The message that followed was even more intriguing. It was dated November 1 and included a single attachment and only a simple line of text. “I’m enjoying her immensely. Thank you much. M.” I opened the file and my heart nearly stopped. It was the picture of Michelis and Amber from the Colorado casino that Joe had shown me. The one that had been sent to him anonymously. Except, in this one, Michelis wasn’t cut off, and I could see it was he who was taking the shot with his phone.
The email had come from [email protected], a third-party service, it seemed. But I guessed it was Michelis who sent it, that he was the “M” in the signature. Was it he who had sent the picture to Joe, then? If so, why? And the message – didn’t that suggest that Reeve had given Amber to his relative as a gift?
Don’t read into it, I told myself. It could mean something else. I didn’t know what, but I was still defending Reeve, even to myself.
The last email was from the same address, dated the day before Thanksgiving, and was just as upsetting. It read, “Thought you’d be interested. M.” Attached was the Jane Doe autopsy report that Joe had shown me.
I hadn’t thought there was any more in me to deflate, but apparently there was. Because what further proof did I need that Reeve had been involved in Amber’s death?
Except, I still didn’t know that for sure. It didn’t mean that Reeve had wanted her dead. He might have shared Amber, as he’d told me he’d done with women before, and then maybe it had been Michelis alone who had decided to end her life. Maybe Reeve had thought that his relative would take care of her, love her even. Maybe Reeve had been just as upset about this turn of events as I was.
Though, that was unlikely.
Either way, I knew I should send both of the last two emails to Joe. But I still wasn’t ready to subject Reeve to further investigation. Not yet, anyway.
Instead I forwarded both the messages to myself, and then deleted the evidence.
I was exhausted now, too drained to handle any more revelations. I closed out of Reeve’s email and clicked the icon for the solitaire game, but accidentally hit the system’s photo displayer instead. A string of pictures popped up, filling the screen, all of them featuring the same two people – Reeve and Amber. They seemed to have been taken in the backyard by the pool, one after another, so that if I flipped through them quickly, they appeared animated. In them, Amber sat on Reeve’s lap on a deck chair. Both were laughing in the first pictures, kissing in the last few. In stark contrast to the emails I’d read, they told a story of a couple that appeared very much in love.
Was it really also the tale of a man who would give her away to a murderer? It didn’t seem possible, but how many times did pictures really tell the whole story? I’d seen only that afternoon how angry Reeve could get when provoked. If he could be like that with me, there was no telling what he could have been like with her.
Whether they were honest or not, I studied the images for long minutes, trying to find a clue that something was wrong, that something was off. They were hard to look at, for many reasons. Because I missed her. Because she was happy in them. Because she’d never be happy like that again. Because the man that was the cause of her happiness in these pictures was the same man who’d sent her to her death.
Because that man had never looked at me the way he was looking at her.
It was all I could take. I shut down the photos, turned off the light, and crept back to Reeve’s bedroom. I undressed quickly, got under the sheets, and buried my face in the pillow where, finally, the dam broke and I grieved the loss of my best friend.
I awoke with a start, the room dark except for the nightlight. Reeve stood above me, wearing only his jeans, the corner of the bed sheet in his hand.
“Fuck,” I said, rubbing an eye with the butt of my hand. “I fell asleep. I’m sorry. What time is it?”
“Almost three. And don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep. I was just straightening the sheet for you.” His voice was quiet so it was hard to be sure, but I didn’t think I heard any spite in his tone.
“No, no. I’m not here to sleep. I’m here to be yours.” I needed him right now. Needed him to take control like I knew he would so I could let go completely. So I could escape. So I could forget, if even for a moment.
He smiled but it was brief and didn’t meet his eyes. Then, instead of initiating anything, he walked to the other side of the bed and started emptying his pockets on the nightstand.
I suddenly had a bad feeling about how his night had gone. “Unless you don’t need me,” I said, hinting at without saying my fear outright.
“Emily, the girls downstairs were here for my friends.” God, he could read me so easily. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression, but I’ve explained my position on other women before.”
“You have. I remember. You won’t have sex with anyone else while you’re with me. I was just making sure things hadn’t changed after today.” My throat felt thick, probably from the earlier breakdown, but also because I could sense something was wrong. Besides all the other things that were wrong.
He let out a sigh and circled back to my side. “About that,” he said, perching on the edge of the bed. “There’s something I need to say. I —” He stopped abruptly, bending closer to study me. “You’ve been crying.”
I was on the verge of crying now, after the ominous speech he’d just begun and the heavy seriousness of his mood. But he was referring to the way I looked, which I imagined was like hell judging by how crusty and swollen my eyes felt. Though he hadn’t asked a question, he was waiting for an explanation. I considered making something up. I bumped into an old friend. He gave me bad news about someone we used to know.
But even in a vague form I didn’t want to share Amber’s death with him. He’d already had so much of her, so much that I hadn’t. This was mine alone and it was private.
So, at the expense of him thinking my tears had been because of him, I just nodded.
He reached his hand out to caress my face. “I didn’t want this, Emily.” And damn if my world didn’t feel turned upside down for the millionth time that day.
