A Bedtime Story

by L. C. Moon

  Day-145

  Laura had just received the news. Master Kayne was coming home. She could barely contain herself. She paced around all day, went shopping for another outfit that she carefully laid on the bed, and changed her mind a few dozen times before returning to the initially selected new grey chiffon dress. It reminded her of the one she wore the first night she met him. So much had happened since, and yet her heart still fluttered in her chest at the mention of his name, at the thought of finding herself alone with him.

  She asked Olga what his favorite meal was and insisted on preparing it herself. They spent the day in the kitchen, Laura laughing heartily under Olga’s supervision and resigned headshake after her third burned batch of knish and kalduny, Russian versions of dumplings.

  She set the table smiling away and sat patiently in her grey dress, constantly looking at her watch. Hours passed, and Laura fell asleep with her head resting in her palm. She woke up to the clock striking midnight, a cold untouched meal, waning candles, and no Kayne in sight. With a bitter taste in her mouth, she smiled coolly back to the empty room, lifted her chin, and headed to her bedroom in her unseen dress.

  ***

  Kayne delayed his return as much as he could. He’d been looking forward to it for so long; now that it was here, he felt apprehensive at facing the reality of Laura’s welcome, of having his fantasized reunion shattered mercilessly. Dawn was creeping when he stumbled home with Lucas holding him up. He was greeted by a sexy young blonde who boldly introduced herself as Genevieve, looking him straight in the eye with a seductive smile. She was putting away a cold meal he assumed Olga prepared for him and smiled dejectedly at recognizing all his favorite foods as a child. He realized he was hoping to find Laura in his bed when he walked in to his empty bedroom. He passed out on his mattress fully clothed, thought he recognized her scent on his pillow.

  Day-146

  Laura avoided him purposefully, quietly sneaking out at the crack of dawn, and stayed out as late as possible. She had sheepishly hoped her cellphone would ring, that an infuriated voice would beckon her home. It hadn’t happened. Kiev had been her companion for the past two months. She had initially preferred to have Lucas by her side. He would have found a way to make her laugh, to see things in a different light. She learned to appreciate Kiev’s quiet strength, and found comfort in his morally blind devotion.

  She had fantasized about walking with Kayne down the colorful streets of Montreal, had imagined them swaying their heads during late nights spent drinking too much at jazz clubs. How she loved her city, Montreal, there was no place like it on earth. Not that she would know, having only discovered other worlds on paper and screen. But she knew in her heart, none would match its magic. Montreal didn’t fan her feathers for the world to see, was no star next to the likes of New York and Paris. Montreal was a jewel to be discovered, delighting only the eyes who could recognize beauty in its simplest form. Was there any feeling like walking down the cobble streets of the Old Port on a warm summer night, its full terraces announcing the end of the long winter and its ever-present artists offering you back a piece of your lost childhood? Montreal was Laura’s gate 9 ¾; it contained all the magic and wonder she would ever need. But even Montreal couldn’t dazzle her out of her lonely truth. Crossing Pont Jacques-Cartier to the night skyline in the dark Audi, Laura could only offer a brittle smile to Kiev.

  ***

  Louis had been watching the interactions between the newly arrived master and Genevieve. All day, he caught sideway glances and sly smiles. Genevieve was a flirt. He’d learned to accept that in his best friend. He knew her every move, her subtle way of leaving a lingering hand on a shoulder, of brushing her fingers on your lower back when passing behind. Her touch, although always seemed innocent, was anything but. He spent years suffering in silence because of it. She had perfected her seduction skills on him, from the first kiss she’d given him when they were only twelve. They had been neighbors and best friends, often mistaken for twins with their matching blue eyes and sun-kissed hair. He was in awe of her; she was strong-minded and outgoing when he was just a little shy boy afraid of his shadow. He had no friends. She had the entire third grade at her feet. Of all the boys pining over her, of all the girls pretending to be her friend, she had picked him. They’d been inseparable ever since.

