by KD Robichaux
She waits a second, her smile broadening until her dimples blossom and with barely a whisper, she remarks, “Chivalry. Told you, you still had it.” Her left knee bends slowly, swaying back and forth as her teeth catch hold of her lip. My growl comes from deep within my chest.
“It will be dead if you do not stop tempting the ungentlemanly side of me.” My stalking still stays steady, each of my steps carrying me slowly toward her.
“Maybe I like tempting th—” She stops when she coughs, her hand automatically going to her lips. And like that, I am on her, wrapping her up in my arms and taking her back to her room.
“You poor thing. How long have you felt like this?” I ask, laying her on the pristine, perfectly made bed covered in a silky gray duvet. I love her on a bed of silk. Her skin is like porcelain, and it should be treated as fucking such.
“Last night after I left your place, I started to feel a little uneasy. Then this morning, I woke up and my fever was out of control. 102.2 to be exact.”
I growl again. “Lizith, you should have called me. Whenever your body changes or needs attention, you tell me. I don’t like not knowing what is going on with you.” I stand back and start to undress, losing my vest and tie, and then my white shirt and jeans come next.
“You had a busy day. I didn't want to disturb you by being an inconvenience,” she responds, turning on her side to look up at me, her hands acting as her pillow under her cheek.
Now stripped to my black boxer briefs, she lets out a soft gasp as she takes in my entire form. I tower over her, and with a soft caress, I raise the back of my hand and stroke her cheek. “What kind of life is worth living if my little bird isn't always inconveniencing me? I welcome the fucking distraction, baby.” Closing her eyes like a pet being rewarded for good behavior, she slips into my submissive.
“Will you bring whatever is in that bag into bed please, my keeper?” As she bats those long fucking lashes at me, I feel myself stiffening, but I silence that beast for now. Tonight is a night of bonding and connecting, building something more dangerous, destructive, and all encompassing.
“Anything, little one.” I move around the room and get her soup. “Sit up,” I say firmly, yet with a gentle caress. She follows suit and sits up straight, leaving room for me to climb behind her. Once I settle with my legs on either side of her, I wrap my free arm around her ribs, just under her breasts, and I pull her back to lean against my chest.
“Talk to me before I feed you,” I whisper into the shell of her ear, her honeysuckle and peppermint oils mingling and making me ravenous.
A brief pause passes, and then her soft voice fills the silence of the afternoon. “Have you felt loved, Xander?” Her question is not one I was expecting. My skin prickles as I think back to as far as my childhood, and a chill rumbles like thunder up my spine.
“No.” My parents never showed affection toward me or each other. I can count on one hand how many times they said ‘I love you’ to me. They died when I was just a teenager, and after that, I didn't fall in love; I fell in line. I went to a pristine college, met a pristine—or so I thought—woman, married her in a pristine church, and lived a life of forced ‘I love yous’ and infidelity.
“You never loved her?” She never says Jacqueline's name, refusing to give her any ties to me.
“No. I loved the idea of her, the status she could bring me. It’s all a part of the world I was exposed to, Lizith.” I dip the spoon into the still steaming soup and bring it slowly to her lips. “Blow.” She follows orders then opens up for me. Humming appreciation for the warm, potent taste.
“How do I fit into the lifestyle? Do I serve a purpose for you?”
I don’t know what to say, how to respond to feelings outside of sex, because that is not who I am. In a relationship where she wants to talk and where I badly want to give, it’s hard for me. It’s a foreign taste in my mouth. I wait a moment, using another spoonful of soup to suspend my time.
When we stay silent, she doesn't fill the void with words, but her actions try to exert influence. She gently rubs her hand in circles on my thigh. “Xander. I know I shouldn’t ask, but I really want you to tell me things. I want you to trust me beyond intimacy. I want you to tell me who you are.” Those words trespass beyond my walls of safeguarded secrets. Lizith is a siren, and she knows how to use it.
