by Gina Whitney
I sighed, knowing that Cam was somewhere in the city. Then it dawned on me that I was sopping wet for a man whose last name I did not even know. I could only grin at myself for being such a fucking slut. But I knew that I could never let that happen again. Not only would that endanger my hard-fought-for relationship with Sig and all the perks that came with it, but I was sure it would have some serious repercussions for Cam as well.
However, there was one perk—the spokesmodel position—that seemed to be just out of reach. There was no way I was going to let that ass wipe Jacob usurp that prize from me. I braced myself to have “the talk” once again with Sig. I had to tread lightly because the last time I brought it up resulted in his having a near-cataclysmic outburst during which he hurled accusations at me, mostly about my nonexistent attempts at trying to control him.
I looked over at Sig. The streetlights incandesced his pale skin, making him glimmer like a freaky glow ball. His blue eyes were so translucent that they blended into the whites, giving him a zombified look. He was a stone monument sitting over there. No animate life seemed to be in him.
“Sig, I need to talk to you about—” I said carefully. Sig, with almost robotic precision, turned to me with eyes totally lacking in expression. He did not even blink. I lost all my nerve as he coldly considered me.
“Never mind. I guess we can talk later,” I said, quickly averting my gaze to the darkness whizzing past us. I slumped down into the seat, closed my eyes, and drifted into an unimaginably real fantasy. Images of Cam appeared behind the blackness of my lids. In my dream, whatever Cam had in mind, he wanted to take his time. A long time.
My body relaxed, and I could feel Cam’s phantom touch all over again. It was toasty, sensual, and painfully slow. His invisible fingers found their way between my thighs. I squirmed a bit, and Sig thought I was just making myself more comfortable in the seat. No, it was nowhere near comfortable. It was agonizing, this thought of Cam seducing me.
The invisible hand stroked its way to my upper thigh. There, fingers teased the crease between my leg and the outer perimeter of my honey pot. I found myself subtly squirming as my stomach clenched into a knotted fist. Cam’s specter finger pulled aside the crotch of my lacy red panties and found its way to my slit. But before it could slide between my pulsing, juicy lips, I was jarred awake by the sound of the gate opening. Sig and I had arrived back home, and the spell was broken.
Our long, gravely driveway twisted through a dense canopy of leafless limbs that hung over the road like gnarly fingers. Heaviness set upon me, bearing down more and more the closer we got to what should have been a romantic fortress. It was simply a prison to me.
The magnificent house came into view. Its opulence was showcased by large floodlights that allowed Sig to behold his trophy even in the darkest of night. The expansive manse was gratuitously modeled after the European castles Sig admired when he was a child. Even though it had spectacular views of the forest, it was ominously isolated from civilization as it sat at the backend of vast acreage.
I thought to myself that I should have been happy. After all, I had willfully social climbed my way here. I did that believing that all the material trappings and lavishness would save me from myself and my past. But they did not. If anything they made it worse because I now knew there was nowhere else to run. I knew one thing, though: that I was not going backward. No matter how shitty Sig was to me, at least I had plenty of money and some notoriety. I could never get those things on my own. As far as I was concerned, there was no other man on earth who could give me those things either. In the end, whatever money and praise from other people could not give me, Prozac and Xanax could, and I was satisfied with that.
Sig got out of the car before I did and went up the stairs without even as much as looking back at me. I could tell the limousine driver was embarrassed for me when he let me out. Ashamed, I could barely look the driver in the eye. He walked me to the door and tilted his head down with respect. I gave him a hefty tip and sent him on his way. As I watched the limousine drive away, I stayed outside for a while. It was frigid out there, yet the temperature did not stop me from stalling. I just could not bring myself to go into the house. However, the howling wind whipped under my dress, and my skin was going numb. I had no other choice than to go inside.
