by Remy Rose
But now that Carlo agreed to see me tonight, there is hope. Both of us need to step out from behind our barriers and talk—really talk. We need to get everything out in the open, and then we can—hopefully—move forward. I want to share my past with him. And I’ll ask him to do the same.
So there will be conversation to bring us closer together, and after that, there will be sex—steamy, passionate, rough, tender, deep sighs, soft moans, take me right now/can't get enough of you kind of sex. The very best kind.
I feel an ache in my lower abdomen and a fullness in my heart. This is the effect he has on me: making me feel empty and ready to burst at the same time. There are contrasts with Carlo, always.
I grab the wayward dressage whip, hurry to the tack room and open the door, greeted by the scents of leather, saddle soap and Neatsfoot oil. I click the whip into the holder on the wall, sweep my gaze across the rows of saddles and decide that everything is in its place.
Everything except for me. I’m not where I need to be right now. But soon, I will be—in Carlo's strong arms.
Brownie lifts his head from his hay and nickers to me as I come out of the tack room. He’s the only horse I know who would actually take a break from eating to acknowledge me. I go to his stall and stroke the white blaze on his face. “See you tomorrow, buddy. Big plans tonight...wish me luck.”
He snorts at me and I jump back, grinning, remembering how he’d done the same to Carlo the first time we met. Good thing I’ll be showering before Carlo arrives.
I fish the envelope out of my jeans pocket as I climb into my Chevy Malibu. Unfolding the note inside, I smooth the creases of the paper and start to read the printed words:
Cassandra: You already know that Carlo and I are colleagues, but what you don't know about is our connection beyond the company. The two of us have enjoyed an ongoing, spirited competition—Carlo will be able to tell you more.
Enclosed is an SD card which can be played in virtually any computer or TV. Watch this as soon as possible...it will give you more insight into the man that is Carlo Leone. There have been many participants I've had the pleasure of seeing, but I have to say, you are the best by far. The game is no longer, but the memories—those will last forever. Happy viewing!
Participants? A “spirited competition?” What the hell does Brock mean by that? Now I’m even more curious.
I slide my hand into my other coat pocket for my phone. Maybe I should call Carlo, ask him point blank what this is all about? I’m thinking about this as I start up my car. No—I’ll wait...follow Brock's instructions and see whatever it is he wants me to see when I get home. If Carlo is involved in this and there’s some sort of surprise, I don’t want to ruin things by asking him about it.
The drive from the stable to Elizabethtown is twenty minutes, but I’m so preoccupied, it feels like no time has passed when I pull into my apartment complex. My head and heart are packed with questions and scenarios, and rivers of emotions ranging from aching want to shuddery uneasiness are surging through me. Brock's note is distracting me a little bit from my fierce desire to see Carlo. But soon, after I watch whatever it is on the SD card, that little mystery will be revealed.
I step into my apartment, hang up my coat and kick off my Danskos. Glancing in the full-length mirror takes me back to the night of Gianna’s engagement party, when I’d leaned against Carlo and looked at our reflections. We look good together, I had said. God, I can’t wait to have him here right now, his arms wrapped around me.
Enough daydreaming—I’ve got to get ready. I’ll take a quick shower and then check out Brock's card while my hair dries. I’ll keep it down in loose waves since Carlo likes it that way.
I check my phone for the time as I head into the bathroom: 5:40. Carlo will be here in less than an hour. Shivers dance up my spine as I reach in my pocket for the envelope, put it on the counter and undress.
The hot water cascades over me, and I sleek it away from my face and hair, imagining Carlo's hands on my skin, caressing, teasing, tweaking—a perfect concoction of pleasure fringed with a hint of pain. Soon, this will be more than just a fantasy.
I get dressed fast—cream-colored lace bra and panties, silky, jade green blouse, faded jeans—and scrunch a handful of mousse into my towel-dried hair, smiling. Two can play the tousled game. Light makeup, clear lip gloss, and big silver hoop earrings. What was it Teal always said? The bigger the hoop, the bigger the ho. I’m smiling...given the way I’m feeling right now, this seems quite appropriate.
So now, I’m ready. Ready for Carlo, obviously, and ready to discover what Brock wanted to share with me. Envelope in hand, I go to my bedroom for my laptop, feeling heat spread through me when I look at my bed and think of Carlo lying in it with me.
I prop up a few of the blue and green throw pillows against my headboard, settling back with my computer and taking the little card from Brock’s envelope. I insert it carefully into my laptop, my chest fluttery with anticipation. Scanning the desktop, I find the SD card folder and open it. There is one file...a video. A still shot—of me, and Carlo.
What is this? My heart starts to beat faster as my mind tries to process what I’m seeing. When did this take...
And then, I know. We’re entering Carlo's bedroom. The last night we were together.
I click the play button and begin to watch.
“Vanilla?”
It’s surreal, watching myself look up at Carlo as I ask him about the scent in his bedroom. Hearing his voice on the video makes my heart clutch.
“Yes. The candles. Vanilla is known to increase sexual stimulation in both men and women.”
“That's an interesting bit of trivia. You seem to have thought of everything...”
