Exposed (Madame X, #2)(9)

I try it. “He . . . he went down on me. And then he put me on my knees on a couch and knelt behind me and—and f*cked me. And he never even took his pants off. Just left them partway down. And then he just left.”

Rachel blinks. “That’s harsh. He just . . . left? Like, he didn’t say anything?”

“He reminded me that I was his.”

“Marking his territory, I guess.” Rachel glances at the ceiling. “I think it’d be hot to have him f*ck me like that, still clothed. Like it’s . . . illicit. Is that the right word? Like we ain’t supposed to be doing it?”

“Like he’s ashamed of me.” That’s how it feels.

A shake of the head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s it. He ain’t the type to be ashamed. Not of himself or anything he does, or of anyone he’s with.”

“Then what could it be? Why would he be that way with me? That’s how it’s always been with us. In the dead of the night, sometimes he’ll take his clothes off, but he always puts them back on as soon as he’s done. And he always leaves right after.”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s weird. He’s not that way with any of us. He always leaves after, yeah, but he’s busy.”

“Is he, though? Busy doing what? Us, that’s what.”

“You’re not one of us. I don’t say that to, like, exclude you. It’s just that you’re not what we are. You’re not like us, either. You’re better.” A duck of the head, eyes down.

“I’m not, Rachel. Different, perhaps, but better? No. I’m still just one of ten for Caleb. And he doesn’t even bother to take off his clothes with me.”

“Try asking him, sometime? Try to take the initiative. See what he does.”

I don’t address the suggestion, but I do file it away to think about later. “Does it bother you, knowing you’re just one of many for him?”

Another careless shrug. “No. No way. I don’t give a shit. I hear him with the others all the time. Five’s a screamer, so I can’t exactly ignore it. Plus, I used to be a hooker. I guess I just don’t think about sex like normal people do. It ain’t no big thing for me. And I’ll be out of this program soon. About to make the next level, which is just one step closer to becoming a Bride, becoming someone who matters.”

There’s a fallacy somewhere in Rachel’s statement, a heartbreaking assumption, but I’m not sure I want to dwell on it. I have my own problems.

“I should go,” I say.

“All right.” A grin as Rachel opens the door for me. “And you know, you ever want to hide under my bed again and listen, just let me know. Could be fun.”

I think of this as I board the elevator. Do I want to listen to that, again?

I think maybe I do. Morbidly, perhaps.

? ? ?

I’m in Rachel’s closet.

I should be working, I have a client in fifteen minutes. I am finding I do not care about clients anymore.

Rachel’s closet is sparse, so there is plenty of room for me. The door is cracked just slightly, allowing me to see out. I am nervous. Scared. Excited. Worried that what I’m about to do is going to backfire.

I’m not just going to listen, I’m going to watch.

Am I a fool?

Yes. Undoubtedly.

I hear the door open, and soft leather soles pad across hardwood. I hear voices.

Rachel’s. “Caleb. Hi. How are you?”

“Well enough, thank you.” A pause, sounds of movement. “You are due for an examination soon, yes?”

“Yeah. Yes. For Companion.”

“Lisa says you’ve been doing excellently in your assignments as an Escort. She has been receiving requests for you specifically.”

“I’m trying hard. I want to make Bride.”

A pause. “I confess, Rachel, that I will be a little unhappy to see you enter the Bride pool. I enjoy our time together.”

“Me too.”

“Do you?” This is delivered sharply.

“Of course!” Rachel protests. “I never enjoyed sex until you. It was just something I did to survive. With you, it feels good.”

He rarely just talks to me, the way he does with her.

Oh yes, I am jealous.

All I see through the crack in the door is the doorway to Rachel’s room, and a slice of the bed. If I pivot to the side, I can see the rest of the bed. Watching through the crack now, I see Rachel precede you through the door. She is fully dressed, in a pair of jeans, a pink flowery blouse, bare feet. You lift your chin, and Rachel peels the blouse off, baring pale, slight breasts, pink areolae and darker nipples. No bra. And then something shocking: Rachel reaches with both hands and unbuttons your shirt. Leaves it open but still on. Unfastens your slacks, lowers the zipper. You are not wearing underwear. Stranger yet.

Your erection sways free.

My heart hammers in my chest and I worry you can hear it, it beats so loudly. I am utterly still and not breathing.

You step out of your trousers and shrug the shirt off, and you are naked. It is broad daylight and the blinds are open. You tug Rachel’s jeans off, and she too is not wearing underwear. I cannot fathom that, how it would feel to not wear panties or a bra.

You are both naked.

Together.