He dropped his hand and cleared his throat, and I waited for more words I didn’t want to hear.
“I overreacted earlier,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. “I know that. I crossed lines. Like you said, I didn’t tell you what I expected.”
What he’d said wasn’t what I thought I was going to hear. It took a beat before I figured out that he was referring to the way he’d “punished” me. It was so near to an apology from a man I was sure never gave them that I didn’t know quite how to respond. Not to mention, I didn’t want an apology for it.
I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and chose my words carefully. “No, you were right to do what you did. I should have known.”
He smiled skeptically. “How could you? You can’t read my mind, can you?” He grew serious again, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll try to remember in the future to be clearer with you up front.”
“Well, that would help, but really, I was the one who messed up, and I feel terrible for disappointing you.”
“It wasn’t disappointment that I was feeling, exactly. It was…” He looked up at me, and I thought for just a second that I could read his mind, thought that the sentence went, It was fear.
But that was silly. A man like Reeve, afraid? Of what?
He shook his head. “Anyway, sometimes I can get carried away. I don’t expect you to tolerate me like that. I want you to know that I’m trying. Trying to be more in control of myself.”
I was confused. On the one hand, he was being compassionate. It thrilled me, but it was also jarring. That wasn’t what I wanted from him. And I was pretty sure it wasn’t what he wanted either. So why was he offering it?
Whatever the reason, I had to nip it in the bud. “No. Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t control yourself. I want you to be you with me. Whoever that is.” As soon as
I said it, I knew it was true. Despite what it opened myself up to accept from him.
He studied me. “You don’t mean that. It’s not fair to you to have to put up with my worst traits. My temper and impulsiveness.”
I was still baffled about where this was coming from. In my experience, men were only remorseful when they thought they might lose something. Might lose me.
It didn’t make sense that Reeve feared that. Did it?
I sat up straighter, desperate to understand. “Do you think you hurt me today, Reeve? Did you think I’d leave?” The look he gave me said I’d got it right. So I assured him, “I wouldn’t. And the only time I was hurt was when it seemed you might not want me anymore. Everything else you did, I let you do. I wanted you to. I liked it.”
“Emily, you don’t have to say —”
“I know I don’t. I’m being honest here. I liked it. A lot.” How did I not realize that he didn’t get that about me? I thought I’d been so transparent. Apparently not transparent enough.
“I need that from you. I need you to be that way with me.” God, I felt so exposed. But he had to know. “It turned me on, remember? Even just thinking about it now gets me hot.” It wasn’t a lie. I was wet.
He seemed surprised. And suspicious. He pulled the sheet off of me, leaving me naked before him. His attention fell first to my breasts, to the pointed nubs that confirmed my arousal. I spread my legs, inviting him to further verify my claims.
He accepted the invitation, dragging his fingers down the length of my slit, landing at my hole, which was drenched and swollen. His eyes flew back to mine. “You really do belong to me, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Yes. I really do.”
He stood and quickly dropped his pants before bending one of my legs up to my chest and settling in the apex of my thighs. “Tell me what you liked about it. Tell me which parts.”
His cock hovered at my entrance, the tip throbbing, begging to come in. I bucked my hips, wanting what he held just out of reach.
But he wouldn’t give it. Not yet. “Tell me, Emily.”
I was needy and on fire, ready to say anything to get him where I wanted him, even the truth. “When you came on my tits.”
He drove in with a single deep thrust. “Yes. What else?”
He held himself above me, inside me now, but not moving. I ground up. He remained still, waiting.
“When you smelled me,” I said.
Finally, he withdrew. Slowly. Too slow. “Even when you found out why?”
“Especially then.”
He plunged back in. “What else.”
“When you shoved your cock in my mouth so far I couldn’t breathe.” I spoke quickly now, the words spilling out of my mouth, knowing they were the key to getting what I wanted.
“Yes.” He pulled out then pushed back in. “Good. Good girl.” He circled inside me, and I groaned. “What else?”
“When you said I belonged to you.” It was almost a whisper, coated in lust and raw vulnerability.
“Aw, fuck, Emily.” His tempo was steady now, each stroke hitting me in exactly the right spot. I was sighing, whimpering, greedy beneath him. “You like remembering it, too, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his upper body on top of mine and braced himself with one elbow on the bed next to my head. With his other hand, he stroked my cheek. Sweetly. Tenderly. “I can tell. You’re so tight around me. You’re almost there, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasped. I was so close already, and God did I need it. Needed to feel good for just a minute. Even if it wasn’t going to be the mind-blowing sort of orgasm he usually gave me. Even if it was soft and gentle. Even if the aftermath was filled with a fresh surge of survivor guilt. “Yes,” I said again. “I’m there.”
“Good. Because I think you deserve this.” Without warning, he clasped his palm over my mouth and nose. Hard. Letting no air through.
And I knew – I knew – that he was doing it for me, that this was his way of saying he was sorry. Men had done this to me before, usually by choking, but it was the same idea. Breath play. Denying oxygen to the brain, increasing the sense of pleasure.