What…why…? I put my hands on either side of the laptop, gripping hard. The sexual tension between us is almost palpable, even viewing it on screen. I feel detached, like I’m watching two strangers dancing the tango for the first time, my thoughts splintering into a thousand different directions trying to make sense of all this.
“I want to be able to hear every sound you make.”
A sigh from me in the video.
“Like that sound, for example.” And then Carlo takes me in his arms, his mouth kissing up and down my neck. I’m quivering with the memory, just like I had trembled that night, filled with incredible want for him.
“Cassandra,” he’s saying. “You need to trust me.”
You need to trust me.
Fuck...what is this? I start to shake, my mouth cottony with the dread that’s mounting inside me.
Brock gave me this SD card. He knew about this night.
My mind skips back to his note, stumbling over the phrases that appear in front of me like concrete blocks.
The two of us have enjoyed an ongoing, spirited competition.
There have been many participants I've had the pleasure of seeing, but I have to say, you are the best by far.
You are the best by far.
My stomach lurches as I use the cursor to advance the video. I’m lying naked across Carlo's lap on the love seat. “I want you to stay completely still,” he’s telling me. “And completely silent. You are not permitted to make any sound whatsoever, or there will be additional consequences. Do you understand?”
Oh...my...God.
“No. No.” Choked words from my mouth as I watch, agonized, as Carlo begins to spank me, the sound of each slap making me jump. I hadn't moved then; I’d wanted so desperately to please him.
I can’t watch this any more. The safe word I was supposed to use with Carlo that night comes to mind: enough.
Fucking enough.
I slam my laptop closed, shove it away from me as I start to shake harder. I pull my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and hold on tight. I cannot believe what I just saw. Cannot fucking believe it, don’t want to believe it. I was more exposed, more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my life...and I’d been videotaped.
And Brock had seen it
.
How could Carlo have shared that very private night with someone he works with? After I had given myself to him! Totally and completely, despite all my reservations.
Cassandra...you need to trust me.
I did. But he betrayed my trust. He’s left me feeling shattered, violated. Dirty.
“How could you?” I’m whispering into the cold silence of my room. “How could you do this to me?”
And then, the doorbell.
I’ll have my answer soon.
chapter three ~ Carlo
By the time I arrive at Cassandra's doorstep, I’m feeling almost hopeful. I managed to convince myself on the drive over that there’s every chance I’m going to be in time—that Brock hasn't gotten to her yet. Jesus, I have to be in time. I can’t bear the thought of losing her. There’s so much I want to do
for her—give her jewelry, buy her designer clothes, take her on a shopping spree. Anything to make her feel special, appreciated and wanted—although even as I’m thinking about what I can give her, I know she’s not like other women. She likes simple and sensible and is refreshingly easy to please. Christ, the woman prefers Pop-Tarts over Prada. Definitely one of a kind. I’m hoping for many times in the future where I can show her I understand this.
Just as I’m ringing the doorbell, a maintenance worker is walking toward me, carrying a toolkit. “You here to see Cassandra?”
I nod, ringing the doorbell again, my anticipation climbing with every passing second.
The guy thrusts out his hand. “I'm Norman.”
“Carlo.”
“Cassandra's the best, isn't she?”
“None better,” I answer, with total sincerity. He seems satisfied with my response and continues on his way, whistling.
She still hasn’t answered the door. I take out my phone to check the time. 6:23. Seven minutes early, but she’s expecting me.
And then the doorknob turns. My heart leaps in my chest, and I can’t help but start to smile at the thought of seeing her again, holding her...
Cassandra stands in front of me in a green blouse and jeans, auburn hair framing her face in loose curls. My throat closes tight at the sight of her. She is pale, unsmiling...her aquamarine eyes locking with mine in a cold, steely gaze.
She knows.
Fucking Christ, she knows.
The joy I felt just seconds ago from seeing her has been obliterated by her stare. It makes me flinch, remembering how challenging eye contact had been for her when I ordered it. But the tables have been turned.
Now, I’m the one who can’t handle looking at her.
Her voice is barely audible when she speaks, but I still startle. “I thought of sending you away, but I want to hear it.”
“And I want to talk to you, Cassandra.”
Fuck, she looks so small and lost. But there’s also fierce anger emanating from her. She’s trembling, wrapping her arms around herself. God, how I want to fix this fucking mess I created. I have an incredible urge to sweep her into my arms, bury my face in that thick, beautiful hair and hold her until she forgives me.
I know she won’t let me. And I can’t fucking blame her.
Cassandra moves away from the door, and I step inside her apartment. Even though we’re only a few feet apart, there’s a distance between us the size of a canyon. I follow her into the living room and sit down in an armchair while she takes the couch. This time, she’s in charge.
I watch, numb, as she reaches into her pocket and thrusts her hand at me. She’s holding the SD card.
“I seem to have something that belongs to you.”
My jaw clenches, knowing what she’s seen. Knowing what I’ve done.
“Don't I, Carlo?” Her voice is shrill.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Explain this to me—how you get to a point in your life where you take a fucking video of yourself making a woman do things that are incredibly private—things that are only supposed to be between the two of you. I want to know how the fuck you could do this.” She flings the card across the room.