  He had followed her to summer camps, had taken up smoking with her, dropped out of school, and got trashed with her on their prom night, celebrating alone in the backseat of a car looking over Mount Royal. They’d lost their virginity to each other. He had thought they would be together forever. She had told him he was the best friend she’d ever had. He wore the badge with honor, taking his role very seriously, regardless of the heartbreak that followed her every conquest. She was wild, and he loved her for it. When things got out of hand and he couldn’t save her from her hell, he followed her into it. They had all given up on her, thought she was too far gone. It was him and no one else who was able to convince her to go to detox. Sweaty, feverish, and vomiting, she had cried in his arms, told him she loved him, that no one else had ever loved her. He thought he was the luckiest person in the world. When she felt better, she never mentioned the incident again. He knew better than to bring it up and face her cruel laughter.

  When two short months ago she mentioned the new job her friend told her about, he knew it was bad news from the get-go. He didn’t like that friend of hers. Another of her conquests, heavily into drugs, gambling, and any bad thing you could imagine. He couldn’t get her to change her mind, the money was good, and there was no way she was going to end up working the counter at a fast food joint. Genevieve Roy liked the shady aspect of the job. She reveled in danger. She knew she’d be safe; she knew Louis would come with her.

  Day-147

  Laura was on her way out when Kayne first saw her. He barely recognized the distinguished lady facing him. He stared at her, like the first night, willing her silently to turn around.

  The air changed around her, she could feel a tingle down her neck. Slowly, she turned her head, knowing beforehand he was there, her body sensing his presence before her eyes could confirm it. Her eyes lit up for a moment, then falling on his sardonic smirk, they instantly narrowed.

  “You’re back…” she observed, her voice cold, smiling tight-lipped. “You’re leaving,” he countered just as coolly.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. She had prayed for his return, had even pleasured herself with his face in her mind. Now that he was here in the flesh, she froze. She would have forgiven him all, would’ve gladly run to meet him if only he would have greeted her with his warm smile, if it was her Kayne who would have come back to her. It was the other, the cool arrogant one. The one who seduced and tortured her. She wondered if she would always have to go through that Kayne to end up in the comforting embrace of the other.

  Her Kayne, she was powerless to, this one, she resented. This one had taught her the lessons she would use against him.

  “Well… I’ll see you around I guess,” she threw indifferently.

  He smirked arrogantly. “I’ll see you tonight for supper. Seven sharp.”

  “Oh... sorry, I can’t make it for supper. I have plans...” She held his narrowing eyes and smiled arrogantly herself to the fury dancing in them.

  He licked his lips, predatory instincts kicking in at her challenging him. “Cancel them,” he commanded, his voice restrained, his gaze swaying between threatening and entertained.

  “It’s with Natasha—”

  “She’ll understand,” he interrupted sternly.

  They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, each sizing up the other. He took a few long strides to come face-to-face with her. He could see the fear in her eyes mixing with excitement, the alertness in her muscles. She didn’t fool him. Behind her proud stance and daring eyes, he could still see his little girl. Could still bring her out by shattering her mask with one touch. He got off on the power he held over her. He loved his ability to te
rrify her with one look, to soothe her with a whisper. He wanted to be her savior, but it was the villain who always dragged her to bed, kicking and screaming, until she moaned and gasped, powerless in his grasp. But his very ability to manipulate her into wanting him at any cost held a darker truth. She would never love him, he thought. Not on her own, nor through the strings he’d skillfully attached to her, and constantly pulled to his selfish designs. He could twist, bend, please, and break her body, but he could never reach her heart. He disregarded the stabbing pain of an unattainable Laura, focused instead on the adrenaline rush of a helpless Laura splayed on her back, spread eagle, fear in her eyes, slowly turning wanton.

  The mental image was enough to get him hard. He wanted to pin her to the wall right then and there. He brought his face closer to hers and cocked his head to the side. “Anything else you want to say?”

  She exhaled slowly, her mouth in an “o” shape. She gathered her composure before responding words spat with venom. “No, Master. Your wish is my command.”

