Let Me Go

by Chelsea Cain

  Archie stood with his hands in his pockets, watching as she adjusted the position of the chair slightly and then twirled to face him. He could feel the beat of the funk through the floor.

  Rachel unbuttoned the top button of her coat and pulled at the collar, exposing more of her breasts, and then she started to parade toward him, hips swaying in time to the music. She glowed. She was Technicolor.

  Archie felt a pressure in his groin.

  The high heels enhanced the sway of her hips. She led with her pelvis as she walked to him, as if it were pulling her to him. The bottom of the coat flapped open, exposing a garter over bare thigh. He could physically feel her getting closer, the pressure building with each step. He imagined her arms around his neck, her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, her mouth on his.

  But when she was just an arm’s length away, she stopped. Archie’s body clenched with thwarted desire. He wanted to touch her. He needed to touch her. His skin felt prickly with heat. He took his hands out of his pockets and stepped toward her.

  A coy smile played across Rachel’s lips. She reached for his wrist and led him to the chair she had positioned in the center of the room.

  God, she was beautiful. But it wasn’t just her features and curves. She was lit up from within; she glowed with youth and health. It was still unbelievable to Archie that she wanted him.

  Rachel sat Archie down and then opened his legs and stepped between his knees. “Don’t move,” she said. And she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Her hands traveled through his hair as her tongue moved around his mouth. Her fingers traced his earlobes, his jaw, the back of his neck, then she curled her fingers and drew her fingernails over his scalp. It felt good. She increased the pressure, digging her nails into his skin, and it felt even better, waves of pain heightening the pleasure. Archie’s head swam. He was trembling. He lifted his hands to her hips.

  She withdrew as soon as he’d touched her. She pulled away and stepped back, leaving him helpless with longing, his mouth open dumbly.

  Rachel laughed. Her cheeks were rosy, a sheen of sweat sparkled on her collarbone. Archie wondered when she was going to take off that coat. Rachel wagged a finger at him and then reached into one of her pockets. Her grin widened as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Don’t worry,” she said, dangling the cuffs in front of him. “I brought backup in case you couldn’t control yourself.”

  The cuffs were police-issue nickel handcuffs with a double lock. Smith & Wesson. Archie recognized them right away. “Those are my handcuffs,” he said.

  She pressed her knee against the inside of his thigh and gave him another wink. “I found them in your bedside table,” she said.

  She said it like it was something naughty, but that’s just where he kept them. He’d never given it a second thought. It was a drawer. He also kept his gun in there sometimes.

  Archie was trying not to ruin the mood, but it was tough. “Did you happen to find the key that was with them?” he asked.

  Rachel reached back into the coat pocket and came up with a small silver key. “I’ll put it somewhere safe,” she said. She unbuttoned her coat and slipped the key into what Archie could only presume was the cup of her bra. “There,” she said. Her eyes were bright. She opened her mouth slightly and knelt between his legs.

  Archie wanted more than anything to unzip his pants. He looked at the ceiling. He didn’t know what to do. What was he supposed to do?

  Rachel put her hand on his wrist and started to guide it behind his back.

  Archie was trying to be a good sport about this. But as the cold metal brushed against his skin, he twisted his hand and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Hold on,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her face inches below his. He could see the tops of her breasts, the black lace of a bra strap. “It’s a lap dance, Archie,” she said. “Hands-free. This keeps you honest. It will be worth it. I promise.”

  Archie didn’t let go of her wrist. This was a line he didn’t want to cross. He knew where it headed. But his body ached for her and he didn’t feel strong.

  “Trust me,” Rachel said.

  Trust her? He barely knew her. But he felt his grip loosen and then Rachel took his hand again and pulled it behind the chair.

  “Wait…,” Archie said. She looked up. The tip of her pink tongue pushed against the inside of her lower lip. It was a birthday present. It would be rude to refuse it. Besides, Archie really wanted to see what was under that coat. “Close the blinds first,” Archie said.