I should have been prepared for how to deal with this. It’s not like me to be struggling to find the words to say to her. I’m completely gutted—to see her like this and know that I’m the cause.
“I developed the need to dominate women—to be in control.” I’ll start there.
“No shit,” she snaps. “I already know that. I'm talking about the fucking video, Carlo. And how Brock knew about it.”
Hearing my former colleague's name is a knife in my chest. I’ll deal with that fucking cocksucker later. “Brock and I used to have a...contest.”
“So that's the 'spirited competition' he referred to in the note he gave me?”
“Yes.”
“What was the contest about?”
“Cassandra—you have to believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you.”
She shakes her head, laughing bitterly. “That has to be one of the lamest fucking lines I ever heard. It's what people say when they know they've already hurt the person. They actually think everything will be fine if they say it—like 'oh, whoops, I didn't mean to hurt you when I took a video of me spanking you and then shared it with my co-worker.' You actually think I'm going to go for that?” She pauses, her voice turning harsh. “I'll ask again: what was the contest about?”
Ah, fuck. I know I have to tell her, but Jesus, how? I’ll just have to do it. As hard as this is going to be, Cassandra deserves complete honesty. I’ll give her nothing less.
“We would each find a woman whom we thought would be a challenge. The contest was to see who could get his woman to submit first.”
Cassandra's eyes are round with incredulity. She’s rigid on the couch, her shoulders squared like she’s bracing herself against my words. “Submit?”
“Yes. Sexually.”
Her voice is a whisper. “Explain. I want to know everything.”
“Once we chose our women, the contest started. We would decide what the winner would get, and we would have to provide proof in the way of photos.”
“Or videos.”
“We hadn't done videos before. Until this last time.”
“Oh! I must be extra-special, then.”
Her tone makes me cringe. But I deserve it. “The only reason I agreed to the video was because I needed to prove something.”
“Prove something? Like what? That you're a controlling asshole who toys with innocent women?”
Touché. “I wanted to prove that I could go through with it. So I could show myself that you were just like all the other women.” I pause, looking directly into her eyes. “But I couldn't do it. Which is why I told you, enough.”
“And you never saw anything wrong with using women in this way? Like objects.”
“The women never knew. They were rewarded, and we always parted on good terms. I was able to justify it this way.”
“How convenient for you. How many women were there?”
I shift in the chair. “I don't know, exactly. Maybe ten.”
“Ten. Ten women. So you and Brock decided on prizes in this contest?”
“It wasn't about the prizes. It was about the challenge.”
“And you decided that I would be challenging for you.”
“Yes.”
“So how was I, Carlo? Was I everything you hoped for?”
“Cassandra—”
“No, tell me! I want to know, did we win?” Her hands are in fists in her lap, face flushed, eyes blazing.
“I ended the contest and told Brock I was done with it for good. He was never supposed to see that video. I had planned to destroy it, but I'd been so fucking preoccupied struggling with what I was feeling, I got distracted. Brock had my housekeeper steal the SD card because I fired him, and he wanted revenge.”
She’s searching my eyes with hers like she’s trying to comprehend what I’m saying, then lowers her head and covers her face with her hands. God, I want to go to her—take away her pain.
>
When she looks up again, her cheeks are stained with tears. “I can't believe how easy it was for you to tell me all of this.”
“Easy? For Christ's sake, Cassandra, this has been one of the most difficult fucking things I've ever faced. Nothing about this is easy. I may seem like I'm detached from it because I am. Our relationship quickly became much more than a game, in my mind. I don't associate you with the contest.”
“But that's not the issue, Carlo. It's that I associate you with it.” Even though she says them softly, her words hit me hard. “I associate you with deceit, and betrayal, and humiliation.”
“Cassandra—I was going to be honest with you. I knew that in order for us to have any kind of relationship, I needed to be up front with you about the game, but Brock—” Just the very mention of his name makes me grind my teeth. “He got to you first.” I lean forward in my chair. I’ve got to make her understand. “How we ended up was completely different than where I thought it would go. I didn't expect to do anything other than enjoy you and move on. I didn't expect to have feelings for you...I don't do feelings.”
Cassandra is utterly still, staring past me, and even now, in the midst of this horrendous scene, I’m blown away by just how incredibly beautiful she is.
I keep going. I have to. “I didn't want you to find out like this. I wanted to be the one to tell you. And as fucked-up as it sounds, Cassandra, I've needed this game. Not that anything can justify it, but hopefully once you hear more, you'll be able to understand. Please let me explain.”
Jesus, now I’m actually pleading. She turns to meet my gaze, lips parted slightly and the space between her eyebrows furrowed. Her expression has softened. Maybe I’m getting through to her, maybe she can sense how desperately I want to make this right.
“There was an event in my past that—”
She explodes, leaping up from the couch and rushing at me, arms flailing, as I stand up to face her. “You fucking son of a bitch! I trusted you! I told you I'd been hurt before, and you knew I was vulnerable. And you betrayed me. You not only betrayed me, you fucking humiliated me.” Her fury is white-hot, brilliant, burning. “I don't give a fuck what happened in your past. All I care about is how you are treating me now.”
