Jane Doe(31)

“I know you do. And I didn’t mean—”

“I like you, Jane. I really do. But I don’t need you. And I expect to be treated with respect.”

“I wasn’t being disrespectful!”

“Weren’t you? I said no. Isn’t that what women talk about all the damn time? I said no, and you kept pushing me.”

“Steven, I’m sorry!” I make myself sound a little panicked. Just a little. That’s what he wants. “I’m sorry, okay?”

He shrugs and downs his third beer before tossing it into the trash can. I jump as if the crash of glass is a slap. “I just wanted to have a nice evening with you,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Really. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Yeah.” He relaxes a little and his eyelids are heavier when his gaze falls to my cleavage.

I push off the island and move closer. “I was being a bitch.”

“You were.”

“Are you still mad?” I ask as I press into his body.

He shrugs again, but he puts his arms around me and stares down my dress.

“Don’t be mad.”

Instead of answering, he slips a hand over my chest and undoes an extra button. Now the fabric gapes open, exposing my black bra. With no warning at all, he shoves his hand into one of the cups and wrenches the whole thing down to expose my breast. He kisses me hard, kneading my flesh and trying to swallow all my breath. I let him push me up against the counter and grind his crotch against me. I guess this is forgiveness.

A button of my dress pops off and drops to the floor, rolling away with tiny clicks I can barely hear over his panting.

God, I hate these stupid dresses. They’re weak and flimsy.

I hear the sound of his zipper and roll my eyes.

“Suck me,” he whispers.

“Steven! I can’t. You’ll think—”

“Come on. I know you do it. You’ve done it plenty of times, right?”

“You’ll think I’m a slut.”

“I won’t. Just do it. Come on.” His hand is on my shoulder, pressing me down. This is how he’ll forgive me. This is how I’ll show respect for my big, strong man.

I pull back a little and he follows. I slide along the edge of the island. After a quick glance toward the vent in the living room, I let him push me to my knees.

“Oh yeah,” he groans before I even touch him. “Do it.”

It doesn’t take long. He’s primed on anger and frustration.

Afterward he drinks another beer and grills the steaks. I make the salad. The bodice of my dress gapes at the missing button. He’s in a great mood, laughing and joking. He teases me about having a healthy appetite. I’ve done a good job making up for my bitchiness.

The steaks are surprisingly tasty.

At nine I yawn and tell him I’d better get home. He offers to pay for a ride.

Even I’m shocked by that. “Can’t you drive me?”

“Sorry, baby. I’ve had too many beers.”

“You could take me home and sleep over at my place.”

He curls his lip. “The cat.” I notice he doesn’t ask me to stay here instead.

“Oh.”

He kisses my hand. “I’ll put the ride on my account.”

Jeez, I feel like a princess.

I curl up against him and watch TV for a few more minutes while I wait for a stranger to drive me home. “This was nice,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re great, Jane.” He kisses my head and gives me one last squeeze. “You’re really great.” His phone dings. My ride is here. He walks me to the door and waves.

And people say romance is dead.





CHAPTER 23

I’ve made sex tapes before, of course, but this is something different. It’s like watching reality TV made just for me. I eat microwave popcorn and watch our little argument play out over and over. It’s a fascinating class in manipulation, and Steven and I are both playing the game. Unfortunately for Steven, he’s a rank amateur. His technique is clumsy and dumb and only works when emotions are involved.

Each time I see my glance at the camera, I giggle. Steven is completely absorbed in his penis and doesn’t notice me breaking the fourth wall.

Arousal is a funny thing. I suppose when there’s actual intimacy involved, arousal might bring you closer to the other person. Who knows. But in general it’s a selfish state. Steven is turned on and all he can think about is getting more, more, more. Even afterward he doesn’t notice that I turn and spit him out onto the clean floor. I hope he steps in it tomorrow morning.

I picture him hopping around on one foot, horrified and disgusted, and I laugh so hard my eyes water. Salt and butter coat my hands, so I wipe my face on my sleeve. I can’t wait to review tomorrow’s video.

After I left, Steven watched a little more TV and then went to bed. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, then put on two different moisturizers. I guess he’s a little vain. Then he put on honest-to-God pajamas like he’s Ward Cleaver. What a sicko.

I watch him sleep for ten minutes and then the camera feed ends. I back it up and watch it all again. At midnight I finally get to bed, but a text dings just as I turn off the light.