  Her heart skipped a beat when he stepped toward her. She held her breath unconsciously. She had counted the days, down to the seconds, until the moment she would see him again. He, on the other hand, had preferred to spend the night out, presumably in the company of other women. She knew he’d been with many others during his time away but that he chose to extend his time away from her that extra night, to still choose to be with someone else, cut right through her. That was the injury. The insult came in the form of a seductive Kayne lurking in the shadows calm and collected when she was at her wits’ end, commanding her as his secretary to make herself available the moment he sought her company. She could’ve rebelled but knew her indifferent submission would hurt his pride more. She wouldn’t admit to herself that this strategy suited her desire to be with him just as well.

  With that said, she turned around and walked away. She left and stayed out for as long as she could. She preferred the loneliness she felt when he was away to the one that ripped her apart in his presence.

  ***

  He busied himself all day and caught himself constantly looking at his watch, impatient for supper, hungry for his wife. At seven sharp, he entered the empty dining room and sat alone, impatiently tapping his fingers on the table. At a quarter past seven, Olga came in to check up on everything and was dismissed immediately by a cranky Kayne.

  By seven thirty he was pacing in the living room, furious at Laura’s disobedience, maddened by her rejection. He knew he didn’t deserve her love, that he was barely worthy of her company. It didn’t matter; he had never craved anything as much. He retreated to the reception hall, poured himself a whiskey, drank it too fast, and refilled another. By the fifth glass, he could barely stand his own reflection in the mirror.

  He hated her for turning his world upside down. He hated himself for wanting her so desperately and still not being able to offer her the slightest requirement to ever hope to earn her love. In victory as in defeat, Kayne smirked arrogantly, this time at his own reflection, falling victim to his own hubris. He cursed the cocky smile, disdainful of his distress. In blind rage, he punched through the mirror, annihilating his tormentor.

  Genevieve, lurking nearby, jumped at the sound of shattering glass. For two days she had shadowed her new employer, had flirted shamelessly, and fantasized remorselessly about the married older man. She had always liked them older; married was even better. Her therapist had called her a classic case of father abandonment issues. Her pious mother had called her the spawn of Satan, her girlfriends, a slut behind her back. Her dismissed conquests, a cold bitch. The only person in the world who ever knew her and cared for her was Louis. She loved him with all her heart, yet she pushed him away, knowing she would never be worthy of such a noble man. She didn’t want love, devotion, or worse, admiration. Guys her age fell to her feet effortlessly, each more of a disappointment than the last. The first man who understood her needs, who didn’t melt like putty in her hands, was twice her age, married, rich, and very handsome. He’d used her and discarded her. For the first time in her life, she felt yearning and heartbreak; she recognized them as love. She sought them out ever since.

  Genevieve cautiously opened the door to find the handsome dark figure staring at his bleeding hand, surrounded by broken shards of glass. In the shattered mirror, his reflection was monstrous, his features beastly. The man facing her, however, could have been Apollo’s evil twin.

  “Sir, are you all right?” she asked in her soft voice, her French accent pronounced.

  He simply turned his face her way, his dark stare sending shivers down her spine.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll clean the mess. Can I see your hand?” She walked toward him. She was at his side before he could even answer, reaching for his hand.

  “What’s your name again?” he asked her haughtily.

  “Genevieve… at your service, sir,” she added coyly.

  He snorted, amused by her blunt flirting.

  “If you allow me, sir, I could clean it up for you.”

  “There’s no need. I’m fine, Genevieve.” She was cute, and her flirtatious ways did appease his bruised ego, but only Laura had the power to heal it. It was now seven forty-five, and she was still a no-show. He refused to call her, to hound her as a forlorn husband, especially when such a delectable thing tried so hard to divert him.

  “But, sir, it is my job. To take care of you… See to all your needs...” He chuckled this time, entertained by the tackiness of her amateur seduction.

  “How old are you, Genevieve?”

  “I’m legal.” She grinned.