“You serve a purpose by adding value to my life. I am not a man of many words and hearts and flowers, but know that you are the most precious thing in my life. And I may not show you much past the touching and the possessive behavior I latch on to, but I value you beyond the life that I thought was meant for me. You broke through the barricade of darkness in me. You tapped into the cold parts of my heart, little bird, and it’s fucking me up.”
Before I can gain an ounce of control, she takes the soup from my hand and places it on the nightstand next to her bed. She moves to straddle me and, closing the space between us, we both breathe heavily, her shoulders lifted and her head slowly tilting from left to right as she inhales me, taking in my scent, and assesses my face. “Xander, how can I show you love? How can I make you feel it for the first time?” A little tear slips from those green eyes, and I just grip her tighter around the waist.
“In every fucking way only you can,” I growl, dropping my forehead to hers. “Every way. The crazy way, the way that will drive me up-the-wall insane. The kind that will test my patience, all while making me so fucking proud to call you mine. Obsess over me, breathe me in like oxygen. Let me in this body and do whatever I need to feel that love.” I bite her lip and she whimpers.
“Can I say it? Please?” she begs, wounded and pathetic and beautiful-sounding all at once.
“Those words are insignificant. They don't even touch the feelings I have for you.”
“Say it. Please, I need to hear it.”
“Why?”
She cries harder, and I love those tears. They fuel me on. I want her to beg.
“Because, Xander, I want to love you in all the ways they couldn’t. I want to hurt you in the ways you hurt me. You say it, and that means I have power over you, and that means you have power over me. It’s madness, my keeper.” She waits on the edge, her lips a whisper of a touch against mine. I smirk briefly then my lips fall straight. A pregnant pause later, and all the air in the room sucks dry and my words echo.
“I fucking love you.”
I hear those words echo in my mind, remembering the day I fell in love with Lizith, and that feeling is just as strong, if not stronger, and it’s choking me. I want to get to her, and as I sit at my desk, I see her email with all the documents and videos I needed. I grow impatient as I view them and find myself laughing sinisterly in my throat. I should be jealous, or at least have a bruised ego, but I don’t, because in just a few short hours, I will be Lizith’s for good and she will be fucking mine.
I respond to her email when I finish converting them.
Send me your address, and do not fucking test me tonight, Lizith. Be ready for me.
I wait a moment, taking a sip of my freshly poured scotch, the burn crisp in my throat. Within a minute, there is a response, and I smugly smile. She has been waiting like a good little submissive for me to respond.
Yes, my keeper. I’m sorry—so sorry, my love.
She leaves her address, and I see she is only a few blocks away from me. That bad girl just added another slap to her punishment. I go to exit my email, when another one from her pops up. I open it and eye over the typed black words, crisp, daunting, promising, and everything I have craved for the years I spent without hearing them.
I love you.
Without response, I stand and take my scotch and evidence to the living room. Setting up my vengeful homecoming for Jacqueline, I finish up and make quick work of prepping to leave. The entire time, I hear Lizith whispering “I love you” like she did every night after that first time.
“I’m coming home, little bird. I hope you're ready,” I murmur into the empty apartm
ent, my bag packed and ready by the door.
Going to the living room, I wait for what feels like hours. Because I know the wealth waiting for me once I end this with Jacqueline.
Chapter 7
Xander
I hear the front door open and shut before the sound of her keys hitting the glass dish in the foyer echoes throughout the room. The click clack of her heels gets louder, but it no longer annoys me, knowing that soon I’ll never have to hear it again. As she enters the living room, scrolling on her phone, she doesn’t pay attention to the bodies slapping together on the giant TV screen. I take a sip from my tumbler of scotch, the ice clinking together and bringing her eyes to me.
That’s when Jacqueline finally looks up to find the video footage of Dr. Curtis fucking her as she’s bent over the examination table at the clinic.
