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.