  Rachel’s smile widened and she stood up and walked quickly to the window. Archie exhaled slowly. He heard the sound of the blinds closing, but he didn’t turn his head. He stared straight ahead, trying to gather his wits. He heard another blind close. The music was loud, but there was no one to complain—Rachel was his only neighbor. He glanced around for Ginger, and saw only her nose poking out from under the coffee table. The third blind closed. Then the fourth. Rachel’s stilettos clicked against the wood floor as she came up behind him. Archie took a long, slow breath and tried to relax. He caught a whiff of vanilla again as she leaned over his shoulder, her cheek against his, and reached down his chest with her hands. Her touch was full of promise and the pleasure it brought dissolved the last willpower he had. He let her take each of his hands and pull them around behind the chair.

  Her head slid away from his, and she sank onto her knees behind him. Archie flinched as the metal handcuffs snapped around one wrist, and then the other.

  When Rachel appeared in front of him again, she’d dropped the coat. Archie’s breathing was audible now and he could feel sweat forming on his upper lip. The black bra and thong were lace; the corset she wore over them was black satin with a row of tiny metal hooks and eyes up the front. The corset nipped her waist and accentuated her hips, exaggerating her hourglass shape. The shoulder straps of the corset pushed her breasts together and forward. Her pink nipples, visible under the black lace, hardened under Archie’s gaze.

  Archie had always thought women looked best naturally, in the comfort of their own skin and nothing else. All the extraneous bedroom garments seemed too constrictive, too contrived. Now he realized that he’d been completely wrong.

  Rachel pivoted one of her knees to the side. Her black thigh-high stockings were attached with garters to the corset, leaving the tan flesh of her upper thigh bare. Archie’s scalp itched with sweat. The inside of Rachel’s thigh hollowed slightly where it met her pelvis. Without thinking, Archie moved to touch her there, his hands straining uselessly against the cuffs.

  “There’s more,” Rachel said. “Don’t look.” She picked up her purse from the floor behind him. He could hear her digging around for something, and then pulling something out of her purse, and he caught a whiff of latex. He heard the sound of rubber against skin.

  Then Rachel walked back around and stood in front of him.

  Archie was so startled by what he saw that it took him a moment to process it.

  Rachel was wearing a latex Halloween mask. It was the kind of mask you pull over your entire head, with eyes cut out and a slit at the mouth and two holes at the nostrils. The hair was molded onto the rubber and painted yellow. The skin of the rubber face was painted light peach, and the thing had a smirking red mouth and painted-on movie star eyebrows and eyelashes.

  But Archie knew who it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be Gretchen Lowell.

  The arousal Archie had felt a moment before evaporated, replaced by revulsion.

  “Take it off,” Archie spat.

  Rachel just stood there, head cocked, the horrible Halloween mask obscuring her features. Archie could hear her breathing under the rubber. “Why?” she asked, sounding hurt. Her stance shifted. She dropped her hands from her hips.

  She’d done this for him, Archie realized. It hadn’t been some bad joke. She’d thought he’d like it. “It’s not funny,” Archie said. The mask was grotesque. His eyes went to the floor, his knees, anywhere else. “It doesn’t eve
n look like her,” Archie said. “You look more like her without it.”

  She always liked it when he told her that she looked like Gretchen. He knew she took it as a compliment.

  Rachel lifted her hands and peeled the mask up over her head. Her hair was messy, her face pink. Her lipstick had smudged. “You think I look like her?” she asked hopefully. She tossed the mask on the floor. Her eyebrows lifted. “Tell me how I look like her,” she said.

  Archie looked at where the mask lay on the floor, inside out, pink and glistening, like something fetal, then back at Rachel.

  She bit her lip, looking at him with anticipation, waiting. She had resumed her provocative stance, a hand on each hip, one leg turned out slightly.

  Archie would never understand women.

