What did Liam say when he visited them, I wonder? Did he mean it?
Did he enjoy it?
After what seems like an eternity, at last I hear the click of the doorknob. Light spills into the room. The silhouette of Liam’s body stretches across the floor, but only for a few seconds; he shuts the door and the room plunges back into near-darkness.
Liam’s footsteps are slow and purposeful, coming up behind me. The floorboards creak softly with each step. My breath becomes more ragged, hitching with anticipation.
He traces a hand lightly across my back. My body reacts without thinking, curving to his touch. He gathers my hair and scoops it over my shoulders, and I can’t help but shiver intensely when his fingers graze my neck.
He pulls his hand back suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” he says.
I glance up at him. A muscle in his neck twitches as my eyes lock onto his. His hair is tousled, and the stubble on his jaw has grown thicker. The expression in his eyes is dark and troubled.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, deflecting him.
The corner of his mouth flicks.
“Yes, but in here, I’m the one asking the questions,” he says.
He looks at me playfully, as if the whole world hasn’t just changed over the past twenty-four hours. As if this is still a game.
I resist an impulse to leap from the floor and demand answers from him. I know that’s not how it works. Not with Liam, anyway.
First, I have to give him what he needs. And then, when he’s relaxed and his defenses are down, he’ll tell me everything.
Once, this tactic made me feel guilty.
But not anymore.
Liam walks over to the wooden coffee table that stands in the middle of the room. He runs his hands lightly across the surface.
“All day, I’ve been brainstorming ways that I can help cure you of that pesky impatience. And I came up with a few ideas…some more challenging than others, shall we say,” he says with a devious grin.
His hand reaches underneath the table and presses something. The top of the table suddenly springs up on an invisible hinge. So it was never just a coffee table after all.
Liam lifts the lid all the way upward, surveying the contents inside. He reaches in, pushing past a few items. Something metal make a loud clink.
“But I think, for this round, we’ll start simple,” he says, withdrawing something long and pink. As he walks back towards me, I catch a better glimpse of the object in his hand. A gasp escapes my lips.
I’ve never used a vibrator before, though I’ll admit I’ve been curious. The idea always seemed titillating—something so mechanical, so dispassionate, serving as the source of such pleasure.
But since Miranda was my roommate all through college and in the years following, and since she had an annoying habit of picking through my things, I was terrified that she would come across it. It seemed to me that owning such an object would essentially guarantee a lifetime of teasing.
My breath turns ragged as Liam paces around me. I can tell that he’s taking his time, purposefully drawing out my anticipation.
And then he makes contact. The vibrator brushes against the inside of my thigh, mere inches away from my sex. Liam runs the toy up and down my skin, teasing me.
When this is over, ask him about the Benzes, reminds a quiet, reasoned voice in the back of my head. See how he reacts. Remember the plan. Remember why you came here.
But my body has taken on a life of its own. My hips twist with excitement as the vibrator moves higher and higher between my legs. My skin is hot, flushed. The voice of reason fades to a whisper.
With Liam, reason has a tendency to give way to carnality.
His hand comes down on my back. “Stay still,” he instructs.
The tip of the vibrator slides between my lips. Liam stands over me and pushes it inward, but just barely. He brushes it back and forth, applying gentle pressure. I sigh and gasp as he plays with me.
Slowly, he begins to push in the vibrator, deeper and deeper until I can feel the length of it inside of me. It fills me up until I feel like I am being stretched from all sides.
And then he turns it on.
The vibrations seem to course through my entire body, throwing out sensations of pleasure. They shudder up my spine and travel all the way down to my toes.
I let out a long, low moan. I can feel the ecstasy unfolding inside of me, like a present being unwrapped. My back arches.
“No,” Liam says. “You’re not permitted to come.”
My head jerks up in surprise. I look up to see Liam laughing gently at me.
“Consider this to be phase one of your endurance training,” he says, grinning.
The rippling, blissful sensations continue to run through me. My body wants desperately to react to them: hips grinding, thighs clenching.
But now, suddenly, I can’t. I force my body to become as still as a statue. Any unnecessary movement, and I might push myself over the edge.
Oh, but it’s difficult. I can feel an excited, powerful twitching deep inside of me, growing in intensity. My walls tighten around the vibrator, shuddering against the plastic.
I don’t know if I can do this. I close my eyes and try to think about something else. Anything else.
The Benzes, begs the voice. Ask him about the Benzes. He’s keeping secrets from you! He’s lied to you!
Anger begins to unfurl inside my belly, spreading out rapidly with white-hot licks of fire.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Liam orders, breaking my concentration. “Look up. Look at me.”
Obediently, I thrust my head upwards. His mouth forms a smirk as he watches me squirm beneath him, and the flames of anger grow hotter. And yet—the feeling of being watched like this, resisting the throes of ecstasy, heightens my excitement.
My skin tingles, anger ebbing against arousal.
The floor turns slippery as the sweat gathers on my palms. I begin counting seconds, as someone might track a passing thunderstorm.
