Obediently Ever After

by Reese Gabriel

  "It isn't natural,” she said, though why on earth she was confessing such a thing she had no idea.

  "Really?” He reached out to touch it. “May I?"

  Next thing she knew he was undoing the clasp, letting it all fall down, a cascade of gold.

  "God, Erin, you are flat out gorgeous, did you know that?"

  "Actually, I didn't.” She brushed his hands away. “Do you have any idea when Mr. Caine is expected?"

  Troy laughed under his breath. “That's what I'd like to fucking know.” Putting the guitar behind him, he picked a pack of cigarettes off the bed. “Smoke?"

  "They aren't good for me,” she said, taking one anyway. “My husband doesn't like it."

  "Fuck him,” said the guitar player with surprising vehemence.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Not your husband, I meant Caine."

  She put the cigarette to her lips so he could light it. “Oh."

  "He's a bastard, you know that."

  "He works with my husband,” she said judiciously.

  "Yea?” Troy took a long drag, sexy as hell. “Well just don't let him turn his back on the fucker. He'll get it right up the ass."

  "You've had ... experience?"

  Troy's eyes twinkled. “What, you think I'm gay? Nah, I'm just talking business."

  "Of course.” Erin blushed.

  They smoked a little more, taking turns flicking ashes into a soda can.

  "Actually,” Troy told her, “it's my sister he's fucking. She works for him at his club. Makes her take her clothes off, do things for the customers."

  "That's ... awful.” Erin squirmed a little, thinking of what it must be like to have to strip for men and ‘do things’ for them.

  "Doesn't have a choice,” he shrugged. “Our old man got in deep at one of his casinos. We're all paying it off. Me, I have to sing for the bastard."

  "And your sister..."

  "Sydney's a slave,” he said flatly.

  Erin's panties moistened at the word. Was she hearing things. “Surely you're exaggerating?"

  "Well ... she sleeps in a cage, dances naked and when she has an off night they beat her. What would you call that?"

  One hell of a fantasy, she was tempted to say.

  "I'd call it horrible,” she sympathized.

  Troy stuffed the butt of his cigarette into the soda can. “Sometimes, I could just...” He cut himself off. “Aw, shit, you don't need to be hearing my troubles. You must have plenty of your own—if you have business with the dude yourself."

  Erin touched his forearm, feeling his smooth, bare skin. I shouldn't be doing this, said that little voice of reason in her head, that one people almost always ignore in favor of the louder ones. “It's all right, Troy. I'm here ... to listen."

  Next thing she knew the man was embracing her, weeping.

  "I'm a baby,” he lamented. “A pathetic fucking baby."

  "No, Troy. You're a man."

  They were breathing each other now, their lips grazing each other's necks, blood pressures elevated, synapses firing. Hungry and lonely, their mouths found each other, like homing beacons. From the first instant of contact, Erin knew they were going to fuck.

  Hell, she'd known that, at least subconsciously, the moment she saw him in the doorway.

  "I don't want to make trouble,” he breathed, helping her to scramble out of the sex proof jacket, turtleneck and pants.

  "Not ... trouble,” she panted, falling back on the pillow.

  Still, she had guilt to appease. Stripped to white cotton panties and bra, she held up her wrists. “Troy, will you tie me?"

  He found his belt on the floor. Twisting it around her wrists, he put her into makeshift bondage.

  "Take me,” she begged, putting her secured hands over her head.

  Troy didn't bother taking off his jeans. Pulling his large, thick cock directly through his open fly, he sank himself to the hilt between Erin's spread legs.

  "Oh, god,” she cried from the feeling. “Oh, my fucking god."

  She couldn't believe she'd accommodated him in one thrust. She'd been that wet. That ready.

  "Fuck me,” she chanted. “Please, Troy. Use me. Use me hard."

  It was punishment she wanted, a pounding to set her mind straight and maybe to clean her slate as well. This was what she deserved for being the kind of slut who slept around on her husband, who cheated on him, first with a client and now with a total stranger. She was out of control. Totally out of fucking control.

