Professional Curiosity

Chapter Five: Persuasion

"There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable." ~Mark Twain

After dinner was served and our bellies were full, Hannibal cleared the table and I steadied on to the bathroom; though, I admitted surprised embarrassment when I heard his footsteps follow behind me. Intent on struggling to pull myself into a hot bath, I hadn't considered that Hannibal's hospitality—as both my caretaker and my elected surgeon—would extend to home care. I stepped into the bathroom and turned slowly on my heel, and it was as if we stared at each other for minutes, wordlessly suspended in a silence that I concieved as uncomfortable for the first time. Perhaps my perception was more accurate than I had realized, for it seemed as if the kiss that we had before dinner might roll over into…well, whatever this was about to be.

"Hannibal." I wasn't sure what the next few words were going to be. Are you going to watch me undress? Will I be given privacy? Are you going to help me into the bathtub? Is this a bit inappropriate? Inappropriate, honestly…We just ate my fucking spleen accompanied with toast—I was pretty sure we passed that.

"I can help you," he offered in the politest tone I had heard yet, his hand extending behind me to indicate the white bathtub. "But only if you ask me to."

Always with the vague inclination that as long as I asked him to do it, I couldn't be blamed for anything that would happen afterwards—a very honest manipulative tactic that I couldn't resist; and honestly, he very likely knew that I wanted him to do whatever it was that I'd ask. Always, the tone of admission and omission, with a courtesy behind a honeyed voice, diluted with stern affirmation.

Hannibal, Bedelia once said to me in casual conversation, does not coerce. What Hannibal does is persuasion. His influence on others makes it seem as if his suggestions are your own ideas. And you will think that it is the only choice you have.

I nodded lightly, knowing to verbally speak such a request from my own mouth would sound wanton—I appreciated his help, but my own agenda was not so forthright. What I wanted to do was seduce him; but perhaps he was seducing me as well. The whole night seemed to be a proverbial cat and mouse, though with very little chasing involved—More like loosening the line to tug it back hard.

Hannibal stepped forward, and I stepped back into the bathroom, for he stepped over the threshold and I became very aware of our close proximity. Astounding, it felt, how my legs couldn't firmly root to the floor; I puddled under his gaze.

"I need to hear you say it, Evangeline." He took another step forward. I sat down on the closed toilet seat, staring up at him, for there was no more tile to fall back on. How submissive I was to him. Did I forget to breathe? Air seemed to have constricted hard in my lungs, coming through so shallow. "Consent is very important, remember?"

"Like when you removed my spleen without my knowledge?" I noted breathlessly, attempting nonchalant playfulness.

"That was for your own benefit." Hannibal noted.

"And yours," I smiled.

"I was curious to know how you'd react."

"Are you curious now?" I returned.

Hannibal uttered a low sigh, though I'd have liked to think that he didn't have a response because I was right. Curious and what else, Hannibal? I considered the thought of him undressing me, though no doubt he had seen me naked already—After all, when I had awoke before, he had stripped off my shirt and laid a white towel across my chest. I had been unconscious and sedated then. Would it be different now?

Hannibal leaned forward, and a delighted shiver tickled the nape of my neck and pooled between legs as his mouth brushed against the shell of my ear—He's doing it on purpose—And I bit my lip to quell the impulse to squeal as he said: "Be a good girl, do as I ask."

Surely, he could hear the thundering hoof beats in my chest. He had to know.

I had a numbing sensation, pins-and-needles in my hands until I realized that I had been gripping the underside of the toilet seat so hard, my knuckles had gone white. I wanted to squirm under the gentle delivery of his voice itself, and my stomach knotted in reply—

"Help me." I said, pushing out the words that suffocated in my throat.

The lightest of exhales from him—He was smiling. Can you hear someone smile? I could. I felt his hands lift the hem of my blouse; in response, my jelly-filled arms felt like deadweight as I raised them above my head. He pulled off my shirt and neatly folded it onto the bathroom counter. The sudden rush of cool air against my naked chest sent goosebumps along exposed flesh; instinctively I lowered my hands to shield my breasts. He allowed it, for to him, perhaps he understood a woman's insecurity. Hannibal placed a light kiss against my cheek, and I realized how hot my face burned, for his lips felt ice cold.

"Stand up," he said. "Slowly."