One one thousand…
Two one thousand…
Three one thousand…
My fingers curl inward. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.
The ecstasy mounts higher and higher until it feels like my head is lost in the clouds. My muscles clench so hard that for a staggering moment I think they’re going to snap.
I bite down on my lip and resist, somehow willing myself to back down from the edge. My limbs begin to relax, though just barely.
“Good,” Liam says after another minute of this. “That’s enough for now.”
But I can hear the arousal in his tone, the anticipation for the evening that’s about to unfold. Liam’s just getting started.
He reaches behind me and pulls out the vibrator, then places it into a waiting towel. I wait for the relief to wash over me, to feel my body start to calm down—but the peace never comes. Having come so close to the edge of ecstasy, without letting myself slip over, has left me tense and wanting.
“You did well, Sophia,” he says, extending a hand. My fingers, which are still hot, interlace with his. Somehow, despite my shaking limbs, I manage to get to my feet.
He leads me over to the wall, back over to the familiar wooden X-shaped structure. He takes my hips and twists me around. The wood scrapes gently over my bare skin.
“Stay there,” he instructs, then walks back to the wooden table. As he digs around, he says, “When you do well in your training, you should know that you will be rewarded…”
I find myself holding my breath, my mind racing with all kinds of strange and titillating possibilities.
But what he takes out of the compartment is not what I expect: a thick, black lace blindfold, a pair of in-ear headphones, and an mp3 player. He brings them over to me.
“Put these on,” he says.
I look down at the earbuds dangling from his fingertips. Another day, under different circumstances, I might have found this idea
irresistibly erotic.
But today, something in me hesitates.
Maybe it’s a result of the knots of tension all throughout my body. Or maybe it’s the combination of being tied to a wooden post, completely naked, with no ability to see him and no way to hear him coming—all while I’m still trying to figure out who the hell this person is. And what he’s capable of.
And so I find myself saying a word that, until now, I’ve never before uttered around Liam—
“No.”
Liam halts. His eyebrows jerk upward in surprise.
My heart is pounding. Hoping to smooth over the moment, I quickly say, “I can compromise. I can wear the blindfold, if you want. Or the headphones. But not both, not at the same time. I just don’t want to be so—“
“—Defenseless?” Liam finishes my sentence for me. His tone is playful. “Sophia, that’s kind of the appeal. What, you don’t trust me?”
He laughs, as if what he’s said is so preposterous that it could only be interpreted as a joke. But when he realizes that I’m not laughing with him, his smile fades.
“Damn,” he says, realizing. “You don’t. You don’t trust me.”
My heart jolts. Oh, crap.
This was not how I intended to have this conversation. We were supposed to be on the floor, exhausted and giggly from our post-coital bliss.
Not tense and frustrated. With Liam still fully dressed.
I cross my arms uncomfortably in front of myself, thankful that at least he hasn’t put on the restraints yet.
“You told me once that this relationship was only going to work with honesty and open communication,” I say slowly, choosing each word with painstaking care. “But it doesn’t feel that open to me. I don’t know anything about you, except for the fact that you like tying me up and you pretty much never stop working. And I don’t even know what you do, exactly.”
I have an inkling, of course, but I’m hoping that Liam will help fill in the blanks. I’ve opened a door for him; now all he has to do is step through it.
But he just stares at me in disbelief.
“I don’t know much about you either, you know. But you don’t see me all up in arms about it,” he shoots back. “There’s a difference between being open about what gets us off, and telling each other our whole life stories.”
“Not to me,” I whisper. And echoing words I’ve said to him before, I add, “Call me old-fashioned.”
His shoulders drop. He scrapes a hand through his already-unkempt hair.
“I don’t get it,” he says. “You’ve let me tie you up before. You’ve let me blindfold you. Why is this an issue now?”
A surge of adrenaline shoots through me. I don’t even have to lie when I answer him: “Because I’m starting to realize that you’re never going to show me who you really are.”
Liam’s hands ball into fists. The muscles in his shoulders tighten, trembling with a dangerous, dark ferocity.
When he speaks, his voice is like ice. “There’s more to me than you realize, Sophia. Do you really want to know?”
Even though my heart is thumping with fear, I nod.
“And what if I refuse to show you?” he challenges.
“Then I don’t think I can continue this relationship,” I bluff. My voice cracks like glass.
His eyes widen. “And there’s no talking you out of it?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
He’s frozen in place for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, lost in thought. And then suddenly, all at once, he strides over to my dress, still heaped on the floor, and scoops it up. He walks back and thrusts the wrinkled fabric into my hands.
“Fine. Just remember—you asked for it,” he says. “Meet me in the driveway tomorrow. Three p.m. I’ll show you what you’re so desperate to see.”
Liam turns and strides across the room. He’s halfway out the door when he pauses. He turns back toward me.
“And then you’ll wish you hadn’t,” he says, and then slams the door behind him.`
13
The next day, I walk up to Riley’s bookstore just as he’s locking the front door. He doesn’t see me at first, and I indulge in a moment to take in the sight of my old friend.
