We waited for my mother at the breakfast table.
Sycamore's chair was only about two centimeters behind the low stool I occupied. I was sitting with my hands crossed between my knees, staring into nothing while he distracted himself by playing with his fingers on my hair. I didn't resist him. There was something in his caresses, and something about how much of his body I had felt last night, that censured me from shunning him any further. His hands now freely pulled the hair locks from my neck, moving them to the side, caressing the skin there and then lightly kissing my nape... His decided, fearless, spontaneous attention dictated a level of intimacy I signed up for without completely realizing its implications. He petted me in a different way now, and observed me in the same fashion: I, as the prey, was no longer being relentlessly chased, instead I was held captive, finally cornered and captured; the lion stood smiling serenely now the fight was over, pleased in rushlessly planning what to do with its prize.
I couldn't remain cross: a misunderstanding had been dispelled, and all pretenses were dropped on the relevance of my friends' welfare in causing the bad blood between the professor and I. I was selfishly glad to drop my anger, selfishly glad to be pronounced his favorite again. And in that unspoken reconciliation, we had somehow sealed each other as declared lovers, it seems…
…and I was going away with him, like he planned from the start.
My mother returned: she had a box of provisions for me – for the journey I was resuming – and a couple of Pokéballs in case I found any interesting Pokémon on my way back. For Professor Sycamore she still had her charmed glares, blind to how his hands secured me as if I could actually run away should he let go... blind to how he held my body next to his at all times, and the possessive lust his grip gave away
"So you're going again..." mom sighed. We all knew that her kicking me out of the house yesterday was just a mean joke: I was going of my own accord, I was a big girl… still her heart couldn't help but feel heavy for the same reason a second time.
"uh-hum" I murmured with a sigh.
"Well, you take care of yourself, honey..." She squeezed my cheek, I yanked away, intimately bothered. She then turned her attention to Sycamore: this time much more composed and conformed with the fact that he was leaving, as well as much more capable of dealing with his handsomeness without freaking out:
"And you... mister... You will take good care of my daughter, won't you?!' she asked with a degree of sadness.
"I promise!" his hand brushed up my neck.
"She's a stubborn one... doesn't always know how to decide for herself... so make sure you push her in the right direction!"
He nodded.
"I am leaving her to your cares now..."
My mother accompanied us on a walk to Aquacorde, from where we took a cab. The farewell was all long and full of recommendations again, though I had heard them all at home. Sycamore opened the door for me and I jumped into the taxi. He stayed a while longer to reassure my mother:
"As a token of my appreciation of your hospitality, I shall offer your daughter the very same: We will return to my house this evening, from where she can start fresh her journey on the morrow!"
My mother acquiesced without the least suspicion on what me sleeping in Sycamore's house tonight meant... without sharing a grain of my apprehension. I sighed as he sat beside me, I trembled as he ordered the driver go to his address in Lumiose... I dreaded, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach go nuts as he passed his arm around my shoulder and brushed my face with the back of his fingers, expressing a serenity only provided by the assurance that this time I couldn't escape, and there would be no one to interrupt us.
----
It was indeed almost dusk when we finally arrived in Lumiose. Through the cab window I watched with awe as the city lights seemed to dive infinitely into the sky, as if pulled from the numerous skyscrapers framing the streets the car passed by. Whenever my thoughts were given sufficient space to go astray, Sycamore's hand would weight on my shoulder – his warmth would pull me back from the cold valley my spirit kept wondering into, but that feeling would both comfort and scare me, and I suspected I preferred to go without it.
He offered a bill to the taxi driver as we stopped in front of his house, and his hand automatically closed tighter around mine, squeezing my fingers with firmness, but causing no pain.
We waited cynically on the sidewalk until the taxi had turned the corner, then Professor looked around, making sure no one would witness it as he pulled me inside... then we followed towards his door.
"Ah ... Home at last!" He walked into the small entrance hall, and I lingered in slow, undecided paces on the first step. "And we made it before the rain, too, for there is one coming..."
I looked at the sky again – some clouds drifted by, nothing too menacing... When I looked back inside, Sycamore watched me with an affectionate smile that made me blush with embarrassment. Upon perceiving the reason behind my delay, he reached for my wrist and pulled me in with a short and sudden grip. He laughed playfully as I landed inside his arms "Such a light weight, darling!" – his eyes took their time inside mine under the dusk-lit room, and then he let me go. He walked behind me then, and carefully, slowly locked the door. Activating the electronic lock wasn't noisy enough for him: he had to go on and flip the mechanical latches – one above, one below – and stop to look at me, just to make sure I had seen it... just to convey the unspoken message that I would not leave if he didn't want me to.
"Here, let me undress you, dear..." Sycamore laid his fingers on the back of my shoulders. I jumped, he stopped to enjoy a laugh "My! What a shiver! Could it be you are cold?"