Suddenly, it’s not the sound of her keys, or her heels, or the ice in my glass filling the room. It’s her phone falling out of her grasp and shattering on the hardwood floor. I smirk, my eyes going from her to the TV just as Dr. Curtis rears back and slaps her ass, causing my wife to throw her head back, her face contorting in pleasurable pain. My cock doesn’t even twitch as she begins to fuck back into him, her nostrils flaring and her lips snarling, begging for more.
But then the screen goes black and I look up to see Jacqueline holding the remote to her chest, her eyes staring but not seeing as she appears to search her mind.
“What is it, wife? Don’t want to spice up our sex life a little, watch a little porn to get our engines revving? I believe this one is titled ‘Cheating Cunt Gets Fucked Like a Whore by Her Doctor.’” I take a final sip of my scotch, emptying the glass, leaving behind only the ice.
“How…?”
“How… what? Did I get ahold of a tape of you fucking our fertility doctor? The security footage of the clinic just magically appeared. What does it even matter?” I ask, my voice eerily calm.
“Security cameras in an exam room?” she whispers, her lip trembling.
“I think the last thing you should be worried about is the how. You should be much more worried about the repercussions of your actions. We are no longer even, you bitch. We’re over, and there’s nothing you can do or say or hold over me anymore.” I smile wickedly.
“Xan—”
“Nothing!” I roar, and her hesitant step toward me halts as fear fills her eyes. My mind drifts back to the time that same look was shared in this very same room, only it was me who felt such dread.
“What are you doing here?” I bark, seeing Jacqueline sitting on the couch. We’ve been separated for months without a fucking word. Blissful silence. Yet here she sits, legs crossed, her stiletto dangling from her toes and her arms crossed beneath her breasts.
“I know about her,” she says simply, and my eyebrow quirks.
“Know about who, exactly?” I prompt, my gut sinking, but I manage to keep my voice calm.
“I know about your little whore, Xander! Don’t act fucking coy!” she screeches.
My stance widens, and I square my shoulders. “You know nothing.”
She gets to her feet, toeing her heels off as her hands ball into fists. “I may not know who she is, but I know she fucking exists! I found your little trophy collection,” she yells, throwing the wooden box of Lizith’s panties at me, but my reflexes are good with my instincts on high alert, and I catch it before it hits the ground.
“What the fuck does it even matter to you, Jacqueline? We’re separated, remember? You left me for another man,” I remind her, and then it dawns on me and I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh. When I calm, I look her dead in the eyes. “He broke it off, didn’t he? He left your skank ass high and dry. Or did he ride you hard and put you away wet?” I sneer, looking down and then up her body with disgust plain on my face.
Fire flashes in her eyes as she glares at me with pure hatred. “He couldn’t get over his stupid dead wife. Didn’t want to be in a committed relationship.”
“So now you have no one to take care of you, and you came crawling back to me?” I scoff.
“To start. But then I found that.” She gestures at the box in my hands. “And I had just enough time before you got home to do a little digging. A student, Xander? Really? Could you be any more cliché?”
“How—”
“The fucking love note she left you on the fridge, Professor Stine,” she says nasally. “Unfortunately, it’s signed with some stupid nickname. Whoever the fuck your ‘little bird’ is better be glad I don’t know who she is, or her college career would be over!” she yells, wildness entering her features.
“We’re separated, Jac. Again, what does it fucking matter?”
“About that,” she snaps. “This separation is officially over. You’re ending everything with your little whore, or I’m going to take all of this to my father.” She holds up the letter Lizith had left me a few weeks ago. “And what do you think Daddy, the dean of the university you teach at, will have to say about you fucking a student? Your life will be over. You will never be able to find work as a professor ever again. You will be blacklisted, shamed, and humiliated.”
Just then, Lizith’s perfect face flashes through my mind. She’s worth it. Having her would be worth giving up everything—my tenure, my respect, my wealth. Everything.