  “Answer me,” he commanded, slightly annoyed.

  “Twenty.” Her face dropped instantly.

  “Twenty… you wouldn’t even know how to see to all my needs…” He turned away from her.

  “With all due respect, sir, you grossly underestimate me.”

  The corner of his lips quirked up with devious intent. “Do I? All right. Five minutes. If you can get me hard without touching me, I’ll graciously recant,” he added mockingly.

  “I do love a challenge.” She met his luscious gaze. She walked to the table and slowly undid the top button of her tight uniform, exposing her black lace bra. Seductively, she sat down, slowly opened her legs, and revealed black nylons held up by matching garters. She pushed the skirt of her uniform up, looked at him longingly, and swayed her legs on each side.

  “Four minutes,” he called, his voice deadpan, and saw nervousness creep into her eyes.

  “You think I’m just a kid.” She fixed her eyes on his and slowly brought her hand around her neck, down her chest, lusciously caressing her breasts, down her belly. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I know you want me too.” She began to touch herself, pushed her G-string to the side, and widened her slim legs apart. It was enough to hold his attention. He took a seat facing her and remained silent, encouraging her to go on.

  Her voice became raspy, her breathing quickened, as did the rhythm of her fingers. “Don’t you want to fuck me? Use me like a little slut? Look at what I’m willing to do for your cock.” She slid a finger in and began rocking herself against her own hand. “I want you to make me come so bad. Don’t you want to make me your little fuck-toy?”

  Kayne got hard, with less than a minute to go on the countdown. He would recant, graciously.

  “Don’t come.”

  She immediately removed her hand.

  “Did I say to stop touching yourself?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face.

  “Sir…” She brought her fingers back, very slowly and cautiously rubbed her engorged flesh, barely holding back her building orgasm. “Will you make me come?”

  ***

  It was past eight when Laura walked back in. She had aimed for fashionably late, waved off Kiev’s warning they should leave downtown before traffic hit. As a result, they were caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic, as she nervously looked at her watch. She walked in the house terrified
, and over an hour late. She breathed in and out a few times before making her way to the dining room, forcing a breezy smile on her face. She wasn’t that surprised to realize Kayne Malkin had not patiently waited for her arrival. She wondered where he was, what the consequences would be. Her pride would not allow her to seek his presence. Her heart could not tolerate his indifference, and so like any neglected child, she preferred acting out, preferred his reprisal to his neglect. She searched for him, with cool dread running through her veins, and heard the moans coming from the reception hall. Jaded and disgusted, she pushed the door open and looked on disdainfully as Genevieve lay flat on her stomach on the high table, while Kayne held her down with both hands on her back, thrusting himself slowly in and out of her. He barely stopped moving at the interruption. Genevieve, still bending over, lifted her head and stared back at Laura, a supercilious look on her face.

  Laura snorted, unfazed, and walked in. She bent down to meet Genevieve at eye level and addressed her in a condescending tone, “Genevieve, sweetheart. Would you kindly get off my husband’s dick? I would like a word.”

  Genevieve was thrown off by the calm and collected cuckolded wife. She stumbled to her feet as Kayne lazily pulled his zipper up. She glanced at him inquisitively, nervousness straining her features. He just nudged his head toward the door before returning his attention to his wife. He didn’t seem nervous. A half smirk was creeping on his face as he watched his wife. She left the room as quickly as she could. She felt used and cheap, like the tables had somehow been turned on her. She’d dealt with women who knew of their husband’s affairs, but even the most tolerant ones always lost their cool when facing her. Genevieve prided herself on being the mistress, the one the husband betrayed his wife for. The one he would jeopardize everything for. It felt very different this time, as if the joke was on her. It was clear from the moment Mrs. Malkin had walked into the room that she commanded her husband’s attention with a mere look. Genevieve wasn’t a threat, merely a distraction, easily discarded without a second thought. She could almost hear them snickering about her behind closed doors. For the first time, she admired her rival; for the first time, she hated the wife.