He stopped touching her, and she looked up to find him watching, waiting for her to say it. A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Please, Anton. Make me come.”
A feral grin lit his face, and his fingers went back to work. Massaging, teasing, then finally plunging inside. As he penetrated her, his thumb caressed her swollen clit. Vivian’s breath came faster as her body lurched and spiraled out of control. He finger-fucked her harder as she convulsed around him.
Anton retreated to the sink while she sat up and tried to cover her nakedness. She couldn’t believe she’d let him . . . Well, let wasn’t the right word. Was it?
“You may get dressed now.”
She scurried behind the oriental screen flushed with embarrassment, both at what she’d just submitted to and the casual way he dismissed her now.
“You may require these.” His hand, the hand whose digits had just been inside her, draped a pair of red lace panties over the panel.
She grabbed them and dressed quickly, trying not to think too hard about what had just happened. When she came around the screen he was leaning against the massage table.
Vivian smoothed her skirt down for the millionth time that day. “Are you going to let me go?”
“For now.”
What did he mean for now? As if he had any power to bring her back here. I’ll never let him do this again. The thought felt like a lie in her mind. Already her pussy ached from the absence of his fingers. Already she wanted to buck her hips at him in a vulgar invitation for more. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“You will make an appointment to see me every Tuesday and Thursday at three thirty. Do you understand?”
Her startled eyes rose to his. “I most certainly will not.”
“That is your choice, of course. But if you don’t, I will be sending your husband a carefully-edited version of this.” He clicked a button, and the flat screen television switched from the spa information to a recording of her begging Anton to let her come.
She looked quickly around the room, searching for the hidden camera that had captured everything.
“Turn it off,” she said, unable to stand watching her own desperation on replay.
“So then, I’ll see you Tuesday?”
“Yes.” If he edited the video, she’d never be able to make Michael understand what had happened and why it didn’t look like rape on the screen.
Vivian walked three blocks before hailing a cab, not wanting to get in the back seat of someone’s car while she could still feel the wetness between her thighs.
Michael’s voice carried from the kitchen when she got home. “How was the therapist appointment?”
She dropped her purse on the kitchen island. “The doctor made me uncomfortable.”
Michael looked up from his financial papers, concern in his eyes. “Really? Why did she . . . ”
“He.”
“Excuse me?”
“The doctor was male.”
“Oh.”
“Didn’t you know the doctor was a man?”#p#分页标题#e#
Michael shrugged. “It never occurred to me. A friend at the club gave me the card. The doctor’s name was Lindsay, and the cards were lavender. Kind of girlie. I just assumed.” He laid the papers on the table, his eyes narrowing. “Did he come on to you?”
Vivian looked away as she felt her flesh heating again. “No. I just wasn’t comfortable.” She wasn’t about to tell him about Dome and Anton.
“We’ll find you another doctor,” he said as if everything were settled.
Vivian crossed her arms over her chest. “No we won’t. I did your thing. I tried it. I’m not going to therapy because you want sex. Get a mistress like a normal man, and leave me the fuck alone.”
He arched a brow, his expression darkening. “I don’t want a mistress. I want you.”
“Well, you can’t have me. I’m not your sex toy that you can just take off the shelf whenever it suits you.”
His chair scraped out, and he advanced on her. “Do not try my patience, Vivi.”
She stared him down, unwilling to let him win again. “Don’t bully me, Michael.”
He looked for a moment as if he would do something rash. Backhand her, maybe. Or perhaps lift her skirt and bend her over the kitchen island to take what he wanted. Like Anton had. She held her breath, half-hoping he would.
“I’m going to the gym,” he said, instead.
When Michael had gone, Vivian went to take a bath in the downstairs tub. She lathered and scrubbed her skin raw, trying to erase what she’d done. No, what Anton had done. She was the victim, here.