But what about her? She’s so young, so vibrant, only on the cusp of starting her adult life. She has so much ahead of her, and if this comes out, if all this is made public, it will ruin everything for her.
Suddenly, Jacqueline’s mood swings like a boomerang, and if I wasn’t so numb, it would’ve given me whiplash. Her voice is sugary sweet. “Xander, baby. Let’s just put the last few months behind us. We’re even now. We both got it out of our systems. Let’s be happy together, clean slate. We’ll start over. And…” She shifts her weight from one bare foot to the other but doesn’t continue.
“And?” I prompt, even as my heart is breaking.
“And… I’ll give you that baby you always begged me for.”
Chapter 8
Lizith
Tears leak from the corner of my left eye, over the top of my nose, then mingle with the ones forming in my right as the side of my face presses into my comforter. My entire body aches, having been in this position for at least an hour now. My back hurts with every breath I take, so I try to time them with the movements of my arms. My keeper told me I had to stay on my knees, my naked bottom up in the air, but he didn’t give me specifics on how to position my arms. So I alternate between having them above my head and stretched out behind me.
Every time I believe I can’t stay like this any longer, I remember the hurt in Xander’s eyes, the pain I caused him with my deception. And my resolve to please him regains strength. If this is what it will take to make him come back, then this is what I must do. I will allow myself no other choice.
To pass the time, I think about what could be going on inside my body at the moment. And to distract myself from the pain, I begin to recite the stages of human embryogenesis. “Day one, fertilization. Day two, cleavage. Day three, compaction. Day four, differentiation. Day five, cavitation. Day six, zona hatching. Day seven, implantation. Day nine, cell mass differentiation. Day twelve, bilaminar disc formation. Also day twelve, mesoderm formation. Day eighteen, mesoderm spreading. Day twenty-three, embryonic sack enlargemen—”
“And what stage of development could you be, my broken little bird?”
His deep voice inside my bedroom makes me jolt, but I keep my position, my heart pounding with both excitement and overwhelming love. He came! My keeper truly came!
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, counting the days since I inseminated myself. “Cavitation, Master,” I respond clearly.
“And what does that entail?” he prompts, making my soul soar. How many times had we done this in the past, him quizzing me, rewarding me for correct answers, punishing me when I would be wrong? Sometimes I’d give the incorrect answers, even when I knew the
chapter by heart, just to feel his heavy hand against the raw flesh of my backside.
I smile through my flowing tears, the pain in my body all but forgotten. “After ovulation, the endometrial lining transforms, preparing to accept an embryo. The lining thickens, the secretory glands elongating, and it increases in vascularity. After its transformation, the lining is then known as the decidua. Then it splits into an inner and outer layer. Two days later, the fertilized egg, also known as a blastocyst at this stage, implants in the inner layer, and then the placenta forms around it.”
“Now, tell your Master. Were you in your fertile window when you filled yourself with my seed?” His voice is much closer, and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to absorb him with all my other senses. I hadn’t heard him enter my apartment; I was focused too much on the agony of my immobile position and my recitation.
“I was a few days earlier than my window,” I breathe, “but I took precautions.”
“Precautions? What did you do, little bird?” I feel his heat behind me, my skin prickling at his nearness.
“Clomiphene citrate and gonadotropins.”
“Ah, you cunning little thing. But without blood tests and ultrasounds, there is no way to tell if your attempt at forcing an egg to release early worked. Yet… if my calculations are correct, that means today”—his hand glides over one of my upturned globes, and I could sob I’m so overwhelmed with happiness—“would be your ovulation day.”
“You’re astoundingly accurate, as always, my love.” I barely get out the words before my world spins on its axis as Xander’s steely arms scoop me up before laying me on my back. But I’ve been in that position for so long that I can’t unfold my limbs, the ache almost unbearable, and I can’t hold back the whimper that escapes me, along with a few tears.