  “You have similar hair,” he said flatly. He looked her up and down. “Your breasts are a similar shape and size.” He reconsidered that. “But your areolas are smaller,” he said. “You’re roughly the same height. She’s a little taller.” He knew exactly by how much. “Two inches taller,” he said. “Your face shape is the same. Her nose is slightly longer. You have similar mouths. But you have capped teeth. Her teeth are natural. You both have blue eyes, but Gretchen’s are lighter, with a darker blue ring at the edge of the iris. Her eyes are a little larger and farther apart than yours. You have beautiful skin, like she does. But you’re tanner. Her skin is very pale, almost translucent. It feels smoother than your skin does. And you smell different. She always smells flowery to me.”

  He looked up at Rachel defiantly. He expected her to be offended. He wanted her to be offended.

  Her mouth was slightly open. “You did it,” she said softly. “You slept with her.”

  The room felt very close and hot. “Maybe I just have an eye for detail,” Archie said.

  Another song started playing. It had a disco beat and lyrics Archie couldn’t understand.

  Rachel closed her eyes, and stood very still for a long moment. Her breasts lifted as she breathed. Her hands were at her sides and she slowly slid a finger along the edge of one of her stockings. And then she opened her eyes and started to dance.

  Archie sat quietly, unsure how to react.

  Rachel’s eyes remained trained on him as she moved, her hips undulating. She ran her hands over her breasts and down her belly and moaned. Her fingers moved over her pelvis and she gyrated under her touch, and Archie felt blood rush back to his groin. Rachel’s mouth was open. Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip. All the while her hips kept swinging. Archie’s breath felt hot in his mouth. He didn’t know a lot about lap dances, but it was clear that Rachel was good at them. He didn’t know how she managed not to fall in those heels.

  Rachel smiled as she put a hand on each of his knees and then pushed them apart. She stepped between his legs so that her breasts were at his face and Archie strained against the handcuffs, breathing hard. Rachel turned around and, hips moving in circles, lowered herself slowly onto his crotch. She made him wait, moving in exquisite slow motion, so that by the time she made contact he was so hard that every muscle in his body felt coiled.

  Her blond hair was in his face as she writhed against him. Archie could barely breathe. Every movement of her body sent a shudder through his solar plexus. His legs felt weak. His head was light.

  She lifted off him and slowly turned to face him. One of her bra straps had slipped over her shoulder and hung loose around her upper arm. She unhooked one of the hook-and-eye closures of her black corset. Archie licked his lips, which suddenly felt chapped. Rachel unhooked another. The corset started to spread open. Archie curled his toes. His pelvis was on fire. Rachel unhooked the last hook and the corset split open around her and dropped to the floor.

  The skin of her abdomen bore faint red seams where the wires of the corset had pressed against her flesh. Her nipples were hard pink pebbles under the black lace. The small silver key was visible, pressed against the flesh of her left breast under the lace.

  The heat in his groin was almost unbearable. Archie dug his wrists against the cuffs, to distract himself from the discomfort.

  This was its own kind of torture, not being able to move his hands, not being able to touch her.

  His scalp itched.

  She squatted and placed a hand on each of his knees and then scooted forward, her thumbs tracing the insides of his thighs. When she was entirely between his legs she started unbuttoning his shirt. She did it deliberately, starting at the bottom and working her way up. When she was done, she moved the shirt open and unbuttoned his pants.

  He made a grateful, hopeful noise and she looked up and smiled. Then she unzipped his pants and reached inside and lifted him out and Archie exhaled with relief. She kept her eyes on him as she put her mouth around his cock. The heat of her mouth, the firm slickness of her throat, made his whole body tremble. He could smell her, them, the sweat and sex. He was overcome. He lifted his hips so she would take him in more deeply and she closed her eyes, her brow knitted in concentration, as she opened her throat to him another inch. She held her hair back with one hand and began to pump her head up and down, and Archie could hear the smack of saliva and skin over the music. Each time she opened her throat to him, taking him deep inside her, his eyes fell on the black heart tattoo above the curve of her ass. He kept his eyes on it as it rose and fell. His body hummed with endorphins. Sweat ran down his chest. She took him again and again, hot and wet and tight, until he couldn’t stand it any longer. His breath caught in his throat.

  “I’m going to come,” he said.

