Read Online Kept for His Appetites by Alice May Ball - Free Book Online
Authors: Alice May Ball
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as to whether that had been he, whether the cock that Kaysha had been choking on had been his. Whether the business he’d had to ‘take care of,’ had involved violently skull-fucking her. And whether he, or she, or anyone knew that I had witnessed that scene. And, honestly, what the fuck?
The answers to none of those questions were evident on his face. All I could see was the superior smirk, beneath the usual thunderous brow. His eyebrow raised slightly, as if to challenge me, ‘go on. Ask.’ I didn’t. With a tiny purse of his lips and the slightest shake of his head, he turned and was gone. As soon as he left, I missed his cologne. Was he going to put me off the boat, or dismiss me, or what? I had no idea what to expect, and packed my pathetic little pile of belongings with trembling and trepidation.
It turned out that Paragon Hall was the huge stately pile we had docked at the previous day. Perched on a small hill behind about a hundred and fifty feet of grounds, dozens of windows shimmered and shone in the edifices of the massive gothic mansion. Three people-carrier vans were parked up by the jetty, and a uniformed attendant stood smartly by each.
By the time I was off the boat, Kaysha had boarded one of the vehicles, and it was pulling away. Through the tinted windows, it looked as though there was a man in the back with her, but I couldn’t be sure. I was beckoned into the second car. The attendant took my small bag of belongings from me, shut the door behind me and pulled off. The first car went around the house, and I didn’t see where after that. My driver parked by the wide spread of stone steps leading up to the columns of the great stone porch and the main doors of the house. A large man in white gloves with a dark suit and tails told me a room was made up for me, and that a maid would take me upstairs.
The small, pretty and neatly uniformed maid looked up at me without expression, then said,
“Follow me, please,”
turned and led me in through the double doors that must have been ten feet high and six inches thick, into a hallway and lobby the size of a museum. Her eyes barely glanced back as she started up a sweeping staircase like a set from a black and white movie, like something that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers might dance up and down.
At the top of the winding staircase, we turned along a wide, high-ceilinged, dark panelled corridor lined with paintings. She opened a door to show me into a large room, with high sash windows overlooking the lawns and the ocean and the jetty where Splash was moored. The room had a couch and two armchairs, a large mahogany wardrobe and a high, thick, four-poster bed.
The maid opened a door, indicated with her arm and indicated a bathroom, not much smaller than the main room. She said,
“Lunch will be served in the dining room downstairs, in about half an hour,” and she left me, closing the door behind her.
The room had another door, which the maid had not opened, a large door with an ornate, carved wooden frame. I tried the handle. The door was locked. I went back to the window and looked out at the ocean. What the hell was I doing here? What did this ridiculous man have in mind? The very thought of him made my stomach feel weak. A sound from across the room startled me. It was the locked door, being unlocked. Then opening. It was him.
In a black jersey and loose black slacks, his feet apart, planted in penny loafers, he said,
“Settling in alright?”
I was furious, I was confused,
“I feet as though I’ve been kidnapped,”
His lip curled in amusement. He said,
“Nice cell, though,” He came into the room, towards the window, towards where I stood, trembling and struggling not to show it. He looked past my shoulder and through the window,
“Nice view. You could probably open the window and climb out if you were desperate to escape, don’t you think?” I wanted to shout
The answers to none of those questions were evident on his face. All I could see was the superior smirk, beneath the usual thunderous brow. His eyebrow raised slightly, as if to challenge me, ‘go on. Ask.’ I didn’t. With a tiny purse of his lips and the slightest shake of his head, he turned and was gone. As soon as he left, I missed his cologne. Was he going to put me off the boat, or dismiss me, or what? I had no idea what to expect, and packed my pathetic little pile of belongings with trembling and trepidation.
It turned out that Paragon Hall was the huge stately pile we had docked at the previous day. Perched on a small hill behind about a hundred and fifty feet of grounds, dozens of windows shimmered and shone in the edifices of the massive gothic mansion. Three people-carrier vans were parked up by the jetty, and a uniformed attendant stood smartly by each.
By the time I was off the boat, Kaysha had boarded one of the vehicles, and it was pulling away. Through the tinted windows, it looked as though there was a man in the back with her, but I couldn’t be sure. I was beckoned into the second car. The attendant took my small bag of belongings from me, shut the door behind me and pulled off. The first car went around the house, and I didn’t see where after that. My driver parked by the wide spread of stone steps leading up to the columns of the great stone porch and the main doors of the house. A large man in white gloves with a dark suit and tails told me a room was made up for me, and that a maid would take me upstairs.
The small, pretty and neatly uniformed maid looked up at me without expression, then said,
“Follow me, please,”
turned and led me in through the double doors that must have been ten feet high and six inches thick, into a hallway and lobby the size of a museum. Her eyes barely glanced back as she started up a sweeping staircase like a set from a black and white movie, like something that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers might dance up and down.
At the top of the winding staircase, we turned along a wide, high-ceilinged, dark panelled corridor lined with paintings. She opened a door to show me into a large room, with high sash windows overlooking the lawns and the ocean and the jetty where Splash was moored. The room had a couch and two armchairs, a large mahogany wardrobe and a high, thick, four-poster bed.
The maid opened a door, indicated with her arm and indicated a bathroom, not much smaller than the main room. She said,
“Lunch will be served in the dining room downstairs, in about half an hour,” and she left me, closing the door behind her.
The room had another door, which the maid had not opened, a large door with an ornate, carved wooden frame. I tried the handle. The door was locked. I went back to the window and looked out at the ocean. What the hell was I doing here? What did this ridiculous man have in mind? The very thought of him made my stomach feel weak. A sound from across the room startled me. It was the locked door, being unlocked. Then opening. It was him.
In a black jersey and loose black slacks, his feet apart, planted in penny loafers, he said,
“Settling in alright?”
I was furious, I was confused,
“I feet as though I’ve been kidnapped,”
His lip curled in amusement. He said,
“Nice cell, though,” He came into the room, towards the window, towards where I stood, trembling and struggling not to show it. He looked past my shoulder and through the window,
“Nice view. You could probably open the window and climb out if you were desperate to escape, don’t you think?” I wanted to shout
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