He looked at the time of her text, noting that she had sent it just a short time earlier. She would be waiting for his response. He texted back.
With your hubby’s consent? Otherwise I don’t hook up with married women.
Her reply came back instantaneously.
That you know of. Don’t be naive Luke.
He tossed the phone on the seat beside him, shaking his head. Another reason to be cynical about marriage.
Chapter 15
A week had gone by since Luke had taken her to the kink party. She was still whirling from the whole experience, her imagination fueled by the naughtiness of the night. After Luke dropped her off, she carefully unfastened the chastity belt and peeled it away, her hole aching for sweet release. She had never felt so churned up, so desperate to be fucked. She needed to release her need with a vengeance and wished she had a man to share her newly-found confidence with, maybe even Arran.
She must have climaxed five or six times that night, each more intense than the last, fueled by her hot, taboo fantasies until finally, she passed out from sheer exhaustion, uninhibited for the first time in her life.
She had dreamt that night too. She was sitting blindfolded in a chair, her wrists bound with a silk scarf, her heart racing with anticipation, damp with perspiration. She could sense someone behind her, his breath hot on her neck, the sweet scent of cologne perfuming the air around her. Her exposed flesh tingled with anticipation, waiting for his sweet assault, her senses acute, alert. He laced his fingers through her hair and pulled her head back, raising her parted lips to his, and kissed her. At first he was tender but quickly became passionate, forceful even, pulling her tongue into his mouth to taste her. She surrendered to him, allowing him to steal her kiss, his teeth grazing her tongue before gently biting her bottom lip. She swooned under his touch.
He checked her restraints, ensuring she was indeed helpless, before unbuttoning her blouse, exposing her nipples for his own pleasure. He nibbled down her neck, tasting the saltiness of her skin, cooling her flesh with his trail of moist kisses. She moaned her approval, a desperate, guttural sigh that rose from deep in her belly. It was mostly the unknown that fueled her desire. Who was this man, what were his intentions, how would he torture her? She longed to be possessed, seduced out of the shadows that for so long had been both her refuge and her prison.
—Do you trust me?
She nodded, unafraid of him. Somehow she knew he would take care of her.
—Good, because I’m going to push you to the very edge of your comfort zone, and beyond. I’m going to make you feel things you have never felt before. You may be uncertain at times but you have to trust that I will not allow any harm to come to you. Physically, emotionally, sexually...I’m going to take you...
further than you ever thought you could go. Your whispers won’t stop me. Your moans won’t stop me. Your begging will not stop me. The only thing that will end my sweet, sweet torture is our safe word...
In her dream, she did surrender to her mystery lover but it was all a blur, and when she woke suddenly, he slipped back into the night on an echo. She laid in her bed for hours after that, tossing and turning, hot and swollen beneath her sheets.
But that was a week ago, and aside from a few friendly text messages, she and Luke had not spoken. He was working on a big project at work and she didn’t want to pressure him but she hoped they would go out again soon. She wondered what else he had up his sleeve, what her next adventure would be.
“Can you pull the file from the last Board meeting, Emma? I need to look it over and prepare the agenda for next week’s meeting. Also, once I’m done with it, would you mind typing up the minutes for the Board of Directors?” Jennifer called out from behind her open office door.
“Of course,” Emma replied, pushing her chair out from under her desk and standing up, “but the minutes have already been done, I just need your approval on them and then I’ll make copies.”
Jennifer poked her head out her door, her grin showing her approval. “Wow, thanks for being so proactive. What the heck would I do without you?”
“Oh, I’m sure you would get by,” Emma blushed, still not used to receiving compliments.
“Don’t sell yourself so short, Emma, you’re a godsend,” her boss said. “I just have to make a quick phone call and I’ll grab the file from you when I’m done.”
Jennifer closed her office door, giving herself some privacy, leaving Emma to her work. She wandered over to the filing cabinet and unlocked it, her fingers fanning through the files until she found what she was looking for. She heard a shuffling behind her as someone slipped into the office.
“How can I help you?” she said nonchalantly, turning around to face the visitor. When she saw his face, her body involuntarily stiffened. She could feel that familiar flutter in her gut, that urgent sensation of fight or flight that always seemed to trigger when she saw her ex.
“Andrew. What are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“And hello to you too,” he said, his words more a scolding than a greeting. She felt herself shrinking, the way she always did in his presence.
“Hello,” she answered robotically.
She watched him walk toward her, frozen in her tracks, her eyes carefully reading his to gauge his mood. An old habit. Smiling, he slipped in beside her and placed his arm around her waist, as though giving her a half-hearted hug. To anyone watching, it would have appeared a friendly greeting, but as his fingers gripped tightly on her hip she could sense his subtle threat. She held her breath, trained well by him to submit, triggered by memories of past assaults.
“I see you aren’t concerned about your weight anymore,” he snickered, letting her go. He walked to the chair in front of her desk and sat down, gesturing for her to take the seat behind her desk. The initial shock of seeing him quickly shifted to anger, but like always she held her tongue.
“Come sit down, I have news to share,” he insisted, kicking her chair under the desk forcefully. It hit the wall behind, making a sharp clatter.
