"I'll have the finest champagne you have."
Yoongi's eyes flicker uninterestedly away from the nervous waiter, he looks at me signaling for me to take my order of food.
"Oh, uhm I'll have your famous spaghetti, with a side salad please."
I say, reading cautiously off of the menu grasped in my right hand. Despite the warm comforting Yoongi had given me on the way to this dressy restaurant, it was the fact that this is all happening in broad daylight right before my eyes. And while his own amusingly watch mine, I feel trapped between his bold stare and light smirk. This whole situation feels slightly set in place, I find it odd that Yoongi is the literal embodiment of perfect with a hint of sinful delight.
Everything seems to be done just to the brim of perfection, like a glass that's filled to the top, but won't spill because the hand that is grasping the glass is steady. And right now, with his darkening pupils, we both know in absolute certainty, that in fact his hand is the very one holding that delicate glass of water. His normality is what makes me situate in my seat, not with discomfort, no. Because the contrasting softness on his face doesn't make me want to run, but the unease sinks into my skin, and crawls up my spine wondering what will happen on this foggy night.
To my demise, this date couldn't go any better. We are making small talk back and forth, his lips tilting in a generous smile when I let my humor come out, and his body seemingly relaxed as if there's nothing to worry about, and to the normal strangers eye, there is not one thing to worry about at all. But that is exactly what's making my muscles tense on edge, not even eight minutes into our conversation and I can already feel my temples sweating with uncertainty. But when his eyes flash pitch black for just a millisecond and his face goes dead serious, I find my self blinking and shaking my head back and forth in denial, probably just a figment of my imagination.
"Now, down to business."
And I wish I could say my stomach didn't twist with excitement from the mystery drilling into my body and down the curve of my shoulder blades. The conscious screams in my mind are still lingering in the back of my head telling me to get away from him because of who he is, but I push them back without a second thought, too entranced by his serious gaze.
"Actually, we might want to wait for the champagne, your going to need alcohol for this."
The tight glint in his eyes I don't miss, and my mind fizzes in perplexity at his words. As if right on queue, the waiter comes waltzing out of the double doors that lead to the kitchen, efficiently walking up to our table and pouring the champagne in each of our glasses. As soon as the liquid is finished dripping into my glass I grab it and violently gulp the toxin, letting it burn delightfully down my throat and into my chest, wanting to distract myself from the ordeal about to take place. The waiter ogles in surprise from my harsh actions and Yoongi just has a smug look on his face, while in contrast he sips his drink quietly.
After the poor man walks away, that's when Yoongi goes deadpan serious again and I wish that I had something stronger than the drink in-hand.
"This won't sound normal, and it definitely will surprise you. But know that past all the words, I won't ever hurt you."
My stomach goes into tiny knots of anticipation, and I give him a reassuring gaze. Nodding, he reaches his arm down to tug at the handles of the leather briefcase. I had snuck a glance or two on the way here, wondering what was in it; but I guess I'm going to find out. He takes a document out, filled with a reasonable amount of paper. That's what makes my brows crease with confusion, knowing that he's a drug lord, I would've expected him to pull out stacks of money to pay off my secrets or to bribe me into a night of lust. And I can't hesitate to say that I'm a bit dissatisfied with what was inside, I guess I'm just too thirsty for adventure or mystery, my life being a normal, boring, adult woman's life. I'm always deprived of that adventure so many people find early on in their youth. Setting the stack right in front of me on the table, he nods his head being peculiarly silent while ushering me with his movements to read the contract.
Damn, I should've worn my contacts, this print is annoyingly small. In exasperation at how long this is, I look in disbelief at Yoongi.
"You want me to read this whole thing?"
When his eyes sparkle and he suggestively raises his brows asking if I really wanted to test him right now, and when I sink with a huff into my seat, he smiles slightly approving of my submissive actions.
I let my eyes skim lazily over the words seeing the usually boring Terms of Agreement stuff. And it's only when I'm barely drooling and about to fall asleep do I shoot my posture up with tight muscles and widen my eyes so far I'm surprised they didn't fall out. The words that read on the a paper are so unfamiliar and foreign to my eyes that I almost rub my eyes, but stop so I don't mess with the hours of makeup on my face.
"If you sign below, you are agreeing to live with Min Yoongi, give up your job and let him, care for you, provide you anything you desire, feed, clothe, and etc."
"In payment, you will be fully submissive to him in all these categories and sexually, with your consent."
