“I did, yes.”
She was speechless for a moment, not quite able to believe he’d admitted to sending her willingly to a spa to be molested. “Why would you do that to me?”
He took her arm and eased her into a corner. His large hand slid along her thigh, moving beneath the slit of her dress. “Anton lets me sample some of his ladies in exchange for sending them to him. Though normally I don’t get to sample quite this soon in the process.”
For the second time that day she felt the wetness soak through her panties as the doctor’s lips grazed the side of her neck.
“Too soon in what process?”
He chuckled against her throat. “You’ll find out soon enough, my dear.”
She pushed against his chest, and was shocked when he voluntarily backed off. “Are you even a real doctor?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She tried to move past him, but his broad body blocked her exit. “I’ll tell Michael what you’ve both done.”
“No you won’t. You’ll lose him, and you know it. Your credibility will never be higher than mine, and Anton’s when he shows your husband the video.”
Lindsay pressed her against the wall and left a soft, lingering kiss on her neck. Vivian felt her pulse pounding at his lips. She shuddered and struggled to get away. The doctor’s hand moved underneath her dress, his fingers brushing against the wetness of her panties.
“Let me go,” she said.
“It doesn’t feel to me like you want that. You’re such a responsive little thing. Why couldn’t you respond this way for your husband?” His words held no accusation, only curiosity.
Vivian squeezed her eyes shut and looked away as his hand began to grind against her heat. She was horrified to find her hips betraying her to press harder against him.
His mouth moved close to her ear. “Is it the danger you love? Is it strangers, the thrill of someone you don’t know running his hands all over you? Perhaps you just need variety. The newness, the excitement.”
She whimpered, her eyes meeting his, pleading with him to stop because she didn’t trust her voice, or how it would sound coming out of her throat just then.
He considered her for a moment, then shook his head. “No, that’s not it either. You like being under someone else’s control. You get off being dominated like a bitch in heat.”
Though his words were cruel, his tone was soft, soothing, nonjudgmental. Her eyes widened at that, not sure what to make of him. Not sure why she didn’t scream, or try harder to get free.
“Yours is a token struggle, isn’t it?”
She looked away again, unable to bear the perception in his gaze, wondering how many others like her he’d done this with, and why the idea excited her so much.
“Just let me go. Please. I can’t . . . I can’t take this.”
“If you can tell me honestly that you don’t like what I’m doing to you right now, I’ll stop.”
A finger slipped beneath the satin fabric of her panties to touch the yielding, soft flesh and incredible wetness. She flushed.
“Tell me something, Vivian.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his at the use of her first name.
“If you were single, would you struggle?”
“Yes.” She would struggle. Because if not for Michael and the idea that she couldn’t just give in sexually to other men, she would have to struggle to avoid dealing with what could be wrong with her to be so turned on by this. Two attractive males touching her against her will, making her wet. Making her writhe for them.
Hadn’t she felt the same way when Michael had let that thread of menace seep out with her?
“What’s wrong with me?” Fresh tears ran down her cheeks, dripping onto her dress.
“Nothing. You’re perfect. Just let yourself feel.”
“What you’re doing is wrong. What I’m feeling is wrong. It’s just . . . it’s so fucked up.”
“Shhhh” His fingers had found the opening of her pussy and started to pump in and out of her in a rhythm far too pleasurable for the situation.
“Michael will come looking for me. He’ll think I’m cheating.”
“And aren’t you?”
“No, of course not! I didn’t ask for this. You won’t let me go.”
He took her to the edge of her orgasm, then withdrew his fingers and stepped back. There was enough space for her to maneuver past him, if he didn’t step forward again to block her path.
“Do you want to go or do you want me to make you come, Vivian?”
Her voice was thready, barely above a whisper. “I want to go.”
“You’re such a little liar.” He sucked her juices off his fingers, then turned and walked out of the coat room, leaving her shaking and unsatisfied against the wall.
4
Vivian sat silent in the car, not wanting to stir Michael up again. He’d noted how pale she was on her return from the bathroom and rushed them through dinner. He glanced over as he drove, a look of concern on his face.
She sighed. “Michael, I told you, I’m fine.”
Uncertainty shone out from his eyes, but he turned his attention back to the road. “If you felt ill, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have made you go out.”
“You didn’t make me go out. I wanted to go out. I’m fine.”
Shame swamped her as she thought about the coat room and the doctor. Maybe he wasn’t even a doctor. He hadn’t answered her question in the affirmative.
Maybe Dr. Lindsay Smith was a woman, and that man had merely taken over her office. Maybe she only kept office hours Monday through Thursday. The lavender cards and walls, the orchids, the name. Didn’t that all scream female?
The feeling between her legs intensified. All she wanted right now was an orgasm. Her eyes shifted to her husband.
On top of violating her, the doctor had gotten her revved up without satisfaction. She should have been
more upset that he’d touched her but found she was upset he’d stopped. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Michael was right. She needed a therapist. She needed to be doped up on something that would bring her back around to something resembling sane. She couldn’t enjoy sex with her own husband. Yet two handsome strangers had their hands on her in the space of a day, and like some writhing whore, she wanted to come.
She stared out the window as the lights of the city flitted past, thankful her husband had gone silent so she could think. Michael had been her first. Her only.
Did she resent him for that? Was she upset she hadn’t had more experience, more lovers? Was she punishing him?
She began setting up columns in her brain. One column was labeled: violated, the other: willing participant. Under the violated column she considered Anton had intended to touch her with or without her capitulation. And he’d locked her in with him. He’d blackmailed her. There was nothing about the exchange that said consent.
And yet, hadn’t he freed her to do something she might have done otherwise? In another set of circumstances? If she’d had another life? The thought made bile rise in her throat. Why was she reframing this? Was it self-preservation? What he’d done was wrong. Pure, and simple. There was no gray about it.