“What do you want, Andrew? You shouldn’t be here,” she croaked, walking slowly around her desk. She rolled the chair away from the wall and sat down, placing the file on the desk in front of her, her body stiff and alert.
“Relax,” he sniffed, rolling his eyes at her, “Jesus, you’re always so uptight!”
He leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk in front of him, eyeing her casually. She looked at them, swallowing hard. She always hated them, those hands that were so soft but rarely ever tender, hands that gripped too tightly and slammed doors too loudly. Intimidating hands.
“I heard through the grapevine that you got a job here. Full-time? Part-time?” he prodded. Emma shrugged her shoulders, not really interested in discussing any part of her life with him. He chuckled derisively and sat back in his chair.
“I guess you didn’t really have a choice, did you? You didn’t make out very well in the divorce, but thems the breaks,” he said, trying to get a rise out of her. She refused to give him the satisfaction, holding tightly to the calmest expression she could muster.
“Do you want to hear my news?” he finally asked, his expression suddenly flat and cold. Emma felt her lip twitch, in what was sure to be interpreted by Andrew as a smile.
“I’m getting married,” he offered stiffly, his eyes glued to hers. Surprised by his confession, her brows raised before she could stop them. He grinned at her, as though thrilled to have broken her facade. “Portia McDonald. Remember her? Nice girl.”
Emma suddenly felt all the moisture leave her mouth, replaced by the bitter taste of resentment, not because Andrew was getting re-married, but to whom. Portia had been one of her closest friends when she and Andrew were married. She had confessed to her, on many occasions, how difficult things were and how cold Andrew was, even hinting at the affairs and the abuse. Portia was so understanding, so supportive. It was Portia who finally convinced her to leave
her husband. Once the separation was public knowledge, the dominoes inevitably began to fall. Friends started taking sides, and since Emma adopted most of Andrew’s friends, she was left standing alone, and even Portia refused to take her calls anymore.
She felt betrayed, swallowed by the sudden reality that all her memories, her entire relationship with Portia, had been a lie. The feeling could only be compared to suddenly losing gravity and finding yourself floating uncontrollably into space.
Emma cleared her throat, struggling to maintain her composure.
“Congratulations,” she uttered, the word stuck in her throat like a blade. She picked up the water glass in front of her, holding her hand steady.
“Thanks. We’re getting married a week Sunday, at the arboretum,” he continued, as though he was speaking to someone who cared. Emma shrugged softly, raising the glass to her lips, hoping it portrayed indifference. Andrew didn’t seem to notice.
“You may be wondering why we aren’t having a long engagement...”
“Actually, I wasn’t...” Emma answered quietly, taking a sip of water, even though the thought had crossed her mind.
“We’re having a baby,” he blurted, his eyes revealing just how much joy he was getting out of the conversation. He was searching her face for pain, grief, anger, any discomfort he could pull out of her. He knew the admission would hurt her in some way, and he was right, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of revealing it. She nodded.
“Portia will make a great mother. We’re just thrilled,” he boasted, sitting forward in his seat once more to underscore his statement.
“Why did you come here to tell me this?” she asked flatly, trying to mask her emotions, her tears dangerously close to spilling.
“I wanted to see your face. You thought you could hurt me, that I would be lost without you, but I’m not. I have Portia now, and she is everything you weren’t,” he spat, his spiteful words spurting out like venom, “and now you have nothing.”
Emma looked at him thoughtfully, suddenly understanding how vulnerable he actually was, driven by his own insecurity. Maybe he always had been.
“I never wanted to hurt you, Andrew. You’re wrong about that. I never thought you would be lost without me. I simply knew that I was lost when I was with you,” she whispered, knowing her words would fall on deaf ears.
He shook his head slowly, allowing a sardonic smile to bloom across his face. His reaction spoke volumes to her. He would never take any ownership for his part in the breakdown of their marriage, that was certain, Emma thought. Not that it mattered anymore, he would always and forever blame her for everything, shame her for leaving. That’s why he was there that day.
“I wish you well, Andrew,” she offered kindly, and she truly meant it, “best wishes to you and Portia.”
She stood up and walked around her desk, signaling him to take his leave. He sat for a moment longer, looking at her flatly, his expression cold and menacing. Although it totally went against the grain, she forced herself to maintain eye contact with him. Finally, he stood up and took a few steps toward her. Out of habit, she stepped back, out of harm’s way. He snorted at her, then turned and walked to the door.
“We aren’t over, you and I, we have some karma to work through,” he grinned, turning around to look at her. She shook her head slowly back and forth, unclear of his intention or meaning. She didn’t care to press him further.
“Christ, you’ll never make anyone happy,” and as though satisfied with the last word, he laughed cruelly, and walked out the door.
Chapter 16
“Fuck him, Mimi,” Luke exploded, “You can make yourself happy, and that’s good enough. Who the fuck does he think he is?”
Emma watched him pace back and forth in front of her, his anger palpable. She didn’t want to tell him about the confrontation with Andrew but when Luke called her 30 minutes earlier, she had been sitting in her car in the parking lot at work in the throws of a breakdown.
