“You used to be tight.” His eyes gleamed. “I know what’s still tight. We can have some fun with that.”
My heart raced as I leaned farther back, exposing myself completely.
“Move my chair to the edge of the bed, and lean over that mattress. I want to fill that tight hole.”
My feet moved, but just like at the warehouse, my mind went away. When his fingers went inside of me, a hiss left his lips. “What’s wrong with you? Where’s my dripping-wet little whore?”
I wonder? Maybe you don’t turn me on at all?!
When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Go get some lubricant. Damn, you’re dryer than the fucking Sahara.”
No shit, asshole. I would’ve done that earlier if you weren’t such a dick! Of course, I didn’t say that. However, the idea of saying it brought a private smile to my thoughts.
Once he situated me on the bed, he spread the lube, first fingering my slit and then thrusting into the destination he’d sought. “Oh, yes, darling… that’s what I like. No wonder so many of our friends enjoy pushing their dicks inside your ass. You’ve still got it there.”
He thrust his finger in and out. As I was getting used to that, he told me to find him the glass plug. Though it was much thicker and longer than his fingers, the smooth surface combined with the lubricant gave little resistance.
I obeyed, moving appropriately and making the sounds he required. However, the entire time with my eyes closed, I longed for the blindfold of the warehouse, and without the headphones, I had to imagine the Dark Lullaby melody in my head.
Thankfully, his energy was quickly spent. Slapping my ass, he declared, “We’re done with this. Wheel me into the bathroom. You can continue the show in there: a little shower dancing. I can watch as you suds up that pussy.”
Like the good wife, I complied, loathing bubbling beneath the surface and a serene smile on my face. After all that he’d done, having him watch as I showered was truly nothing. As the bathroom filled with humid air, I took my time and embraced the warm, cleansing spray. At least I didn’t have the scent of his come to wash away, only the stench of his impending death.
When I opened the glass door, I found Stewart with his eyes closed, chin on his chest, and slumped in his wheelchair. Though his brow glistened with perspiration, I held out hope as I touched his wrist and prayed.
Fuck! He still had a pulse.
DESPITE WHAT HAD happened upstairs, the lower level of our apartment appeared as it always did: perfect. Being only a little after one, the afternoon haze had not yet settled, allowing the Florida sun to glisten as sparkling waves and crystal-clear sky filled our living room with light.
“Mrs. Harrington?” Travis questioned from behind me as I stood momentarily watching the view.
Without turning, I replied, “Mr. Harrington is asleep. He’s in his suite. The nurses are attending to him.”
“And… you are going?” he asked. As I turned I saw him eying me from head to toe, no doubt trying to assess my plans by my attire.
“Travis, stay here and do what you do. Watch over Stewart. We wouldn’t want him to wake to both of us gone.”
Travis stood taller, appearing the intimidating bodyguard he truly was. “Ma’am, after we were unable to reach you last night, Mr. Harrington asked that from now on I drive you. He would prefer you not to be out alone.”
My lips pressed together as my neck straightened in rebellion. “I can assure you that I’m capable of driving myself. Your services are neither needed nor welcomed.” When Travis started to reply, I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Back the fuck off and remember who’ll be in charge when Stewart’s no longer here.”
Lisa’s voice severed the mounting tension. “Mrs. Harrington?”
Travis and I both turned.
“Yes, Lisa? I’m on my way out.”
“Yes, I wanted to catch you before you left. Your mother called, again. She said that she can’t seem to reach you on your cell, and she desperately needs to speak with you.”
I closed my eyes. I had enough shit to deal with, without adding the great Mrs. Sound to my platter. “Lisa, please inform Mrs. Sound that I’m terribly busy and preoccupied with my husband. I don’t know when I’ll have the opportunity to return her call.”
Travis’ obvious huff at my preoccupation with Stewart received another narrowing gray-eyed glare from me.
“I’ll let her know.” Lisa tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips knowingly. “She doesn’t take rejection well.”
“That’s too bad; she dishes it out like a pro.” Securing my purse, I hit the button on the elevator. “I plan to be back before Mr. Harrington wakes. If I’m not, well, Travis, I know you have my number.”
“And where am I to tell Mr. Harrington that you went?” Travis asked.
“Check my car’s GPS,” I said as the doors closed.
I knew it drove Travis crazy that he couldn’t access my whereabouts with my phone. He’d tried multiple times. Thankfully, money worked both directions. Stewart could afford the means to track me, and I could afford the means to stop it. Continual scans of my number and account by the privacy firm I’d hired stopped any and all GPS apps that mysteriously found their way onto my personal device.
Stewart had told me before we married that he wouldn’t monitor my movements. Whenever he questioned my phone’s GPS, I innocently reminded him of that promise. One time when he pursued the topic, I gave him two options: A—leave my phone alone and I’ll answer it, or B—monitor it and I’ll leave it at home. Grudgingly, he chose A.