  He had thought she’d move off him, but instead her fingers tightened on his thigh, her nails stinging his skin, and she kept her mouth tight around the base of his cock.

  He put his head back, opened his throat, and groaned as he released into her mouth.

  Her fingernails dug into his thighs as she clung to him, pumping her head in the rhythm of his ejaculations, swallowing his cum.

  When he was done, she slid her mouth off him and sat back on the floor at his feet. Her chin glistened with saliva and semen.

  Archie’s head swooned. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sweat dampened his shirt.

  Rachel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned. “Happy birthday,” she said.

  He should have been grateful. That was what Archie usually felt after a sexual encounter. But as the reality of what had just happened hit him, Archie felt increasingly uncomfortable. “Uncuff me,” he said.

  Rachel’s blue eyes studied him for a moment. Then she raised an eyebrow, shrugged, put her hands on his knees, and stood up. She worked her fingers inside her bra, removed the silver key, and walked behind him.

  Her hair brushed against his elbow as she bent to unlock the cuffs. Handcuffs could be tricky. Unlocking them was sometimes a bitch. But Rachel didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. He heard the key turn in the lock and then felt the cuffs fall away. He immediately brought his hands around to his lap and looked at them. Tender red welts circled his wrists.

  Rachel stepped next to him and stood on one foot so she could unbuckle a shoe, and then kicked it off and did the same with the other foot. She picked up the shoes. She was a good four inches shorter now, her body transformed without the tilt. She ran her fingers through his sweaty hair and then bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Her skin felt cool. “Next time you handcuff me,” she whispered.

  She stepped away then and he turned to watch her as she moved toward the bathroom, already unhooking her bra behind her back. The heart-shaped tattoo sat above the waistline of her thong. It rocked back and forth as she walked.

  The bathroom door closed and the shower started.

  Archie sat in the chair he’d been cuffed to, rubbing his sore wrists, as stomach acid burned his throat.

  Ordinarily he would have joined her for a shower—he certainly needed one—but he didn’t feel like it now. He rubbed his face, and then stood up, reordered himself, and zipped and buttoned his pants. The music was
still blaring through his laptop speakers. Shirt flapping open, he walked over to the laptop and closed the music-streaming Web site that Rachel had running. The room went silent except for the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.

  There was a beer in the fridge, and Archie went and got it out and opened it and took a long pull off the bottle before he’d even pushed the fridge door closed. Then he headed toward the living room, glancing again at the laptop as he passed. He froze, his eyes on the computer’s built-in camera. It was just a small black square, smaller than an eraser at the end of a pencil, centered above the screen. He’d never used it. He didn’t use Skype or take pictures with it. In fact, until now, he had forgotten it was there.

  A prickly sensation spread across his shoulders, like dozens of sharp pins settling on his flesh.

  He pivoted slowly to his left. The chair he had been cuffed to was in direct line of sight of the camera.

  If Gretchen could take over control of a computer, she could control the computer’s camera.

  Breathing quickly, Archie turned back to the laptop. He threaded his hand through his hair, trying to think. He hadn’t downloaded anything. He never downloaded anything. He hardly ever used that computer. He had viewed the surveillance footage from the island on it. Could there have been malware in that? He had no idea. What else was there? He stepped up to the laptop, put his beer down on the counter beside it, and opened up his documents folder, consciously averting his gaze from the camera. He scanned through the list of his computer documents, looking for anything that might jar his memory, something that would click. It didn’t take long. As soon as he saw the document names, his spine went rigid. They were titled Ryan Motley 1–7. Each a different news story about a missing child, all victims of a serial killer named Ryan Motley. He’d downloaded those documents onto his computer from a flash drive almost three months ago. Susan had used the same flash drive to download the same documents onto her laptop. The flash drive had come from Gretchen. She’d given it to Archie over a year ago. Archie had kept it in a desk drawer while he tried to figure out what to do with it. Susan had finally forced the issue when she’d stolen it from his desk. Could Gretchen have masterminded such an elaborate plan that long ago?