Despite the time we’ve spent together these past few weeks, I still can’t quite wrap my head around how much he’s changed from the little boy I used to know. What surprises me the most is how completely fearless he’s become. How he swooped in to find the Benzes—despite the risks—so I could talk to them. Nothing seems to scare him. Not the Hawthornes. Not Mr. Robinson.
I wish I could borrow a little bit of that courage, I think to myself, feeling my stomach twist. Reflexively, I check my watch. I’m due to meet with Liam in only a few hours—and I’m still utterly clueless about what he’s intending to show me.
Riley seems to sense a pair of eyes on him, and turns. A grin spreads across his face when he sees me.
“Hi,” he says, walking up to me.
I nod towards the keys in his hand. “Going out for lunch?”
“That was the plan,” he says. “So what brings you around?”
“I wanted to see how things went with the Benzes, after I left,” I say, adding silently, And I really could use a friendly face right about now.
“Of course,” Riley says. “But first—are you hungry? There’s a street truck nearby that serves up a mean brisket sandwich.”
“Sounds great,” I lie, as my stomach twists harder. I check my watch again nervously.
We begin to walk down the street together, passing beneath the shadows of the stooping oak trees. I shift my gaze towards the colorful historic houses lining the street. My eyes move from the tall, open shutters up to the flowering plants hanging from the balconies. The magic of this neighborhood never gets old.
“That one’s my favorite,” Riley says beside me. I follow his gaze to a peach-colored house wrapped in wide, white-framed windows. It looks more like a greenhouse than an actual house. The effect is charming—I can see why Riley likes it.
I glance down at the book in his hands. “What are you reading?”
“Just On the Road for the millionth time. I was going to read it at lunch.” He grins bashfully, putting the paperback in his back pocket.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“On me and Jack Kerouac? Nah, don’t worry about it,” says Riley. “I’m glad you came by.”
We walk up to the food truck, which is painted bright yellow and covered in black lettering: NOLA LOVES HARDY’S BARBECUE! BEST BRISKET SANDWICH IN TOWN!
Riley goes up to the window and orders a couple of sandwiches for the both of us. We scoot to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the way of the passersby, while we wait for our order.
“So have you heard from your cousin lately?” he asks.
I know Riley is just being thoughtful by asking, but I feel a flash of annoyance at the mere mention of her.
“No word,” I say. “She’s probably still stewing.”
“Let her stew. She’ll come around.”
“You don’t know my cousin.” Changing the subject, I prompt him, “How did things go yesterday?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Well, I was curious to learn more about those suitcases. You know, trying to figure out what was inside of them. But Eric and Kim said they didn’t know. The suitcases were always locked.” He pauses, squinting his eyes at the horizon as he remembers the conversation. “Eric said the suitcases usually felt heavy. But that doesn’t really narrow things down, does it?”
“Not particularly.”
“And there was something else…” Riley begins tentatively.
I turn my head sharply. “What?”
“I think they’re beginning to realize that you’re not who you claim to be,” he says. “I don’t know how much longer you’re going to get away with this ‘law student’ alibi.”
“I’m kind of amazed I got away with it in the first place, honestly. It’s fine, I’ll figure somethi
ng out,” I say, looking down at a piece of grass growing from a crack in the sidewalk.
But I can feel him watching me.
“What?” I ask, looking back up.
“Have you ever considered just telling them who you really are?” he asks. “You’re on the same side, after all. Maybe they could help you.”
“I was seriously considering it at one point. But the situation’s changed,” I say. I laugh hollowly. “How could they possibly help me now? They’re in hiding. No, this is something I have to do on my own.”
His hand finds my arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re not, though.”
My eyes meet his. There’s a curious spark in his chocolate brown eyes. His hand moves to my cheek, and he draws in a breath, about to say something—
But at that moment, a woman leans out of the food truck and hollers Riley’s name. The order’s up.
He sighs and pulls away. My mind reels as I watch him walk over to the truck. What’s going on here? This is Riley, the kid who used to stick peanut butter in my hair and who made fun of me for listening to Kenny G.
He returns and places the sandwich in my hands. His fingers graze mine, but now I can’t tell whether this is an accident or not. I try to push these confusing questions out of my mind. There are enough worried thoughts in there already.
We stroll halfway down the block and plop onto an empty bench. Riley immediately begins unwrapping his sandwich, but I stare at mine blankly. I had thought I could convince myself to take a few bites, but my nerves are zinging around my body like a pinball machine. With each minute that brings me closer to Liam, my anxiety mounts.
I turn to him suddenly. “How is it possible that you’re so brave all the time?” I ask.
“Huh?” Riley says thickly through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallows and says, “Me? Brave? Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.”
“Stop it.” I give him a gentle shove on the shoulder. “You know you are. You never seem fazed at all when you talk about the Hawthornes. You invited the Benzes over like it was nothing, even though you knew that Mr. Robinson was after them.”
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