  Troy gritted his teeth. He was like a jackhammer, just as pent up as she was. “Gonna ... come,” he grunted.

  She didn't care that it was so fast. In fact that was a good thing, because it meant she wouldn't get to finish. Then again, she was so frigging close. This whole thing had been such a turn on. And the dirtier she felt, the hotter she got.

  God, what if she got caught like this? What would Kevin do to her?

  That was the final straw. She was climaxing, converting all that helpless shame and turmoil into a roiling, ocean churning maelstrom.

  "Oh, yea, so good. So god damned good.” Troy was over the top himself and now it was mutual. Totally together and in sync. That perfect coinciding of lust that even long time couples have to work at and here they'd achieved it without knowing the first thing about each other.

  Not even their last names.

  "Erin,” he sighed, nuzzling her breast when it was all over. “Sweet, yellow haired, partially Irish Erin."

  She soaked in the feel of him, the wash of post coital pleasure. If only she could stay here somehow, in this moment, forever. But she had a life. A man she loved. And another one on his way here now whom she was trying to get rid of.

  "Troy,” she nudged gently. “We can't let him find us like this."

  "I know,” he lifted himself reluctantly. “You're right. I hate it, but you're right."

  Erin threw on her clothes. “I don't think it's safe for me to wait here anymore."

  "I'll walk you to your car."

  Alarm bells went off in Erin's head. Talk about cruising for disaster. “That doesn't seem real smart, Troy."

  He sucked at her lips, tugging them playfully between his own. “It'll be fine, Erin. Besides, you and I know this is the last time we'll ever see each other."

  Damn it, how could she fight that kind of logic?

  "Fine,” she sighed. “But we go the back way. And we don't dawdle. No “Gone With the Wind” goodbyes."

  Troy grinned. “It'll be short, sweet and to the point. I promise."

  She smiled back, though she wasn't so sure. Not so sure at all.

  * * * *

  Kevin's day so far was for shit. Leaving Erin this morning he'd felt guilty as hell. She was looking so peaceful and trusting, having fallen back to sleep. She'd let him spank her and degrade her and then turned around and gifted him with incredible oral sex.

  And here he was living out another day of lying and cheating. His one consolation had been that he would break things off with Bree and make a clean start, but one look at her in her little tartan skirt, white blouse and combat boots had told him he wouldn't be cleaning anything, except maybe some come stains off his leather couch. Or the desk or wherever else she had a mind to fuck.

  Except little Miss daddy's girl—who should not have been allowed to dress like that for work in the first place—wasn't wanting sex just yet. No, she was wanting to tease him first. Which is why Kevin had found her waiting on his desk when he came in, one leg up so he could see she was wearing no panties.

  "Hey, Kevin, guess what I was thinking about?"

  Three guesses, he thought sardonically, and the first two don't count.

  "I have work to do, Bree. Let me be."

  "You don't like me anymore,” she pouted. “That's why you didn't stay longer last night."

  So that was it. She was still miffed he'd gone off to be with his wife. Talk about a screwed up, spoiled little brat. She was the boss’ brat, though, which meant he woul
d have to treat her with kid gloves.

  "It's not that, Bree.” He decided to stall for time. “I just have a lot on my mind."

  She went from sad clown to happy. “You mean it?” She draped her arms.

  "Yea, sure.” Kevin could kick himself for getting involved with her in the first place. What had he been thinking, fucking her over the back of her father's Lincoln Town Car that first time? Christ, anybody could have seen them. And the way she screamed. The only thing that saved them was the noise of the car alarm he set off with a thrown shoe—a stroke of genius, he might add, especially while plunging his dick in and out of the bent over teenager at speeds that could easily defy physics.

  She put his hands on her ass, sliding them up under the skirt. “Want to do it later on the roof?"

  He tried to pump his voice full of enthusiasm. “More than anything, Bree. Just let me get a little coffee."

  Three cups later and he was ready to face his doom. It had to be now. He had to tell her, cut her off completely, before he so much as talked to Erin on the phone again. It was too important to their relationship that he harbor no more deceptions. Not one more word would he speak to his wife till he'd done the right thing with Bree.

