So here ya go! I hope you liked the last chapter *wink wink nudge nudge* and there is more of that coming! Tell me who you ship and who you like or who you don't like! BE MY GUIDES

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Cold Waters

I wake up to a breeze.

There's a door open on the big wall of windows, it lets the sunlight seep through from a center courtyard. I fling off the sheets, the bed is still warm, but he's nowhere to be found.

The door is open to let air in and I inhale deeply the smell of roses and lilacs. Sleek is the only way to describe the room, fancy silver and black striped wallpaper covers every wall, and a plush black carpet hides dark wood floors. There's a fireplace on the wall across from the bed, in front of it are two large club chairs, both black leather. The room is long and narrow, but two doors lead off it, a bathroom and closet, I guess. I walk outside into the fresh air, I am on the top floor of the building, about ten stories up. My window seems to be the only one open, all the rest are covered with fabric or shuttered. Good thing too, cause I realize that I'm still nude. I rush back inside and look around, my clothes had been picked up, there was nothing on the floor.

"Looking for something?" A voice asks me from the club chairs, I turn instantly, my hands flying to cover myself. Moran sits there nonchalantly, reading a newspaper. A table has been set up with a full breakfast on it, even a little daisy in a vase.

"Do you mind?" I say harshly, struggling to cover my bare body.

"What?" He smiles, his eyes never leaving my face. "Oh, yes. That. The water closets over there, clothes are off it. I'll be here."

His head motions for me to go. I don't argue a shower would be a blessing. I scurry over quickly, tripping over my own feet in my hurry to get out of his sight. I open the door and slide inside, slick black tile covers every inch of the room, taking it in I walk slowly over to the shower. My favorite bath products line the shower wall, lavender shampoo and conditioner, honey body wash and a loofa. I turn on the water and let the ice run over my bruised back, the cold feels good it gives me strength and I try to let it seep into my skin, let it turn my heart to stone so I can bare whatever awaits me. I wash my hair carefully and scrub my skin raw, trying to remove any reminisce of his touch. The sent in the shower clams me, it smells like home and for a moment I imagine I am back in my flat washing in my old claw foot tub with the daisy shower curtain. The illusion is easily shattered as I open my eyes to black tile the surrounds me like a black hole. I let my soul escape my mind, I let the coolness of the room and water turn me to stone.

I get out of the shower languidly, being careful not to slip of the tile. An arch leads to a large dressing room; I search through it to find any clothes for me. All I can find are fancy bras and underwear; just proving Jim has no respect for me. I put on the least extravagant ones and throw on one of his button up shirts. This should be cute, right? A girl in her boyfriends work shirt? But it's not it just feels wrong.

I walk out and into the bedroom, Moran is still sitting in the club chair, the breakfast is untouched.

"Nice shower?" He asks innocently, his attention still in the paper.

"Nice, enough." I say quietly, I sit in the other chair and take an orange slice off the tray. It tastes incredible, but turns to ash on my tongue. I don't touch anything else, my stomach turns in knots as I look at Moran. Why are you here? I ask in my mind.

"Tea?" He offers not waiting for a response, his hand moves to the teapot balanced on the tray, he elegantly pours a steaming cup for me and refills his own. Earl grey. I think, remembering… could that really only have been two das ago?

"That'll be nice." I say quietly, taking the cup and letting it warm my hands, still cold from the shower.

"You're cold." He observes, looking me up and down, his eyes curious.

"That happens after cold showers." My voice sound harsh, I have no patience for his small talk.

"You shouldn't do this to yourself." He says reaching for a piece of pineapple.

"I don't know what you mean." I say sarcastically, my eyes roll slightly as I lift my fingers to my lips to bite my nails. His hand catches my wrist and pulls me towards him.

"You need to let yourself be happy or you will wither away to nothing." He looks at me intensely; his eyes are a dark green and have a warmth to them, much different from the coldness of Jim.

"Then let me." I whisper.

"Not in my job description." He laughs and lets go of my hand. Moran stands languidly, much like a jaguar, long and tall and dark. I watch him warily, not trusting his movements. "I'll leave you to your breakfast, the telly had paperview and Netflix so feel free. There are books in the den, through that door." He points to the one I assumed was a closet. "If you need anything just holler, we can get you anything." A smile plays at his lips.

"Hey." I yell as he walks towards the door. Moran turns and gives me an expectant look. "One taxi to Istanbul."

"Anything, but that, sweetheart." The door shuts behind him and I hear the tell tale click as the door locks.

The Leather Chair

My feet move quietly as I walk into the other room, it's not black and sleek like the bedroom, but brown and cozy with books lining the walls and framing a fireplace adorned with an ancient mantle. Oriental rugs cover the floor, overlapping and soft, like different sands piling together and a large leather chair hugs the corner of a matching couch. My eyes scan the scene, it seems lived in, like Moran sits in that chair every night and reads a first edition from the shelves. The room smells slightly of cigar, but the overwhelming sent is apples. Like someone baked a pie and set it out to cool. I step onto the smooth carpets and walk tentatively over to the chair, light plays on the weathered material from the windows behind it. The panels are heavily curtained, but pulled back to let the sunshine in. I look out into the skyline of London, its my portal into the world and I cherish every second of it's beauty.

I grab one of the large, velvety blankets and pull it around me. The rooms are strangely cool, and my skin Goosebumps in the brisk air. I curl into the ancient chair, my body relaxes at the touch of the familiar leather and my fingers find the clicker on the small table that sits in between the two pieces of furniture. The large Van Gough painting above the fireplace rolls into its frame revealing a crisp television. I throw on some music from Pandora and force myself up to find a book, my eyes start to scan the shelf on the far wall, but something catches them, on the small table is a withered copy of Paradise Lost...my copy. I turn quickly and search the rest of the library, finding my volumes scattered throughout. It feels like a huge invasion of privacy, almost bigger than anything he's done yet.

I'm a nerd, so I write in the margins of my books, little notes and thoughts that pop into my head as I read. They're very private and I can't describe how infuriating it is to see that he's been through my books, which is equivalent to reading through my inner most thoughts.

Rage fills my senses at his, what he would seem as a harmless, act of invasion. He can have my body, he can have my freedom. But he cannot have my soul.


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