Madame X - Wilder Jasinda - Страница 5

And then it’s over, and I’m turned to lie on my back, gasping, and whispers bathe over me. “So good, X. So beautiful.” A finger to my chin, lifting my gaze. “Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely, at least.

Physically, I am rocked to trembling. Physically, aftershocks still seize me and touch makes me shiver and I am breathless. Physically, yes, I enjoyed it. I cannot help but enjoy it.

Yet . . . there is a space within me, a deep, deep, deep well where truths I do not even dare think live hidden and always buried. Down there, where those truths reside, I know I crave . . . absolution, freedom, a breath taken in privacy, a word spoken without ulterior motive.

But I cannot let those thoughts bubble up. Cannot, and do not. I am a master of self-control, after all. I could hold off orgasm indefinitely. I could go without breathing until told to breathe or pass out. I could remain sitting motionless for hours, until told to move. I know I can do these things, because I have. I learned total control in the harshest of schools.

And so it is child’s play to let my body drape loosely in the guise of intimacy on a hard, taut, muscular body until a chime from discarded slacks demands attention.

“I have to take this.” A pause, a breath, a tap of finger on a cell phone screen. “This is Caleb. Yes. Yes. Sure, give me twenty minutes. Of course. No, don’t let him in until I get there.”

A kiss to my temple, a finger tracing my body from shoulder to hip to foot. “I have to go.”

“All right.” I don’t ask when to expect a return, because I don’t want to know, and because I wouldn’t get an answer.

“Will you miss me?”

“Of course.” This is a lie, and we both know it.

“Good. Your next client is in two hours, so you have time to shower, dress, and prepare. His name is William Colin Drake, and he’s the heir to a technology development company worth fifty billion. Usual terms and conditions apply. The file on William will arrive in the usual manner.”

“Should I expect as much trouble with William as with Jonathan?”

A quirk of a smile, amusement. “No, I should think not. William is a much different animal, from what I’ve observed.” A pause, and a speculative glance at me. “But, X?”

“Yes, Caleb?”

“Watch yourself with William. He’s got a mean streak.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“He needs to learn to control it, so you’ll have to draw it out of him and make him aware of it. But be careful.”

Draw out his mean streak. Poke a snake, prod a sleeping bear. Risk injury. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. Hopefully I won’t need medical attention like I did last time. That’s not covered in the contract, of course, but it’s understood: Never, ever harm the property of Caleb Indigo; it’s just not smart business.

When the door closes behind a broad, suit-swathed back, I shower the sex-stink off. I scrub harder and longer than I have to and fight the boil of forbidden emotions. When my skin is rubbed raw, I force myself out of the shower and dress, apply makeup, remake the bed, prepare tea.

And then I seat myself on the couch and breathe, compose myself, push down the vulnerability, put away the fear and the desire. Once again, I am Madame X.

•   •   •

I spare a single, momentary glance at the small dark dot in the ceiling, hidden in a corner, and let my eyes betray me. I imagine I see a red dot within the black depths of the camera, and I imagine I can see all the way along the trail of electrons and through the monitor to the faces on the other side.

I imagine, but that is all I can do.

There is a decisive rap on the door, and I rise, breathe out slowly, lift my chin, smooth my dress over my hips, and wiggle my foot in my shoe, breathe, breathe, let the moment linger.

And then I open the door, and I welcome you.

You are handsome, but not beautiful. You hold yourself with dignity, and your gaze betrays arrogance. And yes, as I meet your narrow gray gaze, I see ugliness, a propensity for cruelty, a viciousness.

“I see they didn’t exaggerate how hot you are,” you say.

I ignore your remark, and gesture to my couch. “William, welcome. Thank you for coming. Have a seat, please. Would you like some tea?”

You eye the decanter. “Scotch would be better.” And then you sink down on the couch, cross your ankle over your knee, and wait to be served, and your eyes follow me hungrily. I hand you the tumbler, three ice cubes, a finger of scotch. “I read the contract, and I have to say it wasn’t what I was expecting. Neither are you.”

I hand you the contract, and you read it yet again, and then you sign it, and so do I. “What were you expecting, William?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting item three, that’s for sure. I signed it, so I’ll abide by the rules, but I’m disappointed, Madame X. I’d love to get you out of that dress.” Your eyes peruse me, take their time cataloging and critiquing my body.

“I’m sure you would, William.”

“Call me Will, please.” You sip with casual elegance.

“All right then, Will. Tell me, what do you hope to get out of our sessions together?”

“I have a better question.” You lean forward, lift the contract as if about to rip it. “What do you say we tear this puppy apart and get to the good stuff? We can always sign it again later.”

I must still smell faintly of sex, despite how ruthlessly I scrubbed: Your nostrils flare, and you inhale, lean closer, let your shoulder touch mine. I take the contract from you, gently but firmly, set it on the coffee table, and slide it away from you.

“I think not, William.” I stand, take the tumbler from you. You don’t protest, but your eyes harden. “You signed it, and you are legally bound by it now. If you do not wish to continue, you may petition to have the contract absolved. If not, then I must insist you keep any further such comments to yourself, as they are neither allowed nor desired.”

You stand up, and you are right in front of me. Your eyes are hard, deep, and swirling with potent venom. “Oh, I think you lie, Madame X. I think they are desired. But . . . I signed the contract, and I’m a man of my word.” You resume your seat on the couch and cross your ankles and grin at me. “So. Teach me. I’m ready to learn.”

I walk away from the nugget of truth in your words, breathe slowly, and then turn to you, let my razor-sharp gaze rake over you, let the silence expand. You don’t shift, but you begin to show signs of discomfort.

“Tell me, William. What is your deepest, darkest secret?”

You are the one to let the silence breathe, this time, and your eyes pierce, and burn. “I’m not sure you really want to know, Madame X.”

“Oh, but I do, William. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” I take two steps closer to you. “You don’t really think you can shock me, do you?”

You swallow, and blink, and then you let a smile curl your lips. “Fine, but you asked for it. And . . . this is covered under the contract, yes? You can’t talk about this to anyone?”

“I cannot, and I would not.” I don’t tell you about the cameras, or the microphones.

“I like it . . . rough,” you say. “And I like them . . . unwilling.” You eye me, as if to assess the effect of your words.

I nod. “Go on.”

And you do go on, in ever more graphic detail.

I’ve never been so glad of the third stipulation as I am now.

TWO

I wake abruptly; I am not alone.

Expensive cologne, just a hint of it in the air. There are other scents layered beneath the cologne, but they are too faint for me to identify. My bedroom is blackout dark, so there is nothing to see but shadows within shadows. My noise machine shushes, the soothing, gentle crash of waves on a shore.