by Kitty Thomas
“Vivian,” he said, looking larger and more frightening than she remembered him.
She swallowed, her hand still on the knob, feeling like a rabbit ready to bolt. Only she couldn’t do that. She had to stay and convince him to release her from this craziness. “I can’t come back here anymore.” She said the words so fast they seemed to be one word running and blurring together.
His eyes darkened and then narrowed. “And why would that be? You know the rules and what will happen if you stop coming here. I have more than enough video and photographic evidence to damn you.”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. “Please. You have to let me go. Michael froze the account. I don’t have access to any more money.”
“Borrow it.” His voice was clipped.
“From who? How would I pay it back?”
“That’s not my concern.”
She slid to the ground, her back pressed against the door while sobs clawed their way out of her throat. For the first time she was thankful for the soundproofing. It seemed as if hours or days passed, but then she felt him looming over her.
Vivian looked up to see a box of tissues in his outstretched hand. She took a couple and wiped the tears away. Anton pulled her to her feet and brushed her hair back from her face with his fingertips.
“This is very stressful for you, isn’t it?”
She nodded, her lip still trembling.
He looked almost apologetic. “I will accept another form of currency.”
They’d been standing so close, nearly in a lover’s embrace. She stepped back. “I’m sorry, what? You want me to have an affair with you so you won’t tell my husband I’m having an affair with you?” Hysteria was making her ears ring, so it was possible she hadn’t heard him right.
He chuckled. “I’ve already seen you, already touched you. What difference does it make, at this point, what else transpires between us? Don’t look so stricken. You’ll enjoy it. Just like you’ve enjoyed everything else I’ve done to you.”
She felt the flush creeping up her neck and the wetness between her legs. The more control he took of her, the more it turned her on. Her mind sat as background noise, screaming at her, horrified by all of it. But like a drunken hedonist, she moved closer to him again, closer to the sin he held out like a bright, shiny apple.
The sin she couldn’t be blamed for because she was the victim. Right? He owned her. At least on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
He watched the expressions play over her face and then frowned. “We are not becoming lovers in the sense you’re thinking.”
You have no idea what I’m thinking.
“Do not get attached to me, Vivian. What is happening between us will not happen forever.”
“Because you’ll get bored with me?”
“Hardly.”
“Then why?” Why am I asking like I want it to never end? He was too attractive, smelled too good, had an accent that made her knees weaken with that deep, rounded tone. And he commanded her and played her body like an instrument only he knew how to wield with notes only he’d been given the music for.
“That’s enough talk,” he said. “Will you offer me the currency I ask, or are we back to threats? The threats do get tiresome, flower.”
A lump had formed in her throat, and she worked to swallow around it. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
Her breath stopped for a minute and she had to consciously think about it to get it started back up again. “Everything, meaning?”
“The game has changed. You will come see me the same days as before. No money will exchange hands. Instead, you will do whatever I ask you to do for the hour and a half you’re in this room.”
“Sex?”
He couldn’t have been more clear if he’d spelled it out on a billboard with bright, flashing lights. And yet, she had to hear the full confirmation that he was truly asking her to whore herself out to him. She could barely remember how this had started.
He held her gaze and nodded. “But more. When you are in this room with me, you will address me as Sir. Do you understand?”
The moment the word Sir left his mouth, the feeling between her legs turned into an unbearable ache she somehow knew only his hands, mouth, or cock could soothe away. She nodded quickly, not giving herself time to think and chicken out.
“Answer.” His voice was harsher than she’d ever heard it.
Her eyes jerked up to his. “Yes, Sir.” She paused a moment, then said, “What about Janette? She takes a payment from me every week. What will she think?”
“Janette thinks what she’s told to think. Don’t worry about what she thinks. Just sign in, and come to me. Now, put your purse down, and come here.”
Vivian looked down to find she was clutching her bag in her hand, her knuckles turning white. With some difficulty, she managed to pry the thing out of her grip and place it next to the door. He held out a hand to her and she moved toward him.
Her mind spiraled into an abyss of endless questions and second-guessing. Why am I doing this? I can still leave. He didn’t lock the door. Is this really even about Michael at all? What difference will sex make at this point? Is it an affair, yet? Am I the victim if I keep making the choices? I could have worn a wire and caught him blackmailing me the second time. I could have turned him in.
I still can.
Her head was spinning suddenly with the evidence of her own complicity in her demise. Which was easier? Being the victim? Or being the whore? Somehow she hadn’t been able to erase either role from her psyche.
“Do you need a few minutes to think about this? At this point, it is your decision. You can walk away. There will be consequences, of course, but that is still your choice. You could even attempt to press charges against me, if you felt so compelled.”
Did she want to press charges? He’d opened her up and made her body feel things again, things she’d missed so long she’d ceased recognizing the dull ache of longing that seemed to never leave the center of her chest. Until this.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want, Vivian?”