As soon as I got in the door, Sig was on me like a rabid dog. “Close the damn door! You are letting all the heat out. You would think your parents would have raised you better.” He then gave me a smug look because he knew what really happened in my upbringing and sometimes used it as ammunition. “Oh, well, considering your folks, I guess you wouldn’t have known better.”
Sig’s cruel laughter echoed relentlessly throughout the hollow house. It was easy for sound to travel through it because of the highly polished marble floors and obvious lack of cushy, soft furniture to absorb it. Being in that house and with Sig vampired out whatever good feelings Cam had given me that night. All I could do was watch as Sig turned away like he did not just sting me and go up one side of the double staircase. Totally defeated, I went up the other side. When I reached the second floor, I trailed behind him like a pitiful little puppy that had just been smacked on the nose.
If people knew what was really going on in our house, they would have wondered why I stayed with Sig. It was really simple. He knew me all too well. He knew all my hopes and dreams and, most important, he knew my secret pain. He used that pain to his advantage, knowing how to sap my power. In that respect he became the embodiment of the pain I was running from. Sadly, I stuck with what I knew. As a little girl, horror came to my room in the wee hours of the night and inflicted such hurt on my body that I splintered. That allowed me to mentally adjust to the torture and function at some level. It was easy to do as long as my boogeyman kept telling me it loved me afterward. Now, fucked-up relationships were the most comfortable for me. Anything else was so foreign that I would not have known how to handle it. Yet I longed for a good relationship all the same.
This left me somewhat schizophrenic. One part of me, a teensy-weensy part, was struggling to be sane. It would ask things like, What are you doing, Lilly? Why are you here with Sig? Don’t you deserve better than this?
The other part was cray-cray. It had much bigger muscles as if it had been exercising in a prison yard. It would always respond, No, you don’t deserve better. Remember what your father did? That was your fault for letting it happen.
Suddenly I felt a painful surge of pins and needles, like my whole body had fallen asleep. I knew if I had entertained the thought of my father any longer, I would vomit right then and there. Sig might have conjured him up in my thoughts, but I had to make the decision to block my father out for the rest of the night. For sanity’s sake.
I entered the bedroom that I shared with Sig. The room was so like him. It was igloo cold and decorated with metal furniture that was always chilly to the touch. The only fabric in the room was the crisp curtains and stiff bed linen, which were chrome silver. I slipped on my pashmina shawl and sat at my dressing table, where my ever-ready prescription of Klonopin was waiting for me. I stared at the bottle and contemplated not succumbing to it. Despite the relief it gave me, it was only temporary. I longed for an existence where I did not have to be tethered to my medicine cabinet just to function halfway normally. As my hand edged over to the Klonopin, I wondered how other people did it. How did they cope? How did they manage to live life genuinely? Most importantly, how did they have the dumb luck of avoiding the childhood I had?
My hand finally gripped the bottle and opened it. I hesitated, trying so hard not to give in, but I did. I looked at myself in the mirror, once again feeling like a failure. However, I was still relieved that the anxiety would soon be kept at bay.
As I started to unzip my gown, I felt it was just as good a time as any to ask Sig about the modeling position.
“Sig, I don’t mean to press but about the spokesmodel position? You haven’t made a decision, and I figure I am just
as good as anyone else. I would like to be the face of Klå. I have the look and some experience. Sig, really? What are you waiting for?”
Sig smiled as he walked toward me. I was still sitting at my dressing table when he stood behind me and placed his icy hands on my shoulders. I started to think that I must have made a pretty good argument, and he was about to extend some rare kindness by giving me a massage. He touched my skin as I purred and relaxed into his soft strokes.
But as Sig rubbed my shoulders, his hands started to dig into me harder and harder. He suddenly grabbed my chin with one hand, while his fingertips almost pierced my skin with the other.
He spoke in a chillingly calm voice: “You horrid creature. I pulled you out of a trash heap and made you a respectable person. And this is what you do? Give stupid demands to me?” Sig guided my face around the room by my chin and continued with his controlled demolition.
