Silence.
What could I say?
I hated myself for it. As much as I hated him, right now. I hated the raspy tone of his voice and the way he affected me. I hated his hands. Knowing they could inflict the worst of pain, while at the same time igniting a fire.
Everything, tells me to run. The warnings, shouting within the atmosphere.
Darryl, dropped his head, bitting my collar bone and it took all of me. All of my strength not to moan.
"Answer me?"
"Yes....Yes Sir." Becoming increasingly aware of my rising temperature. He stares at me, surveying my face.
A familiar voice yet unliked voice cuts through the music. Through our mood from behind me. It was Vincent.
"Your father wish to have a word with you in private." His cold eyes never leaving my face.
Darryl kisses my cheek. Whispering, he'll be right back. Leaving me alone. My eyes following them off the dance floor. Watching, keenly as the two men chat, embraced and shared a joke before disappearing.
I stand here, in the middle of the room. The tension on my shoulders mounting. Unsure what to do next. Wishing Jamie was here. She was everything I wasn't. Arguementive. Beautiful. Strong. Persuasive. Looking for a private spot.
I veer towards one of the paintings and stare blankly at it. Choosing, not to think about Darryl and his shrewd and assessing eyes. The flex of his muscles beneath lightly tanned skin. The graceful power of his movements. The fact that was mines, left a warm pleasure sliding through me.