But even as she thought it, she wasn’t sure she believed it. Was she reframing this so she didn’t have to feel guilty for what might be classed an affair of sorts? No, he’d planned to do what he’d done with or without her consent. He’d shown her how her avenues of escape had been shut down. Her consent didn’t matter.
Was she trying to scrub his violation off, or her own internal submission to the way he’d played her nerve endings like a well-tuned instrument? She absently turned on the jets and found herself sliding down, twisting her body until the pulsing water vibrated against her clit.
Gripping the side of the tub, she pressed herself harder against the stream. Her mind drifted to Anton’s hands inside the most private parts of her, fanning the flame of a desire she couldn’t remember feeling before. Her breathing sped faster as she came, then sagged against the tub, waiting for the pounding in her chest to slow.
She jumped when she heard the front door and fumbled to turn off the jets, trying to get her breathing to appear normal, trying not to look like a woman who’d had her second great orgasm of the day.
The bathroom door burst open, and she threw a towel over herself. Michael looked annoyed by the display of modesty but didn’t comment.
“Have you seen my cell phone? I thought I had it with me.”
“Why do you need your phone for the gym?”
He rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him. A few minutes later, the front door slammed again, the car started, and she was alone.
As she climbed out of the tub, her legs trembled from the adrenaline surge of almost getting caught.
When Michael returned, his mood had shifted. Vivian had the momentary fear he’d taken her up on her casual challenge to take a lover, that maybe he already had one.
He kissed her cheek. “Get dressed. The little black number with the slit up the side. I’m taking you to that Japanese steakhouse you like.”
Vivian took a physical step back. Things had been strained between them for months, and now he was acting like he had at the start of their relationship.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Can’t I take my wife out? You’re right. You aren’t my slave. I bring in very healthy money, and we don’t get to spend a lot of time together doing couple things like we used to.”
She was sure her face still held the wary expression. Who was this and what had he done with grumpy, sexually-frustrated Michael? Was it a ploy for sex? She wouldn’t do therapy, so maybe he could seduce her by dating her?
Even if that was his aim, she wasn’t sure why she should be angry about it. It just felt so mercenary and plotted-out. She’d seen glimpses of her husband in his business dealings. He was a manipulative shark, always knowing exactly how to play on the right emotion to lead his opponent down the path he wanted them on.
The trait had seemed sexy at first, but over the years her trust in him had diminished as she saw just how well he played the game of good cop/bad cop. Could she trust anything from him? Any declaration of love? Any gentle caress? The dinner-date-your-wife scheme was a tactic on the same level of what he played in business dealings.#p#分页标题#e#
She plastered the good wife smile on her face and decided to go along with it. Fighting him wouldn’t do any good. If he was willing to be pleasant, for however long it lasted, she would accept the reprieve. And she did like the Japanese steakhouse.
An hour later she was dressed as he’d asked, with her hair in a dramatic upsweep. Her manicure was still fresh from the day before, and the striking red of her nails added an extra touch of sophistication. Michael stepped out from his walk-in closet, dressed sharply in Armani, his cologne wafting to Vivian’s nose.
The man knew how to wear just the right amount. On the first inhalation, one wasn’t sure if it was cologne, a special soap, or if he just naturally emitted such a pleasant aroma. Unlike many, he didn’t take a bath it in. He used the smallest amount and let it blend with his natural, male scent.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Stop, she thought. She couldn’t let herself love him again. Too much had come between them. She couldn’t feel safe sharing the deepest parts of herself with this man.
It didn’t help that she couldn’t shake the belief, irrational or not, that he continued to stay with her as a financial decision to avoid losing money in a divorce or out of social obligation to a woman who’d never learned to fend for herself.
His hand cupped her elbow as he steered her toward the door. It was a possessive move, akin to how a man might place his hand on the small of a woman’s back, while leading her through a crowded venue. A bolt of something she could barely remember shot through her at his touch, and she was simultaneously assaulted with sense memory of Anton’s hands on her earlier that afternoon.