“Look at all of this. This house, these clothes, the jewels. You would not have any of it if it weren’t for me. You should be on your knees thanking me for dragging you out of hell and bringing you here, you ungrateful wench.” He let my face go with a snappy twist. “When I decide who the face of my company should be, I will tell you when I am good and ready.”
Sig wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to remove any trace of me off his body. I considered fighting back, but at that moment he looked so much like my father. All I could do was bow out.
Besides, I was already used to the way things were for me. As a child, I got used to being a punching bag. As a teen, I got used to men using me as a sperm receptacle. And in this so-called relationship with Sig, I got used to being treated like fecal matter.
Later that night I woke up from a restless sleep. I was clinging to one edge of the bed with my back turned toward Sig. I listened for the creaky sound of his breathing and did not hear it. I looked back and saw he was not there. The duvet on his side of the bed had not even been pulled back. Something told me to go find him. I quietly rose out of bed and did not even bother putting my silk slippers on. My intuition told me that he was up to no good, and this was a perfect opportunity to catch him in the act.
I went to the hallway and saw the hazy glow of a light coming from down below. I sneaked down the stairs and was for once thankful that the floors were made of marble—no squeaking. I could see that the light was coming from the direction of Sig’s office. I tiptoed to the door that he had stupidly left open and peeked in. He was instant messaging someone. From the unusual lusty look on his face, I figured it was some woman, a secret love.
It was not like I had not suspected this. For months Sig had hawked his computer and was skittish whenever I got near it. If I walked into the room, he changed the screen or put the lid down. Mind you, I had seen too many talk shows where an unfaithful lover stored illicit photos or online chat records on their computers or had other suspicious behavior. Sig was following those same patterns verbatim.
But there was more. In the past I had seen way too many semen-crusted tissues piled up in Sig’s waste bin next to his desk. Obviously he had a penchant for jacking off at his computer. Shit, there were so many yellowed tissues that Lin, our housekeeper, would not empty the can. And that was her fucking job. However, the thing that caught my attention— more than the trash—was that new, distinct patterns had developed. Whenever Sig got off his computer, each and every time, one of two things would happen. The first thing was that he would want to have sex with me immediately like he had just come home from a strip club and needed a release. I guess whatever images his secret love was sending aroused him so much that not even masturbation could settle him down. He needed a flesh-and-blood body to substitute for his lover. I always acquiesced because I felt I had to pay him back for this lifestyle in some kind of way. I knew that Sig was using my body as a substitute for the person he really wanted to be with.
During those times I could not call what we did lovemaking, intercourse, or even fucking. It was too clinical for that. Coitus, yeah, that was the best way to describe it. Bland, scientific, matter of fact. Our coitus was always impersonal and doggie style. In that position there is no way to connect because only a couple inches of snatch and dick are involved. I just figured that Sig could not stand looking at my face for some reason.
The other thing that would happen when Sig ended his secret computer romps was that he would become more belligerent or violent than usual. Those were the times he was most pissed that I was not his secret love. He hurled the most disgusting insults at me, so much so that I thought acid was going to drip from my ears. Other times I had to hide bruise marks from the adoring public because of sheer humiliation or for fear of losing my goddess status.
There was a period of time when I was actually bold enough to play private eye. When Sig was gone, I tried to hack into his computer. However, he was paranoid and constantly changed his password. Sig was not a spring chicken, and his memory would blip sometimes. So I knew he had to be keeping a log of passwords. But I could not get into his desk drawer. It was always locked.
I know I should not have cared if Sig was dicking around. He was an asshole. But even though our relationship was strained, my pride could not bear the idea of him cheating on me with another woman. It would only validate all the negative feelings I had about myself. So this night I dealt with it the only way I could. I went back upstairs, climbed into bed, and pretended nothing happened.
But two questions always screamed in the back of my mind: Why didn’t Sig just date his secret lover out in the open? Why continue with this sham of a relationship with me?
