It didn’t take long before the friend’s rhythm again increased and heat radiated from his hands and body. I was concentrating on staying balanced when Stewart’s static-filled plea interrupted the music. “Come on, darling, come for us.”
I couldn’t come if I’d wanted, and I didn’t want. Nevertheless, I’d learned to put on a show. If the friend thought I came, it often accelerated his orgasm. Moans came from my lips as I pushed back against the thrusts. Pretending to give way to my impending release, I fell face first into the pillows and let out a muffled scream. Seconds later, Peppermint Man’s cock throbbed and his weight came crushing down upon me.
With his face near mine, I felt the slight brush of his cheek against mine. Then the bed shifted. I lay unmoving, waiting for my directions. Over the last nine years I’d learned to do more than fake an orgasm. I’d learned to be Stewart’s obedient whore. As I lay waiting for his voice, I envisioned his decaying body. Soon… soon he would be dead. Soon I would be free of this. And then I remembered the will.
Crackling interrupted the music. Why didn’t the music have static? Why was it only there when he spoke? “Roll over, my Tori. Find those spindles, hold on, and spread those legs. Show me your satisfied pussy.” Yeah, right, I thought, as I listened to his familiar command.
My body mindlessly obeyed as I opened my legs and exposed myself to his camera. With this friend satisfied, my thoughts returned to Brody’s call. Stewart had a new draft of his will. What does that mean, a draft? More questions swirled as only music filled my headphones. The soundtrack was all the way to the fourth song when I allowed my concerns to be drowned away by the music. For the first time in years, I listened, really listened to the notes. The songs later in the track weren’t as familiar as the first two songs.
Finally, I heard my husband’s voice. “Our friend is gone, Tori. Come home. Don’t wash, just dress. Nod if you understand.”
It was the same thing he’d said the other day. I’d disobeyed him then; I wanted to do that again. Before he was ill, watching me with his friends made him hard. After his friends were done, he’d usually either fuck me or have me give him a blow job. He’d said that it was his way of reassuring me that even though he enjoyed sharing, I was his wife, his whore. The friends might get to fuck me now and then, but he could have me whenever he wanted. Bile and disgust created a toxic cocktail that threatened to rise from my throat. I pushed it away, squeezed my eyes shut behind the blindfold, and tried to stop those memories.
“Did you hear me?”
Fighting to stay in the present, I nodded.
AS I SETTLED into my warm car, the scent of peppermint and lustful perspiration emanating from my long hair continued to instigate the revolt in my gut. I hated the offending scents; nevertheless, I couldn’t wash my hair. If I had, Stewart would’ve known that I’d showered. It was one thing for Stewart to take me directly after a friend when Stewart was right there in the warehouse, but driving all the way home with Peppermint Man’s scent on my skin was more than I could stomach. After the quick shower, I reapplied the lubricant, confident that my husband wouldn’t know the difference.
Through the depths of my purse, I reached for my phone. My fingers brushed paper-towel-wrapped vials. Val’s doomsday scenarios had me intrigued. The drugs held real potential. I was getting tired of Stewart’s leukemia taking forever to kill him. I guessed that’s what happened when a man as healthy and young as Stewart developed a disease. His body fought. The extra benefit had been his continued suffering. Did I want that to end? I did: not to save him from the pain, but to rid me of his presence—forever.
I also knew that my purse was not the ultimate hiding place for the drugs I’d picked up yesterday at the distribution center. There was too great of a risk of the glass vials breaking. If I used them, I didn’t want it to be done accidentally. I also wasn’t concerned about anyone discovering that they were missing. They’d been accounted for upon arrival to the distribution center, and they’d been accounted for on their way out. Unless there was a case-by-case audit performed at customs, one small tube of each drug would never be missed. Well, not until the cases were opened, and by then, the cases would have gone through too many hands to identify the culprit.
I swiped the screen of my phone. Not surprisingly there was a text from Brody:
“WHERE ARE YOU? I’M WAITING.”
Instead of texting, I hit the CALL button.
He answered on the first ring. “Where are you? Are you all right?”
Blinking my eyes at the harsh early afternoon sun as I pulled out of the private garage into the Miami warmth, I attempted to keep my voice calm. “I’m fine. I can’t make it. I thought I could, but Stewart’s being very demanding. I need to go home.”
“Home? You’re not home?” Brody asked. “Where are you?”
“Out.”
Silence.
“I had to run some errands,” I added.
“Vik, I need to see you. If you’re already out, run the errands over here. I need to explain this.”
“Brody? What did you mean a new draft?”
“It’s not finalized, not yet. Maggie said that Parker had some more research he needed to complete and then he’d go to your place for Stewart’s signature.” His explanation came quick. “There’s more. I just don’t want to do this on the phone.”
I fought the battle of my heart and will. Turning the steering wheel toward the apartment, I sighed. “Tomorrow, I’ll try for tomorrow.”