably as she says yes, she will. A moment later she returns with a pretty blue wool coat with a fur-lined hood. Silas helps me into it and we head out of the house.
It’s my first time on the grounds I’ve glimpsed from the windows. It’s beautiful, and were it not for the distant sounds of the city I would believe we were in England. The stone house looms behind us, the clouds in the still-gray sky reflected in the leaded windows. The gravel path under our feet is meticulously maintained, the shrubs that line them perfectly trimmed.
This part of the garden, which my room overlooks, is terraced. Nothing is in bloom now, but Silas tells me in the spring that all manner of flowers and shrubs bloom here, perfuming the place. He points to an arbor covered in a tangle of bare vines. Jasmine, he tells me, and it smells the best of all.
“I can’t wait until it blooms,” I blurt out, and he goes quiet and looks the other way.
We turn right onto another path that winds around a pond. There’s a thin sheen of ice on the surface. A gaggle of geese sits on the shore, looking fluffed up and put out by the uncooperative weather.
“Wait,” he says, and steps behind me, putting his gloved hands over my eyes. “This next part is a surprise.”
It’s awkward, having him walk behind me when I can’t see where I’m going. It feels like we walk forever but finally he stops.
“Ready?” he asks. I nod and the hands fall away.
“No. Way.” I turn to him, my mouth an ‘O’ of delighted shock. “Does it still work?”
“Indeed it does.” He takes my hand and we jog over to a beautifully restored carousel. There’s a box on a post and Silas opens it and pulls a switch. The carousel comes to life, the golden glow illuminating beautifully carved animals—horses, zebras, giraffes, a rabbit, a swan.
“May I?” I ask.
He nods and gestures me toward the carousel with both hands. I run over, delighted. It reminds me of the one my father took me to years ago, when I was a little girl and we visited the seaside, only this one is more beautiful.
“Pick one!” Silas says.
I run around, touching all the animals. “I can’t decide!”
“You don’t have to. You can ride them all. Pick the one that you’ll ride first.”
I pick the rabbit. Well, technically it’s a hare, its body stretched out long, its eye looking wildly back. Like the other animals, it has a saddle on its back. I vault onto it and grasp the pole. Silas flips another switch and the music, starting as an off-key drone, collects itself and transforms into the familiar, tinny organ music that triggers so many childhood memories. The rabbit bobs up and down as the other animals do the same, loping in loops to nowhere. It’s surreal. It’s magical. Each time the ride stops, I choose another animal. When I climb on the swan, Silas pulls out his camera.
“Say Daddy!” he calls.
“Daddy!” I cry, leaning to the side and opening one arm wide.
I don’t know how long I ride. Time seems to stop. I’m laughing. Silas is laughing. He switches the carousel on and runs to hop on with me, and I laugh as he struggles to keep his footing as he comes to where I’m sitting astride the swan. He stands beside me as I ride, then collects me and nearly falls as he ferries me to a horse with an arched neck.
When I’ve lost count of rides, he tells me to stay put and hops off and jogs back to the control box. The animals begin to slow, rising toward the ceiling and then dropping as if in slow motion. When I disembark, the world feels too solid beneath my feet. My legs feel heavy. Silas lifts me into his arms.
“My hands are freezing,” I say.
He puts me down. “I’m obviously a very bad papa, forgetting your gloves. Here. Take mine.”
“No!” I’ve stuck my hands in my pockets and feel some in there. “You get the lights. I’m fine.”
He turns away and I pull the gloves out. Something else comes with them. A locket. I turn away so that Silas can’t see and open it. Inside is the carved image of a horse head, and I realize after a moment that it’s the white horse on the carousel. On the other side of the locket is the letter ‘J.’
“It’s turned cold again.”
I tuck the locket back into the pocket and hurriedly turn to pull on the gloves. “Yes.”
“How are your legs?”
“Better now.” We turn and head back toward the house.
“How long as the carousel been there?”
“Decades,” he says. “When my parents bought this place, they were going to trash it, but I loved it, even as a child. I told my father when I grew up and got rich like him, I’d fix it.”
“Are your parents alive?” I ask.
“My mother is,” he replies. “My parents divorced when I was thirteen. My father died about twelve years ago…” His voice trails off and he looks away. “Mother remarried before he died and lives in Austria with her new husband. After the divorce, I went to business school abroad, studied finance, traveled a lot trying to figure out what I wanted. Finally, I came back here and bought Lindel, then bought Mom’s share of this place.” He nods toward the house. “Of course, she insisted on giving it to me for a song. But I always was something of a homebody.”
“And you just stay here alone?”
“I’m not alone. I have the staff. They’re like family.”
“You don’t want a wife or anything?”
He smiles sadly. “As I told you last night, my relationship views aren’t exactly conventional.”
“Maybe you should…”
“I don’t like talking about this.” His tone has turned harsh, then he seems to collect himself. “I’m boring.” He smiles down at me. “It was nice coming out here today, showing this to you. Not many people get to see the carousel.”