Sig finally came up about an hour later. He got into bed and nudged me. Out of habit I got on all fours. He mounted me from behind. I could barely feel his reedy penis as he pumped me with no discernible rhythm. It took all of one minute to feel him start to buck, jackrabbit style, and then tense up as he came. His limp dick slacked out of me and was followed by his watery cum sliming down my thigh.
I went to the bathroom to towel off. Sig’s nasty cum was already crusting on me. I wiped hard, breaking it into flaky pieces. There was one spot that would not get clean. I wiped harder, reddening my skin, but that cum did not want to come off. Hot water on the towel finally did the trick. I tossed the towel into the hamper and was about to go back into the bedroom. But as I reached for the door, I slumped to the floor and cried instead.
Chapter Seven
I was edgy and rapidly tapping my pencil on top of my aluminum desk. My cell phone was directly in front of me, practically blowing up from a barrage of missed calls and constant texts being sent by Rebecca.
It was a couple of days after the gala, but my mind was still in that hotel hallway. The way I lost control with Lilly was shocking to me. I had never been out of my senses like that before in my entire life. The magic of the night made it seem okay to get swept away in a storm of passion, as though there would be no consequences for making love to her. But on this blustery morning, the cruel, harsh chill of reality stung my face.
I tapped the pencil harder as I tried to disperse my agitation. Oh, Lilly…damn it. What was I supposed to do? Give up everything for a woman I did not even know? For a shot at a relationship? A maybe? A could be? A mere possibility?
Now, the chance to advance at Wotherspoon was real. Hell, it was practically a done deal. I had worked too hard and for too many years to let it slip away from me. So I was thankful that I did not get in too deep with Lilly the other night. I would chalk that whole episode up to experience and put it in my mental bank as a memory that could be pulled up from time to time.
It was now time to regroup and refocus. I had to remember who I was—a connoisseur of beautiful women. A man who never had to work to get one as they were always lined up to have me. I was not the type of guy who went ape shit over a woman. Those types were weaklings to me. I knew how to stay in control at all times. And as far as Lilly was concerned, I was determined to do just that.
I purposefully tried to block out everythi
ng that happened at that party and dive into a stack of Sig’s financial records instead. It was my plan to clear them out by the end of the day.
But thoughts of Lilly distracted me. Trying not to think about her was like trying not to breathe. There was just something about her. As Lilly flooded my mind, I leaned back into my seat and reminisced about the velvet softness of her skin. She smelled like vanilla cream, and I wanted to run my tongue all over her body, tasting her sweetness. I felt my nature hardening as I thought about what I would have done to her. I would have pushed her against the wall, ripped her panties off, and fucked the shit out of her right then and there. My strokes would not have been delicate and tender. I would have all but fucked another hole into her. If Sig had not showed up, that is exactly what would have gone down. Right then and there, I made the decision to avoid Lilly Amsel at all costs. I would not get caught up again.
The sound of my cell phone ringing jolted me back. I picked it up to look at the screen, and once again Rebecca was on the other end.
This bitch is fucking batshit crazy.
I momentarily set Sig’s financials aside to deal with Rebecca’s nonsense by sending her to voicemail and then proceeded to delete the fifty-two texts she sent me. At message thirty-two, Robert Thomas knocked on my door as he simultaneously strolled into my office. Robert had been hired by Wotherspoon three years before I was. He had eyed a partnership just like me but had failed to make any progress and could not understand why. I knew. He was a truly decent man who wanted to do and did the right thing all the time. At Wotherspoon that was a liability. They gave him softball cases, ones in which being a nice guy would be of no consequence. I liked him. Hell, I fucking admired the guy. He had an average upbringing in every imaginable way. This white-bread background groomed him to only see the world as basically a safe place. He was not bred to have a malicious, ruthless bone in his body. Whenever he was around, I could see what I might have become if I did not have the history that I did.