“You. But it’s wrong.”
“Why is it wrong?”
“You’re a horrible human being,” she said, wondering if the question had been rhetorical and feeling foolish now that she was sure it had been.
“And you’re a pure little virgin? Untouched. Unspoiled. The perfect victim? You could have left after our first meeting.”
“I would have lost Michael.”
“Does that matter to you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re making a bargain with the devil. I will ask increasingly more from you as time goes on. And you will give it to me. You might lose your soul in the process.”
“I think it’s a little too late for that.”
“We are not a couple,” he reiterated.
“I know that. I don’t want to be a couple,” she said, truthfully. She would never love Anton, but it didn’t stop her loving his hands on her body.
“Lock the door and come with me now, or leave.” He turned and crossed to the door at the other end of the room. The door she’d thought had been a bathroom.
Vivian trailed after him, equally scared and aroused both by what she was doing, as well as by what he might do. It seemed as if the ground underneath her had split apart. She felt herself crossing into another territory, one where she accepted it was her decision to follow him down this increasingly sinister rabbit hole, knowing the stove was hot, but unable to resist the burn.
Behind the door, was an office. Actually, office was too tame for it. It was more like a small studio apartment. On one end was the standard office set up, on the other was a full-sized bed with a plain black duvet. At its foot stood a large black trunk.
In the corner nearest to the bed was a kitchenette with the basics: microwave, sink, mini fridge, and cupboards. On the opposite end of the room, was another little door. T
he door stood open partway, and Vivian could see it was a bathroom. The entirety of the décor was minimalist and cold to the point of being sociopathic.
That last thought sent a chill skittering down her spine. No, this was not a man she could love, and suddenly, passion or no passion, she was happy she slept at night with Michael rather than the seductive demon in front of her.
“Dome is my business. I own the spa,” he said, by way of explanation. “Sometimes I’m here late. Sometimes I just want to get away from home and have some privacy.”
“Are you married?” She hadn’t been able to stop the question in time.
He arched a brow as if considering whether or not to answer. “When you are with me, you do not ask questions. You obey. You address me properly. Are we clear?” He stood several feet away, and yet the power from his tone flowed over her, overwhelming her senses for a moment. She wanted to be indignant, upset, but his voice was doing increasingly fucked-up things to her body.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
He popped a disc into a CD player on the shelf behind the desk. A seductive bass boomed out of the speakers in a slow, rhythmic pull that made her feel an almost irresistible compulsion to move her hips. He smirked as if he’d caught her stopping her own movement.
“Strip for me, flower.”
Her hands shook as they moved to the buttons of her blouse. Her hips, which she’d had to make behave only moments before, started to move with the music. Anton sat on the trunk and started working on the buttons of his own shirt, his eyes never leaving her, drinking her in.
The distance between them made her feel more exposed, so she came closer. If she was right next to him giving him a lap dance, it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable.
He shook his head as she got nearer. “I said strip, not come over here and grind on me.”
The harshness of his words made her feel dirty. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Her brain had finally reconnected, after two and a half weeks of existing on an orgasm-overloaded high. She’d been like an addict. Well, she would quit. Cold turkey.
She buttoned the silk blouse, her face flaming. Her hand was on the knob when he pressed her against the door. His mouth was next to her ear.
“I’m sorry, flower. You walked into my lair. You made the choice. Until I let you go, you are mine. Perhaps you’ll make a wiser decision next time.” His tongue trailed over the side of her neck, and she sagged against the door, the fight leaving her.
“Anton, please, I can’t do this.”
He spun her to face him and wrapped a hand around her throat. In contrast to the violence of his grip, his thumb brushed gently over her cheek.
When he spoke, his voice was low, barely above a controlled whisper. “What did you call me?”
“Please . . . ” Her hands moved to claw at him, desperately trying to release the pressure on her throat. “You’re scaring me,” she rasped.
He let go and stepped back, putting space between them. “What did I ask you to call me from now on?”
She looked at the floor, unable to meet the accusation in his gaze and afraid to let him see the anger in hers. How dare he feel accusatory toward her. She was the victim. Who followed him into this room? the betraying voice in her mind asked. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d known what Sir meant, what this increasing control he wanted to take of her body meant.
It was what had featured in her darkest sexual fantasies, on the rare occasions before Anton that she’d had the energy to bring herself off. And the only fantasies in her mind since then.
She’d wanted to give him that control even though he didn’t deserve it. She wanted to give that control to someone. But it couldn’t be Michael. It would never be Michael.
Her hand drifted to wipe the tear strolling down her cheek. “Sir,” she whispered.
“Take off your clothes.”
From the tone in his voice it was clear he was no longer interested in a show. Suddenly the idea of a few moments before, peeling the clothing off her body as she danced for him, seemed much better than this cold and perfunctory removal of fabric.
