The Kafkasians lived in a dauntingly impressive mansion fronted by an electronic gate. Pressing the intercom button and shouting, “It’s me!” was...enough to gain Cayenne access. Thankfully she drove up the long driveway at a more respectful pace.As soon as I was inside and the introductions had been made, I thanked Mr Kafkasian for all he’d done for me and my family. In return, he proceeded to kidnap me and grill me at length about my future plans. As if someone my age would have their next forty. His eyes studied the portrait. How he desired another beauty to again ignite his creative process. He had nowhere to begin until that muse was found or found him. There was no beginning until the inspiration came from nowhere. He turned his back to that last creation, his dark eyes scanned the vast loft. The silence heightened his frustration for he hungered to hear the vocal responses to a lengthy stint in bondage. The thought provoked his naturally slanted mouth to perk a grin. Yes, he loved. More

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