But I only mostly knew that was what Reeve was doing to me now. Especially after his punishment that afternoon. And the little part of me that didn’t know, it was small. Tiny. Barely even worth considering except that, tiny as it was, it was stark enough in contrast to the rest of me that it was noticeable. It was magnified. Like a single drop of blood on a large white sheet that can’t help but stand out, can’t help but scream for attention. And this tiny part of me that wasn’t sure that Reeve was doing this for pleasure, this part that feared he was doing something malicious instead, it was a spot of red in my otherwise white composure.
I should have learned from earlier, but natural instinct was strong and I panicked. I shook my head back and forth, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t loosen his grip. I struggled and thrashed, wasting my oxygen but unable to stay calm. I brought my hands to his shoulders and dug into him, clawing with my fingernails.
Still, he held me, his eyes locked with mine, and I could see how turned on he was.
Now, I thought, as the fight began to leave me. Now I should be scared. This could be my end. There were certainly reasons that Reeve might want that. Because of what I knew. Because I’d snooped and told lies and had him investigated. Because of Amber. Because he could.
My vision glazed. Black crept in at the edges. My arms twitched and my hands fell from their perch.
All the while, Reeve pounded into me. And my body, not seeming to understand that it was dying, reacted. My core tightened with pressure and my skin tingled with electricity and my pussy clenched around his cock and then I was there. At the pinnacle. At the edge. Out of breath. Ready to burst.
Then Reeve removed his hand. And I did burst.
My orgasm broke from me with a tsunamic force as I frantically tried to draw in air, desperately tried to pull it inside. The needs conflicted – need for release, need for oxygen – my climax winning out, too powerful to be restrained any longer. It crashed over me, demolishing me with plunging waves of rapture, waves that broke every part of me then pulled me under again with a powerful backwash, only to gather me again on another crest of euphoria. My body convulsed with each surge. Spots formed in front of my vision. Tears spilled from my eyes. My head felt like it was falling down, through the bed, like I’d lost all sense of gravity and awareness.
Still I couldn’t catch a breath. I chased it, gasping in between each swell, never quite getting anything in my lungs before the next rush.
And I wondered if I’d die like this. Die flying, soaring, rocketing to heights higher than I’d ever been. Would this be the eternity I’d be allowed to dwell in? In this overwhelming pleasure, so abundant, so consuming, so amplified that there wasn’t room for anything else. No room for fear or doubt or worry or shame or grief. Just this.
If this was where Amber existed now, then it was home.
But then my vision cleared, and I saw Reeve above me, his eyes intense as he watched me, and he was riveted. Consumed as I was. Consumed with me.
And I no longer wanted to be anywhere but with him. Even if there was worry and doubt and fear and grief. Even if it wasn’t at all what he wanted. Even if it couldn’t last, I would fight to be with him.
The epiphany settled over me and I realized I had air now. Realized I was breathing fine. Realized I was the sickest kind of fuck. Because I wanted to live, if for no other reason than to be with the person who possibly wanted me dead. Who probably sent my friend to her death.
The realization brought another orgasm, much quieter, but just as intense. It wracked through me, wrenching a guttural keening sound from my being. A sound that was both foreign and familiar. Both primal and complex. Both gratification and mourning.
Reeve followed with his own release, his body convulsing inside of me as he let out a low groan that strangely, beautifully harmonized with my own cry.
He finished, collapsing beside me.
It took everything in me not to turn and slap the shit out of him.
Or punch him. Pound him with my fists until he told me why the fuck he’d done what he’d just done. Pummel him until he understood just how angry and jealous and confused and frightened he made me. Thrash and pelt until he promised never to do it again.
But I managed to hold myself. Because I didn’t really want him to promise that. I’d asked for him to give me who he was. And I’d liked it, despite being scared, or maybe even because of it. For that, I was ashamed.
Emotion hit me then like a bowling ball scoring a strike, and I felt the threat of another crying jag. Not the sobs that had torn through me earlier when I was alone. Not even sadness, really. It was unidentifiable, something new, something that was pieces of a whole bunch of things all trying to get out of me at once. It was overwhelming.
And, a little bit, it was just that I hadn’t ever been at peace with myself, and here, with this awful man, after I thought he was trying to kill me, on the day I’d lost my best friend, I felt the seeds of it burrowing inside of me. Maybe it was the product of a really good orgasm.
But it was probably more about where I was now with Reeve.
He jerked up, as if he’d sensed what I was thinking. He startled me with his sudden movement, then startled me again when, after he turned toward me, he reached out to stroke my face, as he sometimes did, with the back of his hand. My pulse, which had just begun to beat at a normal tempo, spiked again. He wasn’t usually affectionate after sex and rarely touched me intimately like this. It made me wary and paranoid and I had to force myself not to cower.
But his eyes were warm when I met them, and I realized he was checking on me. Making sure I was okay. He kissed my forehead, and it was an apology, soft and genuine.
When he pulled back again, his expression was tinged with regret, and I felt a strange desire to comfort him. To tell him that things were fine and then scold him for showing any remorse about giving me exactly what I needed – fear of harm without actually hurting me.
But I was confused and fucked up, and all I could do was show him in my eyes that I was okay with what he’d done, even if I wasn’t okay over all.
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