"Thank you, Rogers, but I have nowhere to go. I had hoped to see Tristan, I mean Mr. Stone."
The butler's expression changed back to its usual stoic look and he merely nodded before he walked back into the house, leaving me wondering where Tristan had gone.
I sat outside watching the fireflies and looking up at the stars for hours. Living in the city included many great perks, but stargazing wasn't one of them, so I found a spot on the grass and watched the night sky as it moved above my head. The night was so dark, with no moon at all, and the stars had the stage all to themselves. They winked at me as I made a wish, hoping it would come true before I grew tired and had to go inside to my lonely bed.
By midnight, my wish hadn't come true, so I laid back in the cool, damp grass, closed my eyes, and painted a picture of my perfect night sky in my mind. I'd always found solace in that ever since I was a child. Whatever was bothering me, I'd close my eyes and imagine a scene I could paint. Then I'd rearrange things exactly the way they'd look if I were painting the picture.
Finally, I gave up waiting for Tristan and walked to my room, tired and disappointed. As much as I tried to push the thought out of my mind, I was sure he was out with another woman at some event much like the one I'd first seen him at less than a week before. Jordan's comment about him sleeping with a different woman every night chased all other thoughts out of my mind until I was convinced he'd never cared anything for me and all of this was some game he played because he could.
I was still tossing and turning when there was a knock on my door at three a.m., and I braced myself for Rogers' face on the other side of the door giving me the message that Tristan wasn't coming back. Anger at what I'd done to make that happen churned in my stomach, but there was nothing I could do now. I didn't even know where he was.
I opened the door and hoped I could at least keep my emotions together. Something told me Rogers wasn't good with tears and seeing me break down and cry would probably make the top of his head explode. But instead of the butler, there was Tristan standing in front of me dressed in a tux and looking even better than he did in a suit, if that was possible.
"Tristan!" I said with no attempt to hide my happiness at seeing him.
He was stunning in the black tux, white formal shirt, and black bow tie. The last time I'd seen a male close up in a tux was at my prom, but poor Bobby Jackson had been out of his league in that. Tristan wore it like other men wore jeans and t-shirts.
"Nina, I have something I want you to do. Come with me," he said as he held out his hand.
I looked down at my shorts and t-shirt I liked to sleep in and felt distinctly underdressed. "Should I change?"
"No. You look beautiful as you are."
Taking my hand, he led me to a sitting room similar to the one we'd sat in before, but this one had an enormous painting of an impressionist country scene on one of the inside walls. I began complimenting him on it and explaining the background of the style, but he continued walking to a door next to the painting, paying no attention to my impromptu art lecture. Opening it, he placed his hand on my lower back and escorted me into a narrow room with no lights.
"Tristan, what is this?" I asked as I turned to take hold of his of his hand and looked around in the darkness.
"Wait."
He spun me around to face the other wall, and I watched as lights began to illuminate the room. Unlike all the other rooms in the house, this one had very few furnishings and little decoration. It was painted white and had a single couch and table. Otherwise, the room was bare.
I reached my hand out to touch the wall and felt cool, smooth glass against my skin. "Are these windows?"
"Yes. I have something I want you to see," he said in a low voice in my ear.
My excitement grew with each second that passed until I saw two people enter the room, one woman and one man. Both were attractive and young, and they acted as if they were a couple.
Confused, I turned toward Tristan. "What's going on?"
"I want you to paint them."
Looking around, I saw an easel, canvas, and paint pots at the far end of the narrow room. "I don't paint portraits. I simply paint what I feel."
He caught my face in his hands. "Exactly. I want you to paint what watching them do makes you feel, Nina."
"What do you mean? Can they see us, Tristan?"
For the first time, a tiny grin formed on his lips. Shaking his head, he answered, "No, but it wouldn't matter. All I care about is what you paint."
Just in case somewhere in the back of my mind I doubted what was going to happen next, the man and woman showed me I was right in my suspicions. As I watched, they began to undress, the man slowly easing the woman's dress off her body to show her wearing nothing underneath.
"Tristan, who are these people? Why are they here?"
"They're here because they like to have people watch. We're here to watch them, and you're here to paint what it makes you feel to watch them fuck."
I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed or excited by his words. It didn't matter, though, because in seconds they were both naked and the show he'd brought home for me had begun.
I stood transfixed at the sight in front of me. The woman knelt down in front of the man and took his cock in her hands, running her tongue the full length of it. The expression on her face was one of pure joy, as if licking his cock gave her a kind of happiness that was only found in the way she made him feel.
Tristan stood next to me and whispered, "Watch her. She loves sucking cock."
His comment instantly made me wonder if he'd been with her. "How do you know?"
As he watched the woman take the man's cock deeper into her mouth, he said, "They love having people watch them. I've seen it at parties."
I liked to think I'd seen a lot, but never had I seen people perform sex at parties. That usually happened behind closed doors at the parties I attended. Jordan was right. Wealthy people were different.
His hand touched mine and I was torn from my thoughts on wealthy people and their wild parties. "You thought I'd been with her, didn't you?"
I looked at the woman sucking her boyfriend's cock and then looked at Tristan. "Yes. Since I know nothing about you before I met you, I did."
He lifted my hand to his mouth and softly kissed my palm. Looking up at me, he smiled. "She's not my type."
"Why? Because she's blonde?"
"No, because she likes to fuck in front of people so she can get off. I tend to like my women a little less attention whore."
I couldn't tell if his tone was sharp because I'd asked if he'd been with her or because he had no respect for her. Either way, I felt better knowing at least he hadn't slept with her.