She wanted to go back, rewind. Obey. But she couldn’t, so she unbuttoned and removed the top, then the skirt without further resistance.
“That’s enough. I like you in this. Did you wear it for me, Vivian? Even though you thought I’d never see it?”
She could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks again. “Yes, Sir.” She wore a black lace bra and panties with matching stockings and garter belt. The fuck-me pumps on her feet added a full three inches to her height, but Anton was still taller.
He led her to the bed without a word and positioned her over his lap. She let out a gasp of surprise at the first blow across her ass. Several more landed in quick succession until she lost her breath, and the tears came in earnest.
Her flesh heated as his hand fell on her. She could barely stand the humiliation of being turned over his knee like some child. As if he were in the right and she were in the wrong.
His hand stroked softly over her skin. “You’re angry,” he said unnecessarily.
She wanted to make a smart ass remark about his amazing ability to state the obvious, but she kept her lips pressed together in a firm line. She wasn’t that stupid.
“You have no reason to be angry. I made clear to you the bargain you were making. I gave you the opportunity to leave. Blackmail or no blackmail, you didn’t have to walk into this room with me.”
She remained silent, not trusting herself to speak, still feeling the urge to lash out at him.
His hand lifted from her, then came down in another sharp snap. “We aren’t stopping until you let go of your anger.”
Vivian struggled to get away, her first real attempt. She’d thought not fighting would make it go faster, but she couldn’t imagine not being angry with him. He was trying to break her like a horse, and fantasy life or no fantasy life, she wasn’t having it.
“Get the fuck off me, you bastard.”
He released her, nudged her the tiniest bit, and she slid to the floor, crumpling in a little heap at his feet.
“I don’t have time for this. I have a five o’clock.”
“Someone like me?”
“Someone like you two weeks ago.”
“I hate you.”
He smiled down at her. “That’s probably a wise emotion to have toward me.”
She struggled to her feet and started toward the door where her clothing had been left. “Show Michael the tapes and photos, I don’t give a shit.”
He came after her, his hands encircling her wrists. “I didn’t say you were leaving, just that I didn’t have time for this right now.” He led her to the bathroom. She tried to struggle away from him, but tottering in the too-high heels didn’t give her much ability to maneuver.
Her eyes widened when they got inside the small room. A sturdy bar was installed vertically next to the tub. A pair of handcuffs lay on the floor next to it.
“Get in.”
“No.”
“Vivian, I am quickly losing patience. Things will go much easier for you if you obey me.”
She saw the warning in his eyes and didn’t want to test it. She climbed into the tub. He looped the handcuffs around the bar and secured her wrists.
“Screaming is pointless, but feel free to wear yourself out.”
Anton made it to the door, then turned, a smirk sliding over his face. She shrank from him when he came back with purpose in his eyes. He ran his hand over her thigh, then slipped a finger underneath her panties and inside her, eliciting a shudder.
“Just as I thought. You’re dripping wet for me.” He removed the finger and left her alone in the bathroom.
SEVEN
Two hours passed before Anton came back. He turned on the faucet in the sink and held a washcloth under it, then crouched next to Vivian to wipe it across her face. The coolness of the water felt good after all the crying she’d done.
She hadn’
t screamed, but she had worn herself out. She’d exhausted herself, leaning against the cool tile, sobbing, questioning her sanity for ever walking into that room with him. Did she think he was going to make all of her fantasies come true? A man like this?
“Do you have to use the bathroom?”
Her voice came out small. “Yes, Sir.”
Anton unlocked the cuffs and helped her out of the tub. When she was on her feet, he held her wrists to the light.
“No chafing. You didn’t struggle. Very good girl. I see some alone time did you good. If you behave for the rest of the evening, there will be no more punishment today.”
Vivian waited for him to leave her alone in the claustrophobic room, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned against one wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I can’t go with you standing there.”
“Of course you can.”
Seeing he wasn’t going to make anything easy for her, she slid the panties down and sat on the seat, thankful she only had to pee.
She looked at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again, unsure how the hell she was supposed to get a question answered when he’d already told her no questions. She didn’t want to incur his wrath again.
He chuckled. “Do you have something you wish to ask me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Ask.”
Michael was out of town, but there was no reason to announce that fact. She was afraid if she admitted her husband’s absence, Anton would keep her longer.
Vivian bit her lip, carefully choosing her words. “Will you let me go now? Michael will wonder where I’ve been.”
“I’ll release you when I’m ready to release you. I’m sure you’ll come up with a suitably creative story to explain your whereabouts.”
She sagged. It had been a long shot.
When she’d finished using the bathroom and had washed her hands, he led her back into the main section of his apartment. A tray sat on the bed with a glass of iced tea, grilled chicken, and vegetables.
