Stains on my Star.

As they stepped into his apartment, coolness seemed to radiate here, a pleasant temperature of perfection, even in her flimsy and skimpy attire. Chopin played from a stereo in the corner. She deciphered it as Nocturne, and with little thought she wandered across to the speaker. The man watched fascinated as those ebony lashes lowered to a pale cheek and she began to sway slowly. She seemed almost entranced for the longest of times, until the song finally ended. A delicate flush the hue of pink rose petals appeared on either cheek, the colour seeming to drain from the rest of her features, a whispered apology escaped from her lips as her head bowed.

‘It is perfectly alright, Hoshi…’ He responded, voice clear, clarified, confidant. ‘I’m rather pleased you appreciate my choice of music.’ He began to slip his jacket off. From the corner of her eye, the girl watched as the black material slid over the contour of each of his shoulders gracefully and down over the length of each arm. Tantalising glimpses of the sheer power, the muscle beneath the crisply creaseless, though loose clothing met her scrutinising though discreet gaze. His tie followed, both tossed carelessly over the back of a shockingly pristine-white couch.

The room seemed to radiate calmness. He gestured to offer her a seat, he himself wandering through to the next room, the kitchen. She sat, the nightdress hiking up to just below her knees, exposing each slender, smooth and pure white shin. In moments he returned, seated beside her.

‘Hoshi… I wish to inform you that I will not force you to do anything you do not wish…’ He offered her a cup. She deciphered the contents as green tea. Something she in fact hated. But the gesture was sweet; she sipped at the slightly bitter and dry tasting liquid. He himself appeared to have a glass of amber liquid. She assumed it to be alcohol. ‘I took you from that store because you are far too precious a creature to be show cased and sold as a pleasure doll. Here I will not touch you unless you allow it, will not demand anything of you…’ There was a long silence as Hoshi gazed into the murky contents of her cup. The slight ripple. The gleaming surface. She was stunned; this man treated her with something akin to respect.

‘I… I thank you deeply, Sir.’ She whispered. Her voice seemed to hitch. Something inside her ached and throbbed. And she felt a blood hot tear trekking down the delicate curve of her cheek, though the curtain of ebony hair hid it from view. She wished to say more, but words evaded her.

‘You are a human being Hoshi, I plan to treat you like one as best as I possibly can. If anything, I would like for you to be my companion. I work a lot, so you may be here alone for much of the days, and maybe even nights… Is there anything you like to do Hoshi?’

Silence.

‘I enjoy to… Paint… And… Play.’

‘Play?’

‘Piano. And… I am also adept with violin, Sir.’ He smiled a little at the choppy sentencing.

‘I can arrange a violin for you very easily, and we already hold a piano, a family heirloom from my Grandfather.’ She nodded a little. The appreciation thrummed within her, and as his fingertips ever so gently grazed over the shimmering surface of the silken strands of her hair, she did not flinch away. ‘I’d also prefer for you to call me Nicholas…’ He uttered, almost a whisper. And as his arms slipped around her form, pulling her close to his chest, into the coven of his embrace upon his lap, she moulded to his form. Nicholas’ arms wrapped around her, a comforting blanket of safety, fingertips stroking gently over the smooth skin of his arm. She felt his fingertips pushing down the slender tie of her nightdress, for it to skim over her skin in silky smoothness, bra strap following. She stiffened, though settled once more as he proceeded to simply caress the smooth skin of her shoulder with his palm, though it was not as silken as her skin, it was not gratingly rough. Canon played in the background. She felt part of a work of art; something crafted to represent the first blossoming of love, perhaps. As the soft and translucent material of the white drapes over that wide window with the beautiful balcony billowed like the sails of a ship from the wind, then settled to fluttering, rippling, like the tea which had gone cold in that cup. Her soul also went cold, as she knew she could not give him what he wanted.

He did not comment as that soft sigh was uttered from her lips, as the strings of Canon continued to caress her senses. They remained still for hours, rigid, save for the rhythmic and repetitive caress of his hand on her shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.