"So, do you believe you handled that well?" He didn't look down at her, but he did invest a small shrug. "Your first public manifested show of dominance," she continued. "It's a shame about all that woodwork, but I won't be missing those shoes."
"Is my little bird trying to say something?" he asked as he approached their car.
"Well," she started, brushing off some glass and wiggling her toes to distract him, "what do you want with a siren?"
"A siren is always useful," he said, setting her onto the pavement gently.
"I suppose," she relented cautiously as he opened the car door.
"Especially one with experience." She tried to pretend she hadn't heard him, but that was hard when she could feel him watching her, pressing his body close to hers as he shut the door.
"Wouldn't the witch be more useful?" she whispered.
"Not necessarily," he smiled.
"I never even fought you back, how do you know?"
"You were calm, calm means experience, that look in your eyes means calculated risks, all the difference." He smiled, pressing his hand on her grumbling stomach "What a time to be thinking about food."
"It's not my fault you don't know how to stock enough food for a funeral," she said.
"Hmm." Anioa looked back at him. He faded into a quiet stare. He remained silent for the rest of the ride, and that made her relieved. Even when they arrived at the mansion, he remained silent. He opened the door for her to step out, then carried her in and up the stairs.
"Shouldn't we go get some food?" she asked, but he continued up to his room. "Alex, please," she moaned.
"It will be morning soon."
"It is morning," she complained.
"All the sooner for breakfast," he said, throwing her onto the bed. She rolled up to her knees, glaring at him.
"Easy for you to say, I haven't eaten since noon." She didn't like the way he was eyeing her, backing away from him slowly.
"Not even from your little stash?" he asked lightly, pulling out a wadded crumb-filled napkin from her bra, crawling over her. "Admittedly, there doesn't seem to be much room."
"Stop," she slapped, stumbling back.
"Don't you want me to get those crumbs for you?" He pulled her bra off harshly, shaking crumbs over the bed.
"No, I want you to get me food," she huffed, fingering the edge of the bed.
"Later," he growled, pulling her down, rolling to the middle of the bed. He sat over her, parting the black fabric. "We'll relax and sleep a bit," he said, leaning forward, "and eat breakfast at the normal time."
"You're eating with me?" she asked. He nodded slowly. "You're not leaving tonight?"
"I don't have to anymore, at least not for a while." His eyes were glowing, a lustful golden glow. She squirmed and twisted, pulling at the mattress. "Lie still," he hissed, turning her back in place. Her body went limp, sinking back into the ruffled quilt. He pulled a corner up, slipping her body under the covers. He pulled her dress up over her head and settled her onto a pillow. He turned out the lights, his clothing rustling lightly as they fell to the floor. She felt his hot body slide slowly against her back, his hand taking the form of her hips.
* ━━━━ ❈ ━━━━ *
"Alzati amore, la colazione è pronta." She growled miserably and turned on her side. "Pensavo fossi affamato," he said, rubbing her back. She had never felt more sore, and nothing had ever felt so good, letting out a small sigh. "Sveglia la colomba," he urged.
"You know I don't speak Italian," she laughed, spreading her body down flat across her mound of pillows.
"Never too late to learn." He pulled the pillow out from under her, dragging her out from the blankets.
"No!" she screamed. "No!" She opened her eyes to the bright wide-open windows, a cold tingling breeze running over her skin. "What time is it?" she asked, fighting him for the blanket. He was still naked, and seeing him like that while being naked herself made her blush a little.
"Breakfast," he said, tearing the blanket away.
'That's right, three hours ago he told me to wait. . . .'
"Oh." Her stomach started to growl at the thought of it.
"Hungry?" He leaned in, nibbling at her neck.
"Starving." He smiled. She stumbled out of the bed, looking for her robe.
'Where is it?' She walked slowly around the room, looking in the closet, on the floor under the bed. She scowled and turned. 'Why is he smiling like that?'
"Che cosa sta cercando?" She inclined her head. "What are you looking for, my dove?"
"My robe."
"Oh that," he smiled. He leaned on his side, opening his legs making her shiver. "They are being washed." She took a deep breath. The dress was gone too. He got up with a faint shrug and pulled on a pair of boxers, walking to the door.
'What, he expects me to do, go downstairs naked?"
"You coming?" Her face turned red.
'I can't use a blanket, it's too big. A towel!' She rushed to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He watched her come out, a smile spread across his face, a look of triumph.
"Ben fatto amore mio, questo hai vinto," he laughed. "Intelligente da parte tua. Colomba ben fatta." She fingered the towel nervously and started down the stairs. She was halfway down the stairs before he followed.
'He's always playing games with me, testing me, trying to humiliate me.'
She rushed to the table and froze, everything on the table looked so. . . . foreign. It was all much fancier than she had ever had. Breakfast skewers with fried sweet Italian sausage and peppers or onions, croissants, biscottis, brioches, bread and cheese, Italian Cloud Eggs, Calico Pepper Frittata, so many Frittatas. Two wine glasses were set on the table next to empty coffee cups.
'I've only seen some of these plates in magazines,' she thought to herself.
"Are you going to sit?" Alex asked.
"I-uh. . . . um, yeah."
"What?" He asked, watched her as she looked over the table again.
"Wine?"
"While we wait for our coffee?"
"Oh."
"What kind do you want?"
"What?"
"Coffee?"
"Oh, um. . . ." Alex moved her chair out for her.
"Well?"
"Right," she sat down and stared at the table. "I don't know."
"Espresso it is," he said to the girl behind them, who she just noticed. She smiled at the girl, who winked at her in turn as Alex scooped food onto his plate.