"He will not be allowed to hurt or abuse you in any physical or mental form, or else the contract will be broken."
"If the both of you mutually decide you want to end the contract, bored or having the current situation not work out, he can legally end it anytime and let you live on your own."
"You will have to wear a ring that simply states to any other opposing threats, male or female, that you belong to Min Yoongi."
"However your freedom will still be yours, as long as you follow the rules of Min yoongi's household sexually."
"Your safety and privacy will never be jeopardized if you sign this contract."
Please sign below:
___________________________________________
___________________________________________
My mouth hangs wide open from the words, the first question that pops into my head is why? Why me? Why this specific contract? Why him out of all people?
The blush that had landed on my cheeks when I read the words:
"In contrast, you will be fully submissive to him in all these categories and sexually with your consent."
Was incredulously obvious. Does that mean he wants me in more ways than one? Or is he just sexually deprived and in need of someone to fuck permanently? But that wouldn't make sense because he wants to care for me and let me move in, and live with him.
Flashbacks appear in my mind from the car ride here and I'm almost assured that he doesn't want to just use me for my body. But the pending question still drills through my head relentlessly, why me? And I find myself asking him exactly that with a confused face.
Taking in his features I notice that a slight flash of softness has appeared on his features from my puzzlement. His soft tongue flicks out to wet his lips when his eyes see my hot cheeks and the blush on my neck and face. Desire is now written all over his face, but I can see the restraint and internal battle he's having and he quickly snaps himself out of it with a few blinks.
"Because.. Out of all the women I've come across in my life, you were the only one who stuck out to me personally, and I simply can't let that go. Your beauty just adds on to the ordeal that you just read."
Hearing that last sentence, I look away in embarrassment, the realization that he was talking about me being submissive to him and following his rules sexually. But that soon fades when I realize that he actually meant he's interested in who I am and not just my body.
But then again, he's a drug lord; I can't trust him.
But that doesn't mean I can't learn to trust him over time, but my curiosity is starting to seep through my conscious decisions.
"I-I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."
Dragging my chair against the wood floor making a screech, giving my figure unwanted attention from the snobby older women who later on just look away noticing I was just a girl going on a date.
But this is much, much more than a date.
Yoongi nods at me in understand-meant, and looks straight ahead; deep in his own thoughts. I brush past him, and I try to ignore the intake of breath from him.
Weird, he must be sensitive to my perfume or something.
Opening the door to the women's bathroom, I'm glad to see it's completely empty. So without hesitation I close and lock the door with a tight, click. I walk myself over to the mirror and sink-in my distraught figure, flushed red skin, miscellaneously arranged hair from combing and twirling my fingers into it, a nervous habit I've had since a child. And my right eye is twitching from overstimulation of blinking and flickering.
Fuck, I'm a mess.
The uneasiness in my stomach makes me want to throw-up and for a minute I contemplate whether or not I should just hike my legs over and climb out the small window reaching outside. But I can't, I can't because of my damn curiosity. There's no way I'm going to sign a contract that's basically giving him permission to fuck me whenever he wants. But the contract did say it would have to be with my consent, or else it's broken and I'm free to live alone.
The whole idea is quite ingenious really, he gets a girl to say I love you too at night, and she gets to have whatever she wants, and absolutely no doubts Yoongi is rich as hell, so money most likely won't be a problem. But none of that matters, the only thing that is concerning me is the uncertainty that comes with living with him.
But it's the uncertainty that makes me want to pick up that pen, and sign that sinful contract.
Being interrupted by a loud knock on the wooden door, I quickly adjust anything that needs fiddling and I dab cold water on my cheeks to bring down the red flustered blush. And that works, but when I open the bathroom door and see the very man himself Min Yoongi, that ghastly crimson trails back to my cheeks once again.
He looks at my face with a concerned glare and I can feel his eyes burning into my skull softly. Lifting his hand he brushes the fervent color on my cheeks with the back of his fingers and smiles slightly.
"Just a couple of words made you blush like a beautiful sunset?"
Pushing his hand away painfully, not being able to take the second-hand embarrassment, I brush past him and walk to our table. I'll probably regret this later, and I don't know if it's the buzz from the three glasses of champagne I slugged down, or the continuous burning in my stomach.
But you know what? Fuck it.
Grabbing the pen from the table, that Yoongi must've set down while I was in the bathroom having a mental breakdown. I open the cap, and scribble my name sloppily down onto the paper, the fresh ink delving perfectly onto the clean paper.
There's no going back now.