Page 106 of Risks of Temptation

19

Emilia

Hours pass.I rotate between sitting on the bed, pacing between the rooms, and staring out the window. The tall buildings and bustling city sounds feel like I could be in my apartment in Belize. But that's where the similarity ends.

Masculine dark-wood furniture fills the bedroom. A heavy desk sits in the corner. On each edge and the bottom of each leg are two-inch curved metal eyelets. Thin pewter rods stretch from the ceiling to the floor behind the bed. Graphite pillows match the comforter. Black beams run across the ceiling, perpendicular to that wall. The same eyelets are on each board, spaced out several feet apart. Textured wallpaper mimics the color of the night sky. Black velvet curtains hang from ceiling to floor. One picture of a man's eyes adorns the room, taking up almost the entire width of the wall and half the length. It's as if he's watching me. And they aren't kind eyes. Evil, sin, and greed radiate from the painting. I shudder when I first see it. I've seen those eyes before. Santiago had them. His men, too. So did Zaka. But there is nowhere for me to hide.

The theme in the sitting room is the same. A black leather couch with French tufts has eyelets on the edge of armrests, four across the bottom, and four across the top. A chaise lounge curves in the middle. A pewter metal device could be a chair, but there are only two straps, several inches apart, to sit on. Another chair reminds me of a scorpion. Four legs on each side, a hard-padded leather seat would curve over my head if I sat on it. More eyelets decorate the entire edge. Two stirrups with cuffs are at the end of it, attached to an adjustable bar. Only one picture exists. Blue eyes stare at me. They are of a woman. There is no evil in these eyes but something else that makes my heart race. Her eyes are lit with lust but also mixed with pain. Deep within them lies guilt.

When I enter the bathroom, I don't know why I'm surprised, but more eyelets are everywhere. Two counters and sinks in similar design have them spaced every six inches apart and up the walls. A massive, double-headed shower has them hanging from the ceiling and sticking out of the tiles. The same evil male eyes from the bedroom look down on me from the shower ceiling. There are only a handful of items in the bathroom. Shampoo, conditioner, and soap are in the shower. A toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash sit next to a bottle of clear spray. I spray some in the sink. The scent of rubbing alcohol flares in my nostrils.

The suite is the opposite of everything in mine and Naomi's apartment in Belize City. Our place is warm and loving. This suite is cold. But something else in me stirs. I may be naive in many ways, but this room is set up for sin. Every glance at the eyelets or rods makes me more curious. The pictures scare me. The more I look at the man, fear grows. But something about the woman makes my blood pound quicker in my veins. It's not anxiety. It's a sensual desire that surprises me.

I see Malin and me everywhere in these rooms. I don't know what most things are for, but a throbbing begins. I sit on the couch. The leather scent reminds me of him. The more I'm alone and wonder what it would be like to utilize any of these pieces of furniture, the hotter I become.

What is the temperature in here?

I go into the other room to cool off, but my breathing becomes more cumbersome. Sweat breaks out on my skin. I twist my hair and knot it into a bun and look around the room for a piece of paper to utilize as a fan. I open the desk drawer and freeze.

Unopened black boxes fill each drawer. I open each of them, my curiosity getting the best of me. Vibrators, dildos, and what I assume are nipple clamps are nestled in each box. There are other items I haven't seen before. Different kinds of lube are at the back of the drawer. The second drawer has chains of various lengths and strength. Handcuffs with spikes on the insides of the cuffs, as well as padded ones and normal ones, are neatly stacked. The third drawer has whips, something with lots of hard leather strips, and something that looks like a black leather dog collar but with a ball in the middle.

My pulse races as I stare at the items on the desk. But my body thrums as well.

What is wrong with me?

This entire space is set up for sex.

Sex like I've never had.

Sweat trickles down my chin and drips on one of the boxes. I glance down, and my shirt and shorts are sticking to my skin.

A whir in the air makes me realize the heater is on. I look for a thermostat but can't find one.

There are no clocks anywhere. I don't understand why Bernadette hasn't come into the room yet. The daytime turns into night. A dim light comes on around the edges of the ceilings. A floodlight with a soft glow, attached to a beam, points at the painting of the eyes, making it creepier. It's barely bright enough to see anything in the room. I look for a lamp or light switch, but none of them work.

Noise from the city stirs with the darkness, and my old fears attack me. I bang on the door. "Bernadette. Let me out. Please."

No one responds.

I knock louder, frantic for someone to open the door and let me out, gasping to breathe while my chest tightens more and more.

But it's useless. I finally curl in a ball against the door in a panic attack, rocking back and forth, sobbing with chest pain.

This isn't me anymore. Calm down.

Where is Bernadette?

Do yoga breathing, it will help.

The heater comes on again, and I can't handle it anymore. I remove my sweat-stained shirt and shorts, get in child's pose, and breathe.

I'm lost in my thoughts, calmer, still in my yoga pose, and thinking about how Malin fucked me on a rock. I miss him horribly and wonder why I agreed to this when I hear her clear her voice.

I look up.

"Get up," Bernadette instructs. Her hands clench my wet clothes.

I stand and realize I'm naked. "Something is wrong with the heater. I'm dying in here."