Egbá: A Gentle Femdom Novella

SEVEN

"What is stressing you out?" Marcos asks, breaking the silence that has enveloped his Bentley. Ever since he and Egbá left the hospital, she has been withdrawn, leaving him ridiculously strung out.

After their almost playful interaction at her house, going back to this silence again is like losing his footing after being on solid ground for hours.

Silence stretches across them till he begins to settle with the fact that she might not answer. Then she says, "I don't want to talk about it" in a voice gone hoarse, as if has been ages since she last spoke, not mere minutes.

He keeps quiet, because he sincerely wants to leave her to her thoughts. But he can't stay silent for long, because he doesn't want to leave her alone to those thoughts that are making furrows appear between her forehead. "Is it your modeling? You can take some time off, you know."

"Oh, my. Why haven't I thought about that before?"

His hand drums against his steering wheel. This is the vitriol he's used to. Biting sarcasm and snarky responses. In the months of their acquaintanceship, he has become immune to them, even began to respect the knowledge that she's not going to let him get away with any of his shit like everyone else. He loves her fierceness.

But it's not what he wants right now. He has seen her laughing and carefree, and suddenly, this side of her is no longer acceptable. "Egbá—"

"Stop. Please."

He does. He cranks the volume from his car stereo up, and Bobbie Gentry's voice fills up the space between them. He keeps his eyes straight forward for the rest of the drive.

When they arrive at the plaza he'd rented out for the launch, she steps out without a word, and finds her way inside without waiting for him.

Her strapless, backless gown is going to cause a commotion. She chuckled about it when she was putting it on just minutes ago, not modest in the least about how it flattered her body to perfection, like she was letting him on a joke. She told him to pick his jaw up from the floor when she turned around after letting him zip her up. They're just breasts. Magnificent breasts, but breasts nonetheless, she assured, like anyone could mistake them for something else in that fucking dress.

He felt like her wingman in those stolen moments. Like her friend. This is what being in Egbá's corner feels like, he thought.

Now, it looks like the trip to the hospital has eliminated whatever goodwill she awoke with, and he's back to being Marcos, her acquaintance that she could tolerate more than the others. After the doctors had taken a blood sample, and pronounced the bleeding a symptom of stress, she just shut down on him.

She's not even going to let him be by her side to watch the beginning reaction to her dress.

He gives a mental shout to his mind to stop being so pitiable, and jumps down from the car, signalling the valet.

The launch is already in full-swing by the time he finds his way inside. It's an exclusive, top-of-the-chain, black-and-white gathering, which is exactly why Egbá's scarlet dress is going to turn heads. He greets the men he meets at the entrance, and goes down to a slight, raised space that serves as the stage.

Even though he'd rented out the entire building, the people in it form a small, intimate company. The PR team have done a great job of arranging an effectively understated, yet glamorous version of a ballroom; a theme they settle on after variations of Trojan horses and golden Greek-like temples, all in an attempt to capture the essence of Cressida.

And right in the middle of the hall, the life-sized marble statue of Egbá in her cornrows, arms crossed over her bare breasts, and a drape around her hips. The diamond necklace sits on the statue's neck, catching all the lights. He has never seen anything more breathtaking.