Free Constricted: Beyond the Brothel Walls by Rae Ryans Page A

rolling. I was happy with Korri. “See nothing fits. You are above all of those terms.”
    “I told you not to worry about it,” I said as the waiter returned. Petre pulled out my seat, and the man led us to our new table. The booth was a tad more comfortable, and the leather formed around my achy body. When he sat down, Petre slid in next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
    “See,” he said, placing a kiss on my forehead. I turned my head, and he dropped his lips to mine. The tingling spread from my cheeks down to my toes. Yes, I couldn’t deny it; his lips were dangerous. My stomach groaned; it wasn’t buying that his lips weren’t food as I nibbled on his bottom lip. “Eat some bread; your stomach is making an awful racket.”
    Bread, he nudged the basket toward me, and I had a name to go with the food the chef prepared. I’d heard the word before, but I’d never had it. As hungry as I was, I didn’t move. My head rested on Petre’s shoulder, and I stared up at his sculpted jaw. The smooth, pale surface begged me to touch it, to hold it in the palms of my hands. His lips twitched as his jaw flexed; the conclusion I kept coming to was that he knew my thoughts. That might become a problem down the road, but for tonight, I wouldn’t press him. Tonight, I wanted to enjoy my birthday just in case tomorrow the bubble of my new life busted in my face.
    My fingers danced over his chest. Petre’s heart didn’t hammer like mine, and the iciness radiated through the cloth. “Yes, this is much better.”
    The strange clicking noise happened again as I reached for the breadbasket. My head cocked. The sound seemed to come from behind him this time. Petre excused himself, but his speech sounded muffled as he hightailed it from the booth. He moved faster than I’d ever known someone to move and covered his mouth with his hand.
    My head tilted, expecting to hear the sound again, but there was nothing. I shrugged, removing the fabric covering the woven basket, and removed a small roundish morsel. Stress and exhaustion came to mind, and I had written the oddities off. Besides, I hadn’t lied earlier when I said I was starving. Warm, but not too hot, and the outside was firm. I broke open the bread. The smell was sweet and earthy, and my mouth watered before I took a bite. Just a small nibble, after all he had given me permission to eat.
    Warm and chewy was my first thought, but rich and sweet at the same time. I took a sip of water to wash the nibble down, and tried another bite. This time I slathered on some of the white stuff sitting in the basket. Heaven collided in my mouth as the sweet and salty spread melted on my tongue. Even with chewing slowly, enjoying each tender bite, I realized I’d eaten half the basket.
    While he was gone, the waiter brought the soup in large bowls. They were large enough to hold a week’s worth of my soup rations. Training told me to wait for him, but my stomach growled despite the bread I’d wolfed down. I stared at the steaming bowl of off-white soup. Under the candlelight, the color almost passed for grey, and chunks of vegetables –ones I’d not seen before- floated. I scooped some onto my spoon and blew gently. My lips parted, and I allowed the soup to roll over my tongue.
    I moaned as the explosion went off in my mouth. Flavors collided, and I couldn’t name any of them, but the soup was earthy and tangy. Perfection in a pot; none of my soups ever came close to tasting this sinful.
    “Do that again,” Petre said. His voice sounded hoarse, and his eyes glazed. I collected another spoonful, and blushed as I felt him watching me. The clicking sound returned as I moaned again. He motioned for me to continue, either ignoring the noise or he hadn’t heard the loud crack. “You are killing me, Korri.”
    My eyes widened, and I dropped my spoon onto the table. The metal clattered against the side. Soup spilled, and I eyed the splatter, chiding myself for the waste.