Fuck. What’s wrong with me? He could have thrown her down on the ground right then and taken her from behind like an animal, and she would have orgasmed, maybe even before his pants hit the floor.
Her breath came out in shallow pants, her cheeks flushed from running. “Why is the door locked?”
He arched a brow. “I keep important business files down there.”
“Since when?”
“Awhile.” The word ground out between his teeth. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t know she was trying to distract herself from the aching throb that had settled between her legs, making her overwhelmingly conscious of his maleness.
Anton had ignited something in her, awakened a beast that had been in slumber. Her libido had never been like this. She’d never been this desperate for release. She’d never wanted Michael more.
“What the hell has gotten into you lately, Vivi? You’re not yourself.”
She looked away, unable to take that penetrating stare any longer. He knew her far too well to maintain a secret of this magnitude for long.
She shrugged.
“It stops now.”
A part of her snapped free, and she ached for something she couldn’t put a name to, something she had no context to understand. She felt her body flushing, her breath coming in huge, heaving gasps as she tried to get control of herself. One hand still gripped the door handle, while the other clenched and unclenched at her side. It took every ounce of willpower not to launch herself at him and provoke him further.
Provoke him to what? God, what the fuck is wrong with me? she asked herself again. Yet the answer didn’t come.
Michael stepped back, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. “I’m leaving in the morning on a business trip. I’ll be gone two weeks.”
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