I did as he asked. He side-stepped me and reached for the faucets of the bathtub. It hadn't dawned on me that water hadn't already been running in the tub. Exactly how long did it take for a bathtub to fill? What would we do in the long time in order for it to—

Hannibal turned back to me. His expression was caring and compassionate; but at the same time, there was the look of an apex predator, bearing down at me and I felt simultaneously safe and as if I were in danger. Isn't that a strange feeling? Not strange, I surmised. Exciting. He patted his own shoulder. A wordless gesture.

I pulled my hands away from my chest and steadied them on the shoulders of his crisp, long-sleeved shirt—always, his sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms. Wasn't I wounded? I should feel pain, but I didn't. Adrenaline from arousal alone. Isn't it strange how the brain could shut off pain receptors when all the blood rushed to the groin…?

His fingers unbuttoned the lazy waistband of my slacks—the same pair of pants I had worn from the flight from the UK. He pulled them from my hips and they fell easily to my ankles.

"Step." Hannibal said.

I used him as support, taking each numb appendage from the foot of my slacks. Aside from his one-word commands and my silent replies, only the rapid running water from the faucet behind him cut the sexual tension between us; and even then, the water sounded like white noise. I watched Hannibal fold my slacks as he had with my blouse, come to place it neatly on the counter. And there I was, wearing only a pair of black panties. I became aware of just how cold it was in the bathroom, for a new wave of goosebumps—Seriously, I wasn't that cold…

"Do you trust me?" he said softly, catching me off guard.

"Yes," I answered, though I was surprised to hear how defiant I sounded. Of course, I trusted him. With my life. But as an afterthought, I wondered if he meant something entirely different. "Of course, I trust you."

"You're nervous."

"I am."

"Why?"

"I'm naked." I said.

The words themselves sounded so childish, so dumb, so vulnerable. Really? Is that why I was nervous? I mentally slapped myself.

"I mean," I struggled through it, "that you're my boss and…Well, obviously we've never been this, uh…"

"Intimate." Hannibal said.

I nodded, which was the only response I could give, for while I stared back at his unblinking gaze, I felt one his hands light a trail from the nape of my neck, down my spine, and hook into waistline of my panties. A shallow gulp crowded in my throat where I couldn't speak. A feathery touch, a glimpse of what his hands could do to my skin, and I wanted to melt like butter. He hadn't groped me, tasted me, and I knew just from feeling alone that my panties were wet. If he touched them, he would know. He did without knowing.

A nose like he had, he could smell it. The realization of that burned into my cheeks.

"We've never had an affair," said Hannibal.

"Nope," I said quietly. "We have not."

"I've done my fair share of restraint, Evangeline," said Hannibal. "So far, I've held myself in respectful regard. You've shown admirable restraint too. Even now."

I clenched my jaw to keep down an audible gulp, for I felt his fingers dust a tender stroke against the small of my back. Delicate. Enticing.

"I'm curious," said Hannibal, watching me carefully as I felt another hand slide up my ribcage, "what you would do if you didn't have to shovel down all the urges, bury them until you are alone in your room at night."

Just as his hand was about to brush up against my breast, he pulled away and I pinched my eyes shut to bite back a groan of frustration. The bath water was almost to surface; and he turned off the faucet. Knowing that I would have been faced with another hot flash if he were watching me, I slid my underwear down my thighs and I left them fall to my ankles, stepping out of them and pushed to them aside. Even as I had, Hannibal turned, held out his hand. With a subtle smirk, a quick pass over of my naked body, Hannibal inclined his head to the tub, "In you go."

Getting into the tub was easy; but I felt the worst pain in my incision that to bend down to lay in its bed scissored through my abdomen as if I were being pulled apart. Hannibal held my hand tight.

"Let your weight fall on me, we don't need to have you falling down."

I did as he asked, and slid down the porcelain bed. The water hovered just underneath my stomach; it didn't touch my wound. The warm water rushing over my legs made the rest of me untouched very cold. He sat down on the toilet beside me. Here, I thought he was going to bathe me. He didn't. Hannibal turned my head to face him with a hand under my chin, and his lips brushed over mine. My breath hitched as his tongue licked my bottom lip; I imagined he tasted the protein shake I had during dinner.

"I'll be back in twenty minutes to help you out," said Hannibal pleasantly.

I nodded and watched his back as he left. He kept the door cracked. The moment he left the bathroom I felt my lungs fill with air, and I could finally breathe normally.