The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty-six

We’re back in his car driving down the coastal highway. He hasn’t said a word since I serviced him. I can’t tell if he’s still mad, or if this is how he is. He hasn’t even looked at me. I guess this is how it’s supposed to be.

“You said I am to start at the school, Monday?”

He turns his head, glaring at me through dark shades. “Yes. Why are you asking?”

“I guess, this was maybe a trial run. I didn’t know I’d be moving in this fast.”

“You signed the contract. You are now mine. And what’s mine, I take care of. What part of that don’t you understand?” He turns back to the road.

“I understand. I just need to know if you’ve made arrangements from my school back home.”

“It’s already been done,” he says, looking straightforward.

“Oh, I see.”

“Everything you need, I have provided. Don’t complicate things, Cinder.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. And…thank you.”

He turns his head slightly to look at me, his lips are in a tight line. No smile, no expression. His color is back to grey.

He returns us to the house, pulling the Aston Martin into the garage. I’m about to get out when he tells me to stay put. I’m not quite sure why. But then he gets out of the car and opens the door for me.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, and step out of the car. I follow him inside, waiting for any commands.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Go upstairs and clean up. I want you to wear outfit number seven,” he says, going through a stack of mail, and not looking at me.

“Yes, sir,” I say, and walk up the stairs to my room.

I grab outfit number seven from out of the closet, a simple black dress with spaghetti straps. I grab the shoes marked for this dress and then head for the shower. As I’m washing, I can’t help but think about that picture of him with the little boy. Why did he become so angry with me? The name he called out in his sleep—Pippa.

I tip my head, letting the shampoo run down my back. It’s relaxing, and I need to keep myself focused if I’m going to make it here with him. The challenge. Why does it have to be a challenge? It’s obvious, he likes what I do for him.

I finish washing and step out of the shower. Reaching for the towel, I’m startled when I find Ash standing there. I quickly wrap the towel around me.

“Excuse me. Don’t I get a little privacy?”

“No. You are my property. You have no privacy,” he says in that stern voice.

I’m kind of confused here. I thought my room was for my privacy. Not sure why I thought such a thing. Nothing is normal around him. He looks angry. Why?

“Back at the school. Where did you learn to do that?” His fists are balled at his sides. I don’t think he would strike or hit me.

“Do what? Draw?”

“NO! That. When you entered me.”

Seriously? “Didn’t…did you not enjoy it…sir?”

“That’s not the point. What you did was very…intimate.”

“I…I just figured you would like it.” My lips begin to quiver. I’m not sure how to feel—embarrassed, or frightened?

“What you did, crosses the line. We are not in that kind of relationship.”

“I’m not following, sir.”

He brings his hand to his head, running his fingers through his dark hair. He’s glaring at me with anger in his eyes. I’m about ready to call it quits. Find my way back home and figure it out some other way.

“Sir, all I did was please you. That is what I am here for. How am I to know when I’m crossing boundaries, when I don’t know what yours are?” This gets me a conspiratorial look. His colors come and go like a chameleon, and for a second, I think I see a window of opportunity. A chance to step into his mind, and see what haunts him.

“My boundaries are not your concern. I will keep my boundaries in order.”

“Sir, do you not want me to do that again? Is this what you are asking me?”

“No, I’m asking where did you learn to do that? It’s not something most people do.”

Do I tell him the truth? Would he know if I was lying? “It’s a known fact, that stimulating a man’s prostate, will give him a deeper pleasure when climaxing,” I say, trying to sound clinical. Is he buying it? Anyone could have researched that on the internet.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Cinder?”

“Sir?”

“Have you ever performed this on another man?” His eyes are fixed on mine. Why does he want to know this? And I shouldn’t be afraid to discuss this with him.

“Sir, I believe that is my business. I see no need to discuss my past.” But then I think better of it. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you are willing to give me something from your past—something private and intimate.”

He quickly moves his back against the wall, like something is pulling him. His eyes blink rapidly, and I can see the heavy breathing through his nostrils.

“There has to be something that has made you this tormented.”

“Tormented! That’s what I am to you?”

“No sir, that’s what you are from something in your past.”

“My…past!”

“I will tell you where I learned that, and who I performed it on if you agree to tell me something.” Either he will drop this or give me something about himself.

“You have a deal. Start,” he demands.

“May I dress first, sir?”

“You may.”

I walk past him into the closet and dress in the black dress. At first, I consider not putting on the heels, but then I think better of it. When I step out of the closet, he’s sitting on a chair across from the bed.

“Sit,” he orders, gesturing to the bed. “Tell me, now.”

“It was when I was in foster care.” I see him suck in a heavy breath. “There was this…guy…kid around my age. We were both just kids—around fifteen. Curious.”

“Did he molest you?”

“No. You see, when you have nobody, and life has cast you aside…”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“One night, we got to talking about stuff…”

“Stuff?”

“Our lives, how things were so unfair. Somewhere in the moment, we felt a common bond. We began kissing and one thing led to another. He wanted to give me something to enjoy—blank out the bad, if only for a moment in time. And he did. He…he did things to me that felt good. It was the first time I ever felt that.”

“What did he do?”

“He went down on me, showing me where my g-spot was. And as he stimulated it, he sucked on my clit.” I watch to see if he is becoming uncomfortable. But he gives no indication. “And when I came, it took away all my pain of the last ten years. For a moment in time, I mattered. I was allowed to feel something that was given just for me. Instead of a girl, no one wanted. A girl who didn’t matter to her mother or father.”

“You felt unwanted?”

“Yes. That’s what being a foster kid feels like—that’s why you’re there.”

“Go on.”

“When he finished, I wanted to give him something, something to take his pain away. I told him that I never knew about that special spot I had inside me. That’s when he told me that men have one too. But I needed to prepare him, get him wet with my saliva when I was sucking him, poke my fingers in his…spot. As I slid my finger in, I could feel that special spot he was talking about. When I touched it, it was like the air went out of his lungs. It made me happy to give him this pleasure. It gave me more pleasure, as I sucked him off. I felt power.”

“Power? Why?”

“Because of what it was doing to him, providing something amazing.”

“Do you like power, Cinder?”

“Don’t we all?”

I finish and wait for him to start, tell me something about his past. When he doesn’t offer, I begin to ask. “Now, tell me something private and intimate about you.”

“That’s where you lose, Cinder. Never make a deal with the devil. He will lie to you every time.” He gets up and walks out the door.

***

The Colors of Ash © 2024 Gina A. Jones rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.