My heart raced as I leaned farther back, exposing myself completely.
“Move my chair to the edge of the bed, and lean over that mattress. I want to fill that tight hole.”
My feet moved, but just like at the warehouse, my mind went away. When his fingers went inside of me, a hiss left his lips. “What’s wrong with you? Where’s my dripping-wet little whore?”
I wonder? Maybe you don’t turn me on at all?!
When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Go get some lubricant. Damn, you’re dryer than the fucking Sahara.”
No shit, asshole. I would’ve done that earlier if you weren’t such a dick! Of course, I didn’t say that. However, the idea of saying it brought a private smile to my thoughts.
Once he situated me on the bed, he spread the lube, first fingering my slit and then thrusting into the destination he’d sought. “Oh, yes, darling… that’s what I like. No wonder so many of our friends enjoy pushing their dicks inside your ass. You’ve still got it there.”
He thrust his finger in and out. As I was getting used to that, he told me to find him the glass plug. Though it was much thicker and longer than his fingers, the smooth surface combined with the lubricant gave little resistance.
I obeyed, moving appropriately and making the sounds he required. However, the entire time with my eyes closed, I longed for the blindfold of the warehouse, and without the headphones, I had to imagine the Dark Lullaby melody in my head.
Thankfully, his energy was quickly spent. Slapping my ass, he declared, “We’re done with this. Wheel me into the bathroom. You can continue the show in there: a little shower dancing. I can watch as you suds up that pussy.”
Like the good wife, I complied, loathing bubbling beneath the surface and a serene smile on my face. After all that he’d done, having him watch as I showered was truly nothing. As the bathroom filled with humid air, I took my time and embraced the warm, cleansing spray. At least I didn’t have the scent of his come to wash away, only the stench of his impending death.
When I opened the glass door, I found Stewart with his eyes closed, chin on his chest, and slumped in his wheelchair. Though his brow glistened with perspiration, I held out hope as I touched his wrist and prayed.
Fuck! He still had a pulse.
DESPITE WHAT HAD happened upstairs, the lower level of our apartment appeared as it always did: perfect. Being only a little after one, the afternoon haze had not yet settled, allowing the Florida sun to glisten as sparkling waves and crystal-clear sky filled our living room with light.
“Mrs. Harrington?” Travis questioned from behind me as I stood momentarily watching the view.
Without turning, I replied, “Mr. Harrington is asleep. He’s in his suite. The nurses are attending to him.”
“And… you are going?” he asked. As I turned I saw him eying me from head to toe, no doubt trying to assess my plans by my attire.
“Travis, stay here and do what you do. Watch over Stewart. We wouldn’t want him to wake to both of us gone.”
Travis stood taller, appearing the intimidating bodyguard he truly was. “Ma’am, after we were unable to reach you last night, Mr. Harrington asked that from now on I drive you. He would prefer you not to be out alone.”
My lips pressed together as my neck straightened in rebellion. “I can assure you that I’m capable of driving myself. Your services are neither needed nor welcomed.” When Travis started to reply, I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Back the fuck off and remember who’ll be in charge when Stewart’s no longer here.”
Lisa’s voice severed the mounting tension. “Mrs. Harrington?”
Travis and I both turned.
“Yes, Lisa? I’m on my way out.”
“Yes, I wanted to catch you before you left. Your mother called, again. She said that she can’t seem to reach you on your cell, and she desperately needs to speak with you.”
I closed my eyes. I had enough shit to deal with, without adding the great Mrs. Sound to my platter. “Lisa, please inform Mrs. Sound that I’m terribly busy and preoccupied with my husband. I don’t know when I’ll have the opportunity to return her call.”
Travis’ obvious huff at my preoccupation with Stewart received another narrowing gray-eyed glare from me.
“I’ll let her know.” Lisa tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips knowingly. “She doesn’t take rejection well.”
“That’s too bad; she dishes it out like a pro.” Securing my purse, I hit the button on the elevator. “I plan to be back before Mr. Harrington wakes. If I’m not, well, Travis, I know you have my number.”
“And where am I to tell Mr. Harrington that you went?” Travis asked.
“Check my car’s GPS,” I said as the doors closed.
I knew it drove Travis crazy that he couldn’t access my whereabouts with my phone. He’d tried multiple times. Thankfully, money worked both directions. Stewart could afford the means to track me, and I could afford the means to stop it. Continual scans of my number and account by the privacy firm I’d hired stopped any and all GPS apps that mysteriously found their way onto my personal device.
Stewart had told me before we married that he wouldn’t monitor my movements. Whenever he questioned my phone’s GPS, I innocently reminded him of that promise. One time when he pursued the topic, I gave him two options: A—leave my phone alone and I’ll answer it, or B—monitor it and I’ll leave it at home. Grudgingly, he chose A.
