The Family Business 3(58)

Okay, so maybe the average girl in my situation wouldn’t be thinking about sex, but I am no average woman. I might have gotten a late start at the age of nineteen, but once I’d gotten my first taste, I’d been addicted to dick. Now here I was in the presence of all these strong, red-blooded black men, and not one of them appeared to be thinking about sex in the least—with the exception of Brother X, and even he backed down at the last minute. It was enough to drive a nymphomaniac like me crazy.

I was busy conjuring up yet another gang-bang fantasy in my head when Elijah walked in with his fine self.

“I hope this is sufficient.” He was carrying a bag of something that smelled so damn good my stomach started doing backflips. It also smelled familiar.

He opened the bag and laid the takeout containers on the table in front of me. When he popped the lid on the carton, I understood why it smelled so good.

“Wait, you got this for me?” My undisguised surprise brought a smile to his lips. “You know this is my favorite.”

Whenever Elijah was the one in charge of watching me, we’d have conversations. It was mostly small talk, like the conversation we’d had about our favorite foods. I was impressed that he remembered, and also blown away by the gesture. I had no idea where we were, but I didn’t imagine we were next door to a Bon Chon, the Korean fried chicken place that put the Colonel’s stuff to shame. Elijah had gone out of his way to get this for me. “You are so nice,” I said, feeling taken care of for once.

“I’m not as nice as you think. Besides, you need to eat.” He sounded concerned and authoritarian at the same time, making me imagine all the naughty things he could do to me. I liked to be dominated from time to time.

I looked down to my hands, which were attached to the chair. “You can either feed me, or you can let me feed myself.”

“If you promise not to try to escape, I will allow you one hand to eat.”

“I promise,” I said, and he uncuffed one hand.

“This is a lot of food. Are you going to join me? I promise you it’s not cooked in pork fat.” I was pleased to see him smirk at my little joke. He was letting his guard down a bit.

I have to admit that the way I attacked that food was not ladylike at all. Of course, he put a hurting on the chicken too.

When we finished, he took me into the bathroom and washed my hands for me. There was something so erotic about it, with the slippery soap bubbles and the way he massaged my hands between his. This was the kind of man who knew how to take care of a woman, not like some of the Peter Pan boys I had been with lately. Something about his manliness made me hold back on my usual forwardness. I didn’t make some graphic statement or try to sexually overpower him with my words. Believe it or not, Elijah made me feel a little shy.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked as he cuffed me back to my chair.

“No.”

After my restraints were secure, he headed for the door, stopping once more to double check, “You okay?”

“For someone locked to her chair and held against her will, you mean?”

“Yes. That is correct. My apologies.” He actually seemed embarrassed, like this hostage business was new to him.

“I’m bored. And lonely,” I admitted, because there was only so much staring at the walls one could do without going mad.

“What would you like? I mean, within your current circumstance?”

I was so grateful and relieved that he was even asking, rather than just walking away. There were plenty of things I would have liked from him, but again, I steered clear of sex talk. After the way I’d heard him lecture X about Muslim respectability, I didn’t want to offend him just when he was starting to soften up.

“Well,” I said, “when you took me to the bathroom, I noticed a couple of the men playing chess. Is there any way one of them could come in and play with me?”

“You play chess?” He didn’t hide his surprise.

“Yes, my father taught me.”

“Very good,” he said. “A father should spend time with his daughters.”

“Yeah, I loved when he spent time with me—most of the time. He also made me learn Chinese so that I could read the original text of Sun Tzu, so it wasn’t all fun and games.” I couldn’t help smile at the thought of my father and his many life lessons. God, I missed him terribly.

“The Art of War. I know it well, but only the English version,” he admitted, staring at me like I was some strange creature. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re not like most men.”

That made him pause for a minute. I guess he was trying to figure out if I meant it as a compliment or an insult.

“I mean, here I am your captive, and yet you treat me with great respect. You even went out of your way to bring me my favorite food tonight,” I explained.

He tried to brush it off as if the chicken hadn’t been specially ordered for me. “Women are to be taken care of. The Quran tells me that.”

“Oh, so you were only doing what your religion tells you to do?” I challenged.

He nodded.

“Okay, but here’s something I don’t understand about your religion: Why are women expected to be second-class citizens? You know, walking three feet behind the man, covered up completely . . . that kind of stuff. I mean, do you believe in all of that?” Oddly enough, I found myself hoping he would say no, that he believed a woman could be his equal. I was surprised by how much I cared.