Incorrigible
I asked him when I would be allowed to wear silks again. His response was to ask
if I was cold.
It gives him pleasure to look at me nude. I know this... and the other day at
the falls, seeing his eyes on me, I breathed in ... deeply... the intake of
breath pulling my stomach taut and lifting my breasts upward. To accentuate my
posture even further, I pressed my shoulders back... then looked at him to gauge
his reaction.
"Breathing that way does not give me incentive to return your silks." I could
not help but smile, a warm and slow grin. The barbarian part of my mind screamed
"What the hell are you doing??" My body grabbed that little barbarian voice and
silenced it.
"You are becoming incorrigible," he said.
I am reluctant to be nude in public. It is different to see strangers staring
than to turn and see his eyes of gray smoke color studying me intently. I look
at him when he doesn't know it. I watched him sleep one night, holding the chain
tightly in my hands so the links would not make noise and wake him.
The tugging in my belly is no longer so painful. What I'm finding intensely
uncomfortable is being anywhere near him and not touching him. I begged the
other night to be allowed to sleep on his feet, simply so I could touch him. I
said it was because it was chilly -- and it was -- but I really only wanted to
feel his feet pressed beneath my belly. When I kneel, I find myself within a
hair's breadth of his legs, my thighs on either side of his sandals. While he is
distracted in conversation, I will curl my fingers around his ankle or place
just my index finger against the side of his foot.
Someone at the arena asked him if I was his. "Yours, Szol?" he said, looking
down at me, nude and kneeling. "She is not in my collar." That is a true
statement, but only skims the surface in answering the question.