My gloved fingers fiddle with the locket in my pocket. “Yeah,” I say, trying to sound convincing. “It makes me feel special. Thank you.”
Back inside he excuses himself to get ready for dinner and tells me to do the same. I rush up to my room and as soon as I’m inside, I pull off my gloves and remove the locket for a better look.
It’s quite beautiful; the carousel horsehead is etched into what looks like crystal, and the J is engraved with ornate flourish. I close the locket, running my finger over the golden surface and turn it over. The back is smudged. I wipe it on my skirt. When I look at it again, I get a sinking feeling.
“Never forget,” it reads. “Love, Daddy.”
I walk over to the wardrobe and I kneel, studying the locket for a moment more. It’s one thing to know there are others. It’s another to see what must have been his exit gift. I wonder… did he hope to find love with any of them? Did they leave willingly? Or did he just grow bored and send them on their way? As the clock on the wall begins to chime, I tuck the locket under some clothing and make my way down to dinner.
Today it’s Irish stew and a loaf of fresh baked bread with a crock of creamy butter on the side. The sky outside the atrium is even grayer that it was when we were outside. Silas, who is already waiting at the table, tells me that warmer spell is over, and the forecast is calling for snow.
“So much for the tease,” he says, and I think of the locket in my drawer.
Silas is in a good mood while we eat. He tells me about his first winter storm in this house, when he was a little boy. He tells me how the snow blew against the house in drifts, and he cried because he thought the whole world was frozen. He seems to forget himself in the memory, and then pulls back, as if realizing he’s not alone.
“Goodness,” he says. “Look at the time. I’ve dallied with you all day and now I’ve not done a thing. I’ll have to spend my evening working. I’ll have Mina see you up to bed.”
He rises and begins to walk away, and I pivot my chair toward him. “Wait?” I’m seized by the sudden desire to keep him near, to keep him, to keep what we have, even if it’s an irrational desire.
“You promised me a story,” I say. “Remember?”
He stops in the doorway and leans against the frame, his hands in his pockets. I hold my breath as he considers my request. “Please, Daddy?” I say as I put my hands over the back of the chair.
Silas looks down briefly, then walks over and holds out his hand. “What kind of daddy would I be if I refused such a sweet request?”
I put my hand in his and he raises me to standing. We pass Mina on the way out. “I’ll be tending to Lindsay this evening,” he says. “You may have the rest of the evening off.”
Mina looks me in the eye as she addresses him. “Are you sure, sir?”
“Positive.” He tucks my hand in the crook of his elbow and we ascend the stairs.
Up in my room, he shuts the door and I find myself looking in the direction of the wardrobe drawer that holds the locket. I think of how I got here. I used what I had, my only power, my sexuality, the innocence and naiveté that attracted him. Silas has been using his power to get what he wants from me. What do I want? I want to prove to him that I can be more than another woman to send away. I’m ready to claim my own power now, to use it. I’m ready to feed his dominant need until he craves my submission as much as I crave his authority.
“Mina makes sure I get a bath first,” I say. He’s already at the bookshelf but turns back toward me. “And I’ve been playing outside today, so I’m… um… kind of dirty?” My tone is almost apologetic, and elicits a smile from Silas, who walks over.
“Well, now,” he says. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“So you’ll run a bath for me?”
“Little minx,” he says, tapping my nose, but turns to walk into the bathroom, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the water start to flow into the tub. He picks up the lily of the valley oil and pours it into the tub and then adds a capful of bubble bath. As the huge garden tub fills, it swells with bubbles.
“Come here,” he says, standing from where he was sitting on the tub’s edge. I obey and stand as he undresses me. He takes his time, removing my sweater, undoing the buttons of the blouse underneath before pulling the shirttails from where they’re tucked into the hem of my skirt. He pushes the blouse off my shoulders and trails a finger across the top of my lace-edged bra.
“You’re so very pretty,” he says, and his tone troubles me.
“You sound sad,” I say quietly. “Why do you sound sad?”
But instead of answering, he gently turns me and I feel him undo the button on the back of my skirt, feel the zipper come down and then hear the hiss of the silk-lined garment slide down and to the floor. I step out, clad only now in my bra, panties, knee socks, and shoes. Silas kneels and removes first one shoe and then the other. I lift my leg so he can remove my stocking. He rolls it down, studying first my left calf as it’s revealed, before doing the same with the right. He reaches up, hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, and draws them down and off. He’s eye level with my pussy and when he touches me just above the cleft, I shudder.
“You’re getting a bit of stubble,” he says. “Would you like for Daddy to shave you?”
“Yes. I’d like that. I’d like it very much.”
“Wait right here.”
He disappears for about five minutes. When he returns, he’s carrying a razor, a shaving cup brimming with foam, and an old-fashioned boar bristle shaving brush. “Sit,” he commands, nodding toward the tub. I sit and as he kneels in front of me, I spread my legs.