  Unfortunately, the call from Roger Caine's office came in before Bree could answer his summons for a closed-door meeting. Fuck. The man wanted him at noon. And it was urgent. An ordinary summons from Caine was life and death; he could only imagine what this one meant.

  To get there be twelve, with the traffic and all, he'd have to leave now. There was no way he'd push it even a minute and run the risk of being late. Better to sit there in his office showing loyalty. He must have a lot of that built up, he thought sardonically. His secretary Lillian, whom he suspected felt a little sorry for him, had offered jokingly to get him a reserved seat in Caine's waiting area.

  It was worth it, though, to soak up the man's wisdom. You could just smell it on him, the power and success. Men would kill to know half of his secrets and here he'd been sharing all of it for free with Kevin.

  "We'll talk later,” he brushed past a questioning Bree. “No time now."

  Of course traffic was already backed up on both the cross town and the 201. The worst part was that instead of sitting here in a jam on his way to spend yet another afternoon with Roger Caine, great as the man was, he'd wanted to surprise Erin for lunch, bringing her home the makings of a quick picnic, like they used to have when he was back in law school.

  In those days they'd talk for hours, under some shady tree. She would sit there, looking so radiant, bare feet tucked under her, her eyes full of admiration and devotion as he spouted off on a million topics at once. She made him feel like the wisest man in the world, and the strongest.

  Unable to match him intellectually, she'd found her place serving, trying to make sure he ate his sandwiches and drank his tea. The time she'd begged him to make love, though, that's when he knew. Erin Jones was his. Not just for this one act. But for life.

  Frustrated with himself beyond belief, he clutched the steering wheel. He'd fucked it all up. Even a man as powerful as Caine couldn't make a girl like Erin come to him and offer herself freely, and here he'd just thrown aside all that love. And with every minute that went by, with him out here, not talking to her, not dealing with things, he was only making it worse.

  More than anything he wanted to just turn the car around and go home to tell Erin he loved her. But he had to put groceries on their table, too, and a roof over their head. He wished Caine would understand sometimes how important his wife was to him, but it was a blind spot with the man.

  One would almost say a sore spot. Which was funny, because he'd been married so long himself. Sophia Caine must have cut him up pretty bad inside to turn him so bitter.

  Much to the young man's surprise, Roger was waiting for him out front of his office building in his car. Kevin got in the passenger side of the blue Lotus and Caine took them out to the street without explanation.

  Kevin was still clueless as they pulled into the parking lot of the posh Willow Arms to the north of the city.

  "Kevin,” he put the car in park. “Do you trust me completely?"

  It was a hell of a question to spring on him out of nowhere, but Kevin went for the safe answer. “Of course, sir. You've never steered me wrong."

  "True. But we haven't really been through the fire together, have we?"

  This was getting stranger by the minute.

  "The fire, Mr. Caine?"

  "Roger,” he corrected. “You're going to have to call me Roger now.” He put his hand on Kevin's arm. “Everything's about to change, Kevin. You're world is about to turn upside down. If you stick with me, if you see everything through my eyes, if you let me help you, you'll make it through. Will you give me your word?"

  Kevin shook the man's hand, feeling numb all over.

  "Good,” nodded Caine. “Let's get this over with."

  Caine pulled the Lotus around the back of the lot. He still had this pegged as a wild goose chase, but then he saw the familiar sedan.

  "It's hers,” confirmed Caine, reading his mind.

  Kevin looked at him blankly, trying to absorb all the implications at once, none of them good. “But how did you...?"

  "I've had a private detective trailing her for the last two months. It's nothing personal, I do that with all the people I do business with. I have to know them, their families, their secrets. I'm only showing you this because I care about you. You're more than just a lawyer to me."

  Kevin collapsed back in the plush leather seat. “Could there be some mistake?"