The back of his hand brushed against the skin on my arm, feeling it with his own.
"No... It isn't cold... Is it, Anne?" his voice became cooler and more intense, more carefully planned to enthrall me "Well, I promise I won't do anything to you just yet..." he whispered, grasping my shoulders inside his hands and landing a sweet kiss on the back of my head. He then proceeded to pull my coat, sliding it slowly down my arms.
"You are so very quiet today, dear..." His voice sounded low behind me, concentrated in folding my coat – I could hear the fabric being handled by him. "...like a porcelain doll!"
I only glanced backwards once or twice to see the calm smile he nourished, then looked away quickly. The natural light degraded fast, the room became darker and darker...
"I am not fully displeased by it..." he added, grasping the end of the scarf that fell on my back and giving it a gentle pull. "Makes me wonder whether it's your wish that I should keep you to myself..."
I tumbled a step back in accordance to the scarf, and Sycamore now swiftly pulled; the fabric – still bearing his perfume on it – glided softly, swirling around my neck in a woolen kiss before leaving. "...and do as I wish..." he added in a mute whisper.
My back muscles instantly tensed – Sycamore looked at me from over my shoulder, his eyes quickly tracing my expression as his hand invaded my shirt through the back. His index finger ran up my spine slowly, and his grip on my arm kept me from walking away. I tightened my eyes and tried to resist it... but it made me shiver once, twice... convulsively! When he reached the top, his finger playing around the bones at the base of my neck, he let out a delighted laugh in my ear, and followed it with sliding his finger back down in the same speed. His eyebrows tensed, his smile stretched with his lips parting. His eyes on me were uncomfortably hurtful! "Not a limp, senseless doll, I see? Then perhaps you are hiding something from me?"
He sighed, letting me go after the last shiver, and, folding the scarf around his hand, hung both that and my jacket on the hanger. Just as I thougth I was off the hook for the moment, he swung me around in a swift movement – my eyes were slightly wet, my face was red.
"Are you, Anne?!" He smiled into me.
His blue eyes – the undimmed blue floating like a deep lake around his iris – challenged me to say I didn't want him - didn't want this, whatever it was he was going to do. If I still had my back turned to him, unable to see that mild, comforting, careful smile... then running away would have been a possibility: saying no, and begging to be let out, could be achieved. But in face of those... - and he knew it well, otherwise he wouldn't use them so effectively for his will to be made - ...I outright drowned!
"Don't trouble yourself too much." His eyes lightened up, alleviating on the hypnosis "We have the whole night, after all. Let's just not rush into things, yes? You needn't say a word to me about it... I will discover your feelings by myself… eventually!" And thus he opened the door to the kitchen, ridding me of the narrow hall entrance that my brain had just catalogued as a torturously small room.
"It was a long journey, wasn't it?" He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, sighing and looking around himself. I stopped right behind him, having followed in with timid steps. "You must be weary. Why don't you take a seat?" he turned around to face me, and stretched his hand towards the tall stool, pointing at it.
I could only look at the thing in response– my embarrassment and apprehension had me dumb and frozen in place!
"Here, here...!" he sighed, putting his hands around my torso and lifting me. I gasped
"Pr-Professor!!"
He swung me around and sat me on top of the high stool. His face drew closer and his hand, tactically positioned just under the curve of my breast, slid slightly upward, enough for me to feel the joint at the base of his thumb pressing against it, before letting go of me. I was short of air for that brief moment – he examined that, too: his lids relaxing and his smile stretching:
"You don't need to be scared of a tall seat just because you are such a small thing... You can't possibly be so clumsy as to fall!" he teased, breathing calmly. But even after the joke was gone his eyes still weighed inside mine, and I blushed.
That expression in particular must have stricken him as specially teasing, for his face drew closer almost in an automatic way, his hand reaching up in a quick and careful move. He held my chin between his thumb and his index finger and pulled it down, forcing my lips open at the same time that he pulled my face against his. My heart started racing by the image of his mouth opening slightly – the soft, round, pink skin of his warm lips advancing freely towards mine, nothing around to interrupt us or push him away now, no inconvenient witnesses waiting in the next room… In short, no stopping him if he was to begin now. I tightened my grip on the leather covering of the seat, his body moved forward, stopping between my knees... but he wasn't going any farther. When so close that my eyes had started shutting with feeling, he stopped, examined me one more time and smiled. That wasn't him teasing me, no – it was clear by how foggy his eyes were there, how choked his breath: he was teasing himself!
"As I said... we have plenty of time!" he sighed in a strangled, altered voice, walking back from me. I followed him with my eyes, confused and slightly numb. I gulped hard: the butterflies in my stomach only batted their wings the hardest when I was scared!