“Do you know what I first noticed about you?” he murmured to the young girl lying before him. Her auburn hair tumbled back from her forehead, framing the sparking, wide eyes blue eyes that stared up at him. He softly traced a finger over her cheek. “You had this smile that simply couldn’t be ignored. I was sitting in the park with my book, and you were laughing with a group of friends. You were mesmerizing.” He chuckled. It was like he was back under the leafy canopy, sharing in the amusement of that first moment.
The girl’s chest rose and fell rapidly as her breath quickened. He laid his hand down on the bare skin; she made a muffled, whining sound at the back of her throat. The corner of his mouth quirked up at the sound. “No, no, don’t get excited, not yet. Waiting, drawing it out, it just makes everything so much sweeter.” She wriggled beneath his hand, and he pressed down harder. “Relax. Feel that build. It’s almost the best part,” he ordered, his voice low and husky. Her movement ceased. He sighed.
The low wattage of the room’s one overhead light didn’t give her beauty justice. The brilliant sapphire of her eyes appeared watery and strained. Her shoulders seemed stiff with tension. The tan skin he’d so admired in the sunlight was turned to a clammy, trembling pale color beneath that single bulb.
He slid his hand lower down her stomach, and she squirmed again. His eyes locked onto hers. He was keenly aware that, under the scrutiny of his gaze, she had suddenly frozen, a sort of fear or apprehension creeping into her expression. “Perception is such a funny thing,” he cooed. He hated how stern the close-walled room always made his voice seem. He could always feel the anxiety it stirred within the women he brought there. His stare moved back down to where his fingers rested upon her smooth, toned skin. “I honestly expected to find you a normal woman beneath all those clothes. I thought you would be supple, soft, with that plus of skin that women often possess. This was not what I pictured when I imagined seeing the real you for the first time, so solid, so unyielding. You are like a block of marble, and your maker slipped in his carving. But I can fix that.”
At his words, tears began to slide silently down the sides of her face. He sighed again, this time wearily. They always cried. It was never any fun once they started to cry. He trudged over to his worktable against the opposite wall and unfurled a black leather case. The tools of his trade glimmered and winked at him with their serrated smiles. His nimble, practiced fingers plucked the smallest from its place, his favorite of the set. He turned back to his guest, tested the knots at her wrists and the tape at her lips, and smiled.