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Maybe that’s why David lives in that mansion,I think suddenly, as I peruse the menu.Maybe he wants something different from what he’s used to. I reject the idea almost as soon as I think of it—I don’t want to excuse him living there, or get used to it. I hate the old, crumbling house—I have since the moment I walked into it. And I definitely don’t want to spend the rest of my life there.
I look longingly at the list of margaritas, and when the server comes back, I order the thing on the menu that seems the most familiar—street tacos with shredded chicken and some sort of sauce that I’m unsure of. The only tacos I’ve ever had have been deconstructed, some kind of upscale fusion dish, and I wonder if I’ll like these.
What if I could talk David into moving back to Boston?I dip a chip into the salsa, surprised by how much I like it, and consider. He seems to tolerate his family, and surely, his father would prefer having him close by to help with their businesses. And once David is sure that the baby is his, his mother might want her grandchild closer. As much as I dislike his mother—and the idea of having her in such proximity—I’d rather live in a newer, more modern home close by her than isolated in the cold and dreary mansion out here.
There’s the possibility that, once he knows I’m telling the truth about the pregnancy, he’ll be warmer with me. More agreeable, at least. And surely, it makes his life easier if his wife is happy.
I demolish half the basket of chips before I realize I’ve gone through them, and I’m startled to also realize that my stomach doesn’t seem to be rebelling so far. Whether the worst of my pregnancy nausea has passed, or whether it’s the sun and fresh salt air, I think I might actually be able to keep a full meal down.
When I take my first bite of taco—better than any deconstructed one I’ve ever been served—and swallow it without incident, I decide that this might be one of the best days I’ve had in a while.
It starts to give me hope that maybe, things won’t always be as bad as they’ve felt since my wedding.
Maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to feel like my life is over.
—
The hope lingers into the evening when I get back to the mansion with my few purchases from the day. I can’t bring myself to think of the place ashome, but I feel a little less despondent than I did when I snuck out this morning. I slip in the back door the same way I slipped out, and no one seems to notice or say anything to me.
It seems like I got away with my small rebellion, and that makes me feel a little happier, too.
I sit down in the half-finished dining room with a takeout Wagyu burger that I got from a bistro before leaving—this one fancier than my lunch, with tomato jam, caramelized onion, garlic aioli, and arugula. I managed to keep my lunch down, which made me both brave and ravenous—I can’t remember the last time I was able to eat anything other than the blandest food without feeling sick. I nibble at the burger and accompanying sweet potato fries, once again feeling victorious when I don’t feel as if it’s going to come back up, and decide to go upstairs for a bath after. The silence of the house feels more relaxing now instead of frightening, and I haven’t thought of the attic or any of my worries about this place or my marriage all day.
By the time I go to bed, sleepy and relaxed from the bath, I almost miss David a little. With him gone, my mind keeps drifting back to the way he was in Ibiza—demanding and a little controlling, yes, but also passionate and attentive. I shrug off the robe that I’d tossed on after my bath, feeling daring as I slide into bed atop the covers and let my hand trail downwards.
The thought of Ibiza, and David, already has me wet. I can feel it, sticky between my folds even before I slip my fingers between my legs, and I moan softly as my fingertips graze over my clit. Being alone in an essentially empty house makes me feel bold, and I spread my legs wider, imagining that I’m back in Ibiza, in that penthouse suite where David brought me after rescuing me in the restaurant. I close my eyes, arching my back, spreading myself open as I imagine him standing at the foot of the bed, urging me on.
He’d be half-dressed still, his shirt unbuttoned and open to reveal his muscled chest inked with tattoos and dusted with dark hair, his pants undone, and his fist around his cock. I moan again, soft and breathy at the thought of it—at the thought of his cock, thick and long and hard, and how perfect it feels inside of me. I’d been spoiled, having him as my first. I can’t imagine that any other cock would ever feel as good.
Good girl.I can imagine him groaning that as he strokes himself slowly, without any hurry, enjoying the show. I can imagine him telling me to spread myself wider, to let him look at me, and I fold my knees to either side, a fresh wave of arousal soaking my fingers as I imagine him standing there. He’d be able to see every wet, swollen bit of flesh between my thighs. I rub my finger lewdly over my slick clit, rolling it back and forth until I can feel how swollen it is, how visible.
