Exposed (Madame X, #2)(8)

When I have spasmed, spine straight, backside lifting off the couch cushions, you finally reach to my back and unclasp the bra, set it aside, and I am, once again, naked while you are clothed.

You will remain clothed until the last possible moment. I know this, from experience.

But somehow I’m just now realizing it.

You lift me in your arms and turn me so I face the back of the couch, kneeling upright. I feel your weight on the couch behind me. I feel you lower your zipper. You won’t even disrobe for this. Just unbutton, unzip, lower your slacks and black Armani briefs.

Slide into me.

I gasp, of course. Because you fill me and strike within me just so, and know how to thrust so I feel it perfectly, so I cannot help but gasp, and your fingers pinch my nipples and reach around to touch my clitoris and I am undone. Undone.

Watching, numb within.

Gasping, aching, coming apart.

But numb.

How is this possible?

What is happening to me?

When you have finished, you step away. Button and zip. Presentable within seconds, unruffled. Not a hair out of place.

You lean over me. I am still bent forward over the back of the couch, thighs quaking with the effort of holding myself upright while you take your pleasure in me. I felt it too, oh yes. I must give you your due: You do not take without giving as well. But now, finished, with your essence still inside me, still warm, you lean over me, chin brushing the top of my left shoulder, stubble scratching.

Your voice is distant thunder in my ear. “Mine, X. Don’t forget it.”

Ah. That’s what this was about. Reminding me.

Don’t worry, Caleb. I am reminded.

I think of Rachel then. Of the things you do to her. The things that should be degrading, but somehow aren’t.

And yet, I do not have the courage to ask you to do any of them to me.

And then you’re gone. Just like that.

I shower, again. Scrub your touch and your essence away.

I still feel as if I am outside myself, and I do not like it.

I watch as I dress again, this time in the plainest lingerie I own—you own, really—and the least sexy, least revealing dress. Flat shoes, no jewelry. Hair in simple twist, pinned up.

Once again, take the elevator down. I think I am going to the lobby, but for reasons I do not understand, I am on the third floor.

Knocking on the door marked 3.





THREE


Madame X,” Rachel says. “Come on in.”

“I didn’t bring wine this time,” I say.

A shrug. “No problem. I shouldn’t drink right now anyway. Caleb’s been on me about my figure.” Eyes flit to mine, assessing. “You’re upset.”

I sweep through the doorway, cross the living room, rest my forehead against the glass of the window, stare down. “I feel lost, Rachel.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

A silence, as Rachel hunts for something to say to this. “He has that effect, sometimes.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not like that. He’s different with me than he is with you.” I glance at Rachel. “Has he ever had sex with you while he was still clothed?”

A shrug. “No, I don’t think so.”

“He does with me. More often than he’s naked.”

A frown. “That’s kind of weird.”

“That’s what I was wondering.” A pause. I glance at Rachel: reddish-blond hair, lovely, heart-shaped face, expressive brown eyes full of conflicting emotion, hope, fear, despair, anger, defiance. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“I will apologize now if what I ask offends you, but . . . the things you’ve told me, that Caleb does to you, to the other girls on this floor . . . do you ever feel . . . ashamed of them? Or degraded by them? Do you do those things because you want to, or because he expects it?”

“I ain’t—I’m not offended. It’s a reasonable question, I guess. No, I’m not ashamed of any of it. Degraded? I don’t know. Not really. I don’t mind it. Do I want it, like, do I like it? Does it make me feel good? No, not really. It’s not for me. It’s for him. He likes it. He says it’s to teach me. But I know better. He’s different with each of us. He ain’t the same with me as he is with Five next door. He’s rough with her. Not the way he is with me, though, because I like to feel a little pain. I told you this before. With Five it’s . . . just rough. He shoves her around, pushes her where he wants her, jerks on her hair. Things like that. Never actually hurts her, though, just . . . acts rough.” A glance at me. “You curious, X?”

“No,” I immediately protest. Then think better of the lie. “Yes. I don’t know.”

A knowing grin. “You are. But you’re afraid of it. Ain’tcha?”

I shrug. “A little, yes.” A breath. “That’s a lie. I’m very afraid. Today, just now, actually, I went outside. I met someone I used to know, and Caleb was jealous.” I find myself telling the story, and feeling lighter as each word leaves my lips. “He stripped me naked, and he performed cunnilingus on me—”

Rachel laughs. “Jesus, you’re so f*cking uptight and formal. Just say he went down on you. Ate you out.”