by Kitty Thomas
She released the door knob. “What? Why?” She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been away. “What will I do with my access to the accounts frozen?”
“I’ll have groceries delivered. If you need anything else before I return, you can call me.”
“Are you having an affair?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she’d realized they’d entered her brain.
He laughed. Not just a chuckle, or a derisive snort, but a full-on laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“I can’t believe you’d care if I was.”
“So are you?” He hadn’t tried to touch her since the last time. The morning sex.
“You’re the only one I want, Vivi. And God help me for that.” His eyes softened, and for a moment she thought he’d sweep her into a kiss. Instead, he took another step back. “I’m going to pack. Clean up that mess in the dining room.”
She watched wordlessly as he turned and left her leaning against the basement door.
When Vivian had picked up the shattered china, used a carpet cleaner on the rug, vacuumed, and otherwise done what she would have after a normal dinner, she climbed the stairs to find Michael already asleep. His body sprawled across the bed as if he were sleeping off a hangover. His bags were packed and lined neatly next to the door.
Had they reversed roles? Was he the one now avoiding sex with her? Every scenario that played out in her mind revealed the same stark result. He had to know. But he couldn’t know the truth of it. He had to think she was cheating on him. But how? What had she done to give it away? And why wasn’t he confronting her or throwing her out of the house?
She’d thought she’d been discreet, except for the checks she’d written for the same amount every Tuesday and Thursday. Five checks. Over a thousand dollars paid to Anton to massage her in ways that weren’t on offer at the average spa.
Or maybe he didn’t suspect her. Maybe he was busy with his own affair. Perhaps all his time had been tied up in keeping secrets of his own. It was possible he didn’t notice how disheveled she was when he came home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, how she went to extra trouble with dinner on those days, as if offering apologies for something that wasn’t her fault to begin with.
But he ate the meals, grunted his approval, ran his fingers through her hair in something like affection, and then went back to work on some mysterious business activity on his laptop. He was shutting her out.
Was this what he’d felt with her while she’d pushed him to the corners of her emotional landscape for the past two years, trying to avoid intimacy because sex had lost its appeal?
Her libido was back now with a vengeance, but she didn’t know the first thing about how to seduce her own husband. Would he even want her after all her rebuffs? All her dead fish acts, as she’d tried to make the sex act as unappealing to him as possible so he’d leave her the fuck alone . . . and fuck someone else?
Now that she had her wish, she found it far less satisfying than it had been in her mind when she’d fantasized about the peace she could have if he’d just leave her alone.
Vivian slipped into bed next to her husband. His hand curled possessively around her waist.
“Michael?” she whispered.
A soft snore answered her. He’d reached out for her in sleep. At least subconsciously he still wanted her. She ached to slip her hand between her legs, but she was afraid he’d wake up.
A few weeks ago, him waking to find his wife rubbing one off in their bed would have sent him into a manic frenzy, stripping off his boxers and taking advantage of the wet, waiting pussy. Now, with his behavior toward her shifting, she was too afraid of rejection, too afraid to open the Pandora’s box that would reveal the sordid truth behind that $1,125 she’d spent.
She lay still in the silence of the house, listening to the clock on the wall, allowing the gentle tick to lull her to sleep as she snuggled in closer to his body.
It seemed only a few seconds had passed when morning came. Vivian squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through the window. She stretched her arm to the other side of the bed, knowing it would be empty and that the heat from his body would be long gone.
Vivian crossed to the window and closed the heavy, dark drapes, casting the room in shadow. She flopped back on the bed and slid her hand between her legs, Michael’s face the only one she could see.
6
Vivian stood in front of Dome, her dark glasses blocking out the sun as well as the emotion in her eyes. She’d dressed as if it were an ordinary session with Anton. Garters, heels, barely legal skirt length. He would only see the outfit for a few moments before she peeled it off behind the screen, and yet something in his imposing manner made her feel compelled to dress for him.
It was three thirty exactly. She’d given herself no time to wait. With a fortifying breath, she pushed the glass door open, entering the lush bubble of sin without a backward glance.
Janette smiled from behind the counter. “Hi, Mrs. Delaney, you’re later than usual.” She looked prepared to take her check, but Vivian shook her head.
“I’m afraid I can’t keep my appointment today . . .”
Janette cut her off. “We require a forty-eight hour notice for cancellations or we have to charge you anyway.”
“An emergency came up. I need to speak with Anton.”
The receptionist eyed her, as if trying to assess whether the emergency line was honest. Then she nodded, at once emanating calm professionalism. She
lifted the phone, pressed a couple of buttons, and spoke hushed words into the receiver.
When she hung up, she waved toward the massage suites. “You can go on back. He’ll see you now.”
“Thank you.” Vivian felt her stomach seize up with every step toward that room, not knowing what he would do in light of her breaking their very illegal contract. She hadn’t felt this afraid since her first visit, after knowing what would happen to her behind that thick, solid door.
“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. The 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.