I can imagine opening my eyes, seeing his hand tighten around his cock, his eyes dark with lust.Rub that sweet, wet pussy for me,he’d murmur, his thumb sliding over his wet cockhead, letting me see how much he wants me, too. His cock would be dripping with pre-cum, slick and wet for me, his jaw tight with the effort of not climbing onto the bed and fucking me. The restraint of waiting, and enjoying the show.
I never would have thought I was such an exhibitionist, but I’ve never come harder in my life than I did when he had me pressed up against that glass window. I have no idea if anyone really was watching or not, if there was some other man stroking his cock to the sight of my naked body pressed to the glass, my arousal streaked across it as David rubbed my pussy. It doesn’t matter, really—one way or another, the thought made me come. Just like imagining David watching me now is on the verge of making me come faster than I want to.
“I want your cock.” I breathe the words aloud, startling myself with them, with theyearningin them. I slide my other hand down, slipping two fingers into my aching pussy, but it’s not enough. I need more. I need to feel David inside of me.
Fuck.I’m so close, but I don’t want to come like this. It won’t be enough. I pull my hands away with some effort, rolling off of the bed and walking naked across the room to dig through one of the boxes I tucked away in the closet, hoping David wouldn’t care enough to look. The last thing I wanted was to endure his teasing—or his irritation—if he came across my sex toys. He’s already having enough trouble believing I was a virgin.
Butthatman isn’t the one I’m fantasizing about. All I can think about is the version of David that I met in Ibiza. That version is so different from the man I married that it almost feels like I’m cheating on my husband. It’s enough to almost make me feel as if I’m imagining another man’s cock in me altogether when I slip a dildo I purchased after coming back from Ibiza out of the box, walking quickly back to the bed. I managed to get it by shipping it to Claire’s house and having her bring the box to me at school, and now I’m glad I did.
I start to lie back again, but then I bite my lip as a different, wicked thought fills my head. I roll over onto my stomach, pushing my hips up and back into the air, just the way he likes to fuck me so often. Except this time, I’m imagining that he’s watching. Stroking his cock as he watches me slide the thick dildo into myself, almost as thick as David, stretching me wide as my fingers quickly find my throbbing clit again.
This makes it easy to imagine I’m in Ibiza again, back in that licentious, warm place where I could be anyone I wanted, do anything I wanted, and not feel any shame about it. I imagine David groaning as he watches me, promising to come all over my ass, urging me on as I fuck myself with the dildo.You’re imagining it’s me, aren’t you? he growls from behind me, the hard slap of his fist against his cock echoing the wet, slutty sound of my toy sliding in and out of my pussy. I feel myself clench around it, imagining seeing his cock stiffen in his fist as he watches, all of my taut, soaked flesh aching for him as I frantically rub my clit, suddenly desperate to come.
I wish it was him. I want it to be him, his cock that I come all over when my entire body tenses, my back arching, my scream of pleasure muffled by the pillow. My legs splay wide, my hips thrusting as I shove backward onto the toy, fingers still rolling over my clit as I try to wring every last drop of sensation from the orgasm that I can. I feel my arousal gush over the toy, and I imagine David coming on my ass, the hot splash of his cum on my skin as he groans out my name, some of it dripping down onto my fingers and pussy. I imagine it coating the toy, pushing it inside of me as I thrust once, twice more, another helpless moan slipping from my lips as a flutter of aftershocks course through my body.
Breathless, I slump down on the bed, slipping the toy free and dropping it to one side as I collapse against the pillows. I feel my face flush with a moment’s embarrassment—I’m used to pleasuring myself quietly, under my covers late at night, careful that no one can hear me. I’ve never done anything like this before—but I tell myself it doesn’t matter. There was no one here to see, no one to judge me. No one will ever know about it except me.
I get up, weak-kneed, to clean the toy off and carefully hide it away again. I slip back into bed naked, enjoying the feeling of the luxurious sheets against my skin, the sensation another reminder of Ibiza. I close my eyes, hoping I’ll dream about it. About that version of David, and not the one I’m trapped with now.
I never notice, not even for a second, the small, blinking red light in the corner of the room.
19
DAVID
Ididn’t know until it was too late that Amalie slipped out of the house and left the grounds,exactlyas I told her not to. I spent the entire morning and afternoon, after breakfast, busy with tasks that my father said he needed help with. No one called me, or notified me. She managed to quite thoroughly give my security the slip, and I hadn’t bothered to warn the driver. I truthfully hadn’t thought I would need to.
