Confessions of a libra

21.05.25

Mr Miller pays me only to watch. He never touches me, he never wants more than the terms we have agreed. Somehow that excites me more. Makes me want to unravel. Makes me want to earn it. He asked me to go out to a function with him tonight. Some sort of networking event. Yet as soon as we arrived he disappeared. But I knew. I knew he was there, watching me. He always said he loved how I worked a room. So I did. In my red off the shoulder dress and black pumps.

Some man claimed to have worked with my benefactor. He smiled too wide, leaned in too much and my slow steps back did nothing to discourage him. Mr Miller showed up in the nick of time and steered me expertly. A hand hovering at my lower back but never touching. It was the most self control I had ever seen a man have. It intrigued me. He always thwarted any attempts at decoding him. Always said that wasn’t part of the contract.

We went outside and I was glad for the cool. My body heat had raised from rage at that disgusting man. It always amazed me how many men thought they were charming when they tried too hard. Mr Miller watched me gather myself with his usual cool demeanour. He was the kind of man women would kill each other for. Wealthy, generous and handsome. Yet this is how he was using his wealth. It kept me up at night. Looking out into the night from the balcony, I turned to him.

“One day you’re going to stop staring at me like I’m the second coming,” I teased.

Goosebumps formed on my skin and I failed to resist a shudder running through me. My body had sufficiently cooled down past the point of comfort. Swiftly, he removed his suit jacket and draped it softly over my shoulders.

“Sometimes in life – when you have access to everything – you learn the true meaning of beauty,” his voice was deep and his tone philosophical.

The material of the suit felt delicious on my skin and I hugged it to me tighter. His scent flooded my system, and I had to pretend it didn’t make a light switch in my lower belly. I couldn’t tell if my nipples hardened from the cold or the arousal.

“Why do you always have to be so damn mysterious?” I pouted, frustration gnawing at me.

He leaned with his forearms onto the balustrade. Eyes squinting as though perceiving things beyond my comprehension.

“What if,” he paused and cleared his throat. “What if, you love something so much that you don’t want to ruin it? You want to honour it, to simply be in its light even just for a moment. You don’t want to spoil it with mortal hands…”

His hands balled into fists. The passion I had just seen had squashed the previous controlled façade I had only ever seen from him. My heart faltered. Then sprinted because surely we weren’t talking hypothetical. Surely.

“Mr Miller, I – “my tone high pitched in concern.

“Please,” he held up his hand. “Please, don’t say anything. That was rhetorical.”

My heart had a mind of its own. I reached out and hovered above his shoulder. “Mr Miller, I’m not immortal. If you keep watching me like an object of affection how will you ever truly know me?”

My hand gently touched him and his body went into shock. I didn’t move and I kept my gaze on him. He turned to me with a pained expression. I wish he saw himself through my eyes, for it would be a balm for his wounded soul. I felt him move and my body spoke before I did. I intuited his embrace and met it in kind. He squeezed me so hard I expelled all the air from my body. I took shallow breaths and just let him hang there for just a moment.