The Last Housewife (27)

“Here’s what we know.” He was whispering, so I leaned closer. “This place is extremely secretive. Intense security. Caters to members, mostly, but not impossible to get inside if you have enough money. The guy at the bar was excited you were new, so they must get mostly regulars. And obviously, people are buying and selling sex.”

I looked around. “Rich men are buying sex,” I clarified. “The men are older than the women by a few decades, on average. And they outnumber them by a lot.”

Jamie combed fingers through his wet hair. “Why was this place on Laurel’s radar?” He focused on me. “Do you think she needed money?”

Laurel had been desperate enough to beg for a catering job. “Maybe. But—” Being this close to Jamie was distracting. My body was urging me to move even closer, though that was ridiculous because I was married, and Jamie was my friend, and the heat in my blood was only the effect of the pill. Still…I reached up and brushed an errant strand of wet hair off his forehead.

His eyes fluttered closed.

“I can’t imagine Laurel letting a stranger touch her,” I said. But that wasn’t right, was it? Because everything had changed junior year. We’d each discovered such startling proclivities, unknown capacities, our insides dark and bottomless as the deepest caves.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe Laurel had been broken by what happened in college, and broke, so she’d turned to this. After all, selling yourself to a man for a night was nothing compared to what we’d done.

“You two are new.”

The voice was honeyed. Jamie and I turned to find a beautiful dark-haired woman smiling at us, the water brushing the undersides of her full breasts.

“And gorgeous.” The woman drew closer. “Look at the two of you, alone in your corner. Can I join?”

Jamie glanced at me. A source, if handled right.

“Sure,” I said. “What’s your—” Too late, I remembered the man’s admonishment.

She smiled knowingly. “Are you buying or selling? Together, or separate?” She eyed my wedding ring. “Forgive the bluntness. I like to do business up front.”

“Buying,” Jamie said and withdrew his arms to let the woman closer. “And we’re a package deal.”

“I was hoping.” She traced her thumb down Jamie’s face, then turned to me, laid her palm against my jaw. Her skin was wet and silky; she smelled of clean minerals, like the water. “So. What do you like?”

Jamie swallowed. I hadn’t been able to look away from him ever since the woman’s soft hands had found our faces, drawing us together, pressing warm heat.

She moved her thumb down Jamie’s neck, skimming his shoulders. “What are you offering?” he asked.

She smiled. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “I’ll do anything. Electro, dom-sub, bondage, humiliation.” The words rolled off her tongue. “There aren’t many like me.”

“Humiliation,” I said, snagging on the word. “What’s that?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” She leaned in so close her lips brushed my ear. I found Jamie’s eyes over her shoulder, and my pulse jumped. “I can degrade you, if you want.” Her whispered voice curled inside me. “I’ll tell you what a slut you are. What a cunt, a liar, a fraud who doesn’t deserve anything you have.” The tip of her tongue licked the shell of my ear. “Pathetic bitch.”

Every nerve in my body was on fire; every hair on my arms raised. The words—and the memories they raised—scythed a path through the fog of the drug. Suddenly I had a terrible hunch about why Laurel might’ve come here.

The woman pulled back and grinned. “I can tell you like that.” She winked. “Don’t worry, hon. Your kinks aren’t your values. It’s supposed to be liberating.”

My voice was hoarse. “How long have you been coming here?”

“You’re not asking my age, because that would be—”

“No. It’s just… We’re new. It would be nice to find someone with experience.”

“In that case, one more year and I get my service medal.”

She was joking, but I couldn’t help being sidetracked. There was no way this woman was older than midtwenties. When had she started?

No. Focus. I was here for a different girl. “Do you know other women who liked humiliation? Maybe one who started coming around five or six years ago?”

She blinked at my intensity.

“We know it’s a long shot,” Jamie said, faithfully following my lead. “But you said there aren’t many who do it all, like you. Do you remember another woman who maybe—” He shot me a look, asking a silent question, and I felt my cheeks flame in response. “Liked it kind of rough?”

“Five six, blond, pale, pretty,” I added. “Midtwenties.”

The grin faded from the woman’s face. “Are you saying you want someone else?”

“No,” I said. “We’re looking for her. Please. She would have wanted humiliation exclusively.” If Jamie could read between the lines, he’d know that was an admission. But I didn’t have the luxury of hiding because I was ashamed. Not if this woman could tell me something about Laurel.

Her eyes softened. “Don’t tell me it’s another missing girl.”