“This is velvet,” I explain. “Such a delicate fabric. You’re not allowed to touch it.”
“I did pay for that dress,” he manages, his breathing uneven, his voice hoarse.
“And you gave it to me,” I reply smoothly. “You will never be able to take back what you give, not from me. I won’t let you.”
Slowly, with a quiet pageantry, I remove the dress, my bra, my panties. I straddle him, my knees pressing against his hips, but I don’t lower myself onto his lap. Not yet.
“Show me who you are,” I whisper. “Not just the power.”
I see a flicker of something in his eyes, something that looks a lot like fear. But it’s gone in an instant as he jumps to life; grabs me, turns with me in his arms, pressing my back into the firm mattress and diving inside of me with a fierce unrestrained energy. And as always I give in to it completely. I wrap my arms around him, feel him as he reaches further into my depths than any other man ever has.
And then something happens; he moves a lock of hair from my face, looks into my eyes as he moves inside of me. Gently, delicately, he traces the line of my mouth with his fingers. And I see another flash—this time it’s vulnerability, a need that can’t quite be drowned out by this flood of primitive desire. I’m seeing something different here, something I’ve only had glimpses of before. I put my hand on his chest and feel the beat of his turmoil.
It’s only a moment but it’s enough. When he drags my leg over his shoulder and thrusts inside of me, even deeper now, the intensity is off the chart. I’ve seen something I’m sure very few others have seen and the forbidden nature of the reveal has brought our ecstasy to new heights. He bites down on my shoulder as my hips rise to meet him. I smell his sweat, the scent of our mingled desire.
Suddenly he stops and flips me over on my stomach. I spread my legs expectantly but he pulls away. I try to make sense of what’s happening as he gets up and stands at the end of the bed. But there’s no time. In a moment he’s grabbed my thighs in his hands and he’s dragging me down the mattress, toward the edge of the bed until he is standing between my legs, which are now supported by nothing but his hands, with my hips and torso still on the bed. And that’s when he enters me again. I can’t see him, but I can feel every inch of him. With my legs in the air I feel weightless, grounded only by him. His pace is aggressive, as if he can’t get enough of me, and with each thrust the world seems to shake. My fingernails scrape the tangled bedsheets as I try to find something to keep me from floating away in a wave of ecstasy as the second orgasm overtakes me.
But we’re not done. This time it’s my turn to pull away. I turn to him and drag him back down on the bed, climbing on top of him once more. I’m shaky now, still reeling from the heights of passion he’s brought me to, but I manage to regain enough control to reset our rhythm. I throw my head back as I ride him, his hands on my waist. Again, I start to tremble but I only move faster. The orgasm has me in its grips but somehow I keep moving as the fire inside me rages, warming me, making me ache with a unique satisfaction, a special triumph as he joins me in this climax, coming inside me in a tender explosion.
And as I collapse on top of him, my breathing erratic and gasping like a runner who has just finished a sprint, I wonder, what is the true nature of the prize I’ve claimed?
I wonder if I’ll ever know.
CHAPTER 10
THE DAYS BEGIN to take on a certain pulse. I’m getting better and better at my job. Even Mr. Costin’s forced display of respect has taken on a genuine quality. Asha no longer challenges me, at least not with her words, although when I see her, in the hall, in a meeting, driving past me in the garage, I always feel her almond-shaped eyes on me, studying me, calculating, looking for the weak spot where she can sink the blade. I don’t blame her. I had my chance at revenge and I took it. I made her pay. Why should she be different? The only thing that separates us now is opportunity.
Today’s Friday and I’m going over the new accounts coming in, strategizing on how to reach businesses that have yet to reach out to us. The impossible is beginning to feel normal. I don’t stop and stare every time I pass a mirror anymore. I don’t fret over my increasingly frequent little displays of aggression and ruthlessness. It’s all part of the game and the game is part of who I am now.
I’ve been practically living with Robert. Each night he surprises me. Last night he greeted me with a glass of expensive scotch, a reminder of our beginnings. He had prepared a milk bath, like the ones Cleopatra had once indulged in. I had stepped inside, naked, watching as the cream enveloped me, feeling the way it lapped against my skin, between my legs, as Robert had carefully moved a bath mitt over my back, kissed my shoulders, fed me grapes that were such a dark shade of purple they were almost black. I had closed my eyes when he moved to wash my stomach. His hand had moved down my thighs, then up again, back and forth, until he finally, gently, touched my sex, building the ecstasy until the creamy sensuality of the milk and the burst of the grape became perfect analogies to the juices and explosions of my own body.