  He shook his head gravely. “I'm afraid not. She's been seeing him for some time. A young musician. The evidence was probably there all along, under your nose. Has she been doing a lot of extra charity work lately? Lunches with old friends who've popped out of the woodwork?"

  A chill of recognition went down his spine. “Yes. That's it exactly."

  "It's a typical pattern,” said Caine sadly. “Like I said, I cared about you too much to let her keep using you like this."

  "I—I don't know what to say."

  "Don't say anything.” He put his hand on Kevin's thigh. “Just get ready. I'm afraid it's going to get worse before it gets better."

  Sure enough, a moment later, his wife came out the door with a straggly haired, barefoot man in a black t-shirt and jeans. He had his arm around her, looking all smug. For her part, Erin looked nervous as hell and twice as guilty.

  "Fuck,” said Kevin Wyatt. “Mother fucking fuck."

  His hand was on the door handle.

  "Don't do it,” said Caine.

  Kevin obeyed, the firm grip on his leg and the firm tone of the man's voice restraining him for the moment. “But that's ... my wife,” he exclaimed.

  "Yes it is,” he agreed, “and that is why it's crucial to handle this in the right manner. One little screw up here and your lives could be ruined."

  "Well I certainly don't care about his life!"

  "I'll deal with the guitar player. He's history. He will never go near your wife again. You have my word."

  Kevin didn't ask how such a thing might be accomplished. When it came to men like Roger Caine, you confined yourself to a simple thank you.

  "He doesn't deserve to live,” Kevin observed, though at this point he didn't feel any happier about Erin.

  "There are worse things in life than death, Kevin. Trust me."

  This was an ominous enough remark to end the discussion. He could almost feel sorry for the fucker now. Almost.

  "I will divorce her,” Kevin decided.

  Caine shook his head. “With all due respect, that is short sighted."

  "Well you divorced your wife.” Kevin regretted the outburst at once. “I'm sorry, Mr. Caine ... Roger. That was out of line."

  "It's all right. You're not yourself at the moment, I understand."

  Kevin squeezed his hands into fists. “The mother fucker is kissing her!"

  Caine nodd
ed at the scene unfolding outside their windshield. “I can see that, yes, and I know it hurts, but trust me, the best thing you can do is not to get emotional. Tell me, does your wife love you?"

  "Obviously not."

  "Think again. You're talking out of anger, not reason. What does the real evidence suggest?"

  He thought of her unflagging kindness to him, her constant attempts to reach out, and how he'd met her every time with resistance, indifference or fatigue. “I suppose she does,” he admitted.

  "Then she is not in love with this man. Nor is she looking for another husband. Tell me, Kevin, honestly, is there anything you are not giving her that she might need?"

  He thought of all the attention, and the fucking Bree had gotten out of him. The realization hit him like a brick to the head. All of that loving wasn't free—it had been stolen, diverted from its rightful recipient, his wife.

  "I've been having an affair, Roger. My god, this is all my fault."

  They watched Erin get into her car and drive away, the guitar man sauntering back into the hotel.

  "You're letting emotion rule again, Kevin. First you wanted to kill her lover, now you want to exonerate her completely. The fact is there's a truth that lies in the middle."

  "There is?” At this point Kevin was ready to entertain just about any idea that might salvage his marriage ... not to mention his life as he knew it.

  Caine smiled indulgently. “Of course there is. Women send messages, my friend. And it is our duty to respond to them. As men. Erin loves you, but she is running wild ... pardon the expression, spreading her legs at will. What does that tell you?"

  Kevin's response was instant and emotional. “It means she has too much fucking freedom, that's what it means."

  "Excellent,” he approved. “You have learned your first lesson. The rest follows from this, just as four comes out of two plus two."

  Kevin understood nothing. “So what do I do, lock her up when I'm not there? Throw away the key? Put her in a cage like a parakeet?"

  Caine seemed to miss the sarcasm. “Not like a parakeet, Kevin, like a female. A special kind of female."

  "A special kind? And what kind would that be?"

  The billionaire paused now, maximizing eye contact. Kevin sensed this was the payoff, what everything else had been leading up to.