My heart is pounding. It takes a lot of trust to let someone take a razor to your labia, but I trust him, despite the inner voice that tells me to be careful, and when he looks up and says he’s never done this before, a thrill runs through me, because this is a first for him. I’m giving him an experience no one else has. I shift forward so he can run the razor over every inch of my soft, vulnerable pussy. When he’s finished, he wipes it with a washcloth.
“Perfect,” he says.
Silas remains kneeling as I climb into the tub. The water is still warm, the bubbles still firm where I break their surface. I sink into the water. He reaches out and smooths my brow.
“You’re so good to me,” I say. “You make me feel protected. That’s nice.”
“Well, you make me feel like a protector,” he replies. “That’s nice, too.”
He’s rolled up his sleeves and slips a washcloth under the water. He starts to wash my body, but it doesn’t take long before he loses the washcloth and starts using his hands, rubbing the bar of soap in circles against my bare skin. The steam rising from the water has a tendril of hair clinging to his face. I reach up and push it away and suddenly he’s pulling me to him, kissing me. My body is wet against his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I press my breasts against him, mold my body to his, teasing, inviting. He may be dominant, but he is, after all, just a man. And he’s suddenly standing and undressing with an urgency, tossing his clothing aside and shoes aside, eschewing his regular neatness in his haste to fuck me.
I push myself back against the tub and watch through the steam. When he’s naked, he climbs in the huge tub, kneels, and turns me so I’m facing away from him. But I turn back, putting my hand on his chest.
“No,” I say. “I want to look at you. Please.”
He ignores me, tries to turn me back again.
“I want to look at you. I want you to look at me.”
I hold my breath, half expecting him to spank me. Instead, he sits and leans back against the tub and I position myself over his cock, taking my face in his hands as I slide my hot pussy down his shaft. The bubbles have nearly all popped, and the foamy water sloshes around us in gentle ways as I ride his thick rod, moving up and down, tracing his sensual mouth with my thumbs as he slides in and out, in and out.
I can’t read his expression. It’s one of pleasure, but also something else… it’s like no one has ever fucked him before. Another first? I’d ask him, but I instinctively know he won’t say, so I move and move and move until I feel my pleasure cresting, until I reach down and feel his balls that have become two tight globes as his shaft begins to throb inside me.
“Daddy, can I please come,” I whisper in his ear, and he shudders as he’s made me shudder.
“Yes,” he says, and I do, my pussy clenching his cock, claiming him this time, drawing forth his orgasm, my surrender drawing his. He pulls me to him, buries his face between my breasts. His arms are tight around my waist. I feel desperation in his hug. He says nothing as he pumps into me and afterwards we sit together like that until his cock softens and slips from my satisfied body.
He rises from the water and wraps a towel around himself.
“Finish washing up and get in bed,” he says. “I’ll be in to read you your story in a few.”
“Okay.”
I rise, cleaning my shaven pussy of all evidence of Silas, and towel myself off. Mina has already laid the evening’s gown and panties on a little table by the sink. I put it on, brush out my hair, and go climb into bed.
Silas returns, wearing a pair of pajamas and a robe. He looks relaxed as he retrieves the book from the shelf.
“Now, where were we before we got interrupted? Ah, yes. I was going to read you a fairy tale. Do you have a preference?”
“Surprise me,” I say.
He thumbs through the book, clears his throat, and begins to read.
“The Frog Prince,” he begins, and I turn on my side and fold my hands under my cheek as he begins to read the story of a spoiled princess who loses her favorite toy—a golden ball—in the palace pond. A frog offers to retrieve it, but only if the princess promises to take him home with her. She agrees, for she desperately wants her ball, but when the frog fulfills his part of the bargain, the princess reneges on hers, leaving the frog behind.
The frog makes his way to the palace, where the king, upon hearing the story, insists his daughter honor her promise, and so the princess begrudgingly allows the frog to sit at her table, eat from her bowl, and even sleep on the pillow. When the frog leaves, the princess is relieved, but he returns the second night to sleep on her pillow. Exasperated, the spoiled princess hurls the frog against the wall, and to her shocked horror he doesn’t die when he lands, but transforms into a handsome prince and explains to her he was only a frog because he was cursed. She eventually marries him.
“What an awful story,” I say when he closes the book. “I thought she was supposed to kiss him.”
Silas furrows his brow as he shuts the book. “I did, too. Apparently, this is one of the older versions.”
“The frog could have done better,” I say. “The princess was selfish.”
“Well, the frog should have been more careful. You never know what you’re going to get when you show up at someone’s house.”
I fall silent, wondering if we’re still talking about fairy tales. I follow him with my eyes as he puts the book back on the shelf.
“Thank you for the story,” I say.
He turns and smiles. “It was my pleasure, Lindsay.” He walks over, leans down, and kisses me on the forehead. “Good night, little one.”
I feel a stab of sadness as he leaves. I wish he would stay. I wish he would stay, and sleep in my bed with me. But the door clicks behind me and despite my hoping he changes his mind and returns, he doesn’t. He goes to his own room, leaving me alone.