Andrew’s words had stung her, feeding into every insecurity she had. Those when she was married to him, and new ones that she had been cultivating since their divorce. She grieved for the relationship she dreamed of having with him, the fairy-tale marriage promised to her and the children never meant to be. And now Portia was going to be the mother of what should have been her child, the one Andrew said he wasn’t ready for. She had kept it together until the end of her shift but as soon as she buckled her seatbelt, her tears spilled out of her in an ugly, no holds barred cry.
That’s when Luke called. She blurted it all out, sobbing stupidly into the phone, snot and tears soaking her blouse. It was not a pretty sight but it was the first time she had really let herself cry since the divorce. He just listened patiently, chiming in every now with “It’s ok, it’s ok”. Once her wails turned into breathy sobs, he told her to go home, that he would be waiting. True to his word, he was there when she arrived.
“Don’t take it personally. That little shit has been indulged his whole life, handed everything he ever wanted on a silver fucking platter. He’s incapable of processing disappointment. It’s a foreign concept that turns him into a petulant man-child,” Luke explained, waving his hands in the air to punctuate his opinion.
Emma considered his words and had to admit they made sense. She knew all that really, but it was always good to hear it from someone else. She wiped away her tears, wondering just how awful she looked at that moment.
“Don’t let him shake you, Mimi, that’s what he wanted,” he continued. “You divorced him for good reasons. Portia can have him. As far as I’m concerned, that bitch deserves him. I never trusted her. I know she was your friend but her loyalty was never with you.”
“It was with Andrew,” Emma whispered, nodding her head.
“Nope, it was with herself. She always was the opportunist, out for number one,” Luke observed, sitting down beside her. Emma took his hand and smiled, grateful he was with her, saying the things she would never say. He squeezed her fingers gently and smiled.
“Christ, you’re a mess. You’ve got mascara all over your face,” he chuckled, using his free thumb to wipe off her cheek. Unsuccessful, he brought his thumb to his mouth to moisten it and raised it to her face again.
“Gross,” Emma giggled, turning her head away, “keep your DNA off of me!”
Luke laughed and pulled her towards him, teasing her with his damp digit.
“Stop,” she laughed, gently pushing him back, “I’ll wash it off myself. I don’t know where that thumb has been.”
He shrugged and released his grip, an impish smile forming on his face. “Oh, you don’t want to know where it’s been, trust me,” he laughed, slapping her backside as she stood up. Emma lurched herself away, just out of his reach, enjoying the playful exchange.
“Ew, whatever. You whore.”
“Nah, I never accept payment for my services,” he quipped, sitting back on the couch, obviously pleased with himself.
Emma walked away smiling, forgetting just how heartbroken she had been only minutes earlier. She made her way into the bathroom to look at her reflection in the mirror. She was shocked by how damaged she looked, her eyes raccooned by her mascara, her face heavy with anguish. She turned on the hot water and washed her face, cleansing away all evidence of her grief.
“Get changed, we’re going out!” Luke suddenly yelled from the living room. “And put on something sexy, you need to get laid.”
Emma poked her head out the bathroom door and stared at him, waiting for him to look up and see her. When he finally did, she blurted, “are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. You’ve waited long enough and now is as good a time as any,” he insisted, raising himself from the sofa and walking over to her.
Emma bit her lip, considering exactly how she felt about his suggestion. While she was ready to consummate her divorce, the thought of it terrified her. She had just been through the emotional ringer, and the last thing she wanted was to doll
herself up and go out to a bar, hoping to find a man. And what if no one wanted her? She was far too vulnerable for rejection at the moment. Her encounter with Andrew that day had stirred up too many emotional landmines, painful memories of all the times he criticized her lovemaking, chastised her skills, demeaned her. What if he had been right?
“You look terrified, Mimi. What is it?” Luke asked, approaching her cautiously. She shook her head, her teeth biting into her bottom lip, dangerously close to tears again.
“I can’t, Luke. I’m a mess,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.
“So just put on some makeup and change your clothes. You clean up nice, I’ve seen it,” he teased, rubbing her shoulders gently.
“It’s not that. I’m just...I don’t think...I’m just not up to it tonight. Sorry...”
“It’s okay,” he cooed, pulling her into a hug, “we’ll stay in and watch a movie. You pick. It can even be a chick flick if you want.”
She looked up at him with an expression that conveyed both gratitude and surprise. “Really? You’ll watch a chick flick with me? I must be worse than I thought!”
“Shut up before I change my mind,” he quipped, pulling her closer. He kissed her sloppily on the top of her head. “Go throw on some jammies. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.”
“Ooh, with mini marshmallows?” she teased, referencing the naughty conversation they had only a month earlier.
“Easy tiger,” he snickered, gently urging her down the hallway.
Chapter 17
They were about thirty minutes into the movie, Mimi curled up beside him, her head resting on his chest. Like him, Luke could tell that she wasn’t really enjoying the film but it offered a little white noise to drown out her thoughts, and definitely served to relax them both a little more. The moment he sat down on the sofa with her he felt the tension leave his body, as it always did. It was as though his cells knew long